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priestessofspiders · 2 months

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Dreams can come true

It’s different for everyone. Some of us figure it out when we’re in elementary school, others realize only very late into our lives. Me though? I’ve always known. Some of us interpret it as a very literal transformation; “I used to be a girl, now I’m a boy”. Others feel like we were always our “chosen” gender, simply forced by fate into a body we never asked for. I fall, very strongly, into the latter category. As long as I can remember, I dreamed of being a man, and I mean that very literally.

When I fell asleep, my dream self was quite different from my physical body, with broader shoulders, a square jaw, larger hands and feet, and a deep voice that fills any room I am in like an upright bass. It wasn’t always such a pronounced change of course. When I was very young, the differences were subtler, the unwanted waking nightmare of sexual dimorphism not yet wholly foisted upon me, but changes were still there. I always felt like something was wrong when I woke up to find myself with the long hair my mother insisted I couldn’t cut to the short length I desired. I remember once, after a birthday party, looking at myself in the mirror, wearing a nice, expensive dress I’d received as a gift, and thinking to myself how much happier I’d be wearing the suit I had on in my dreams the night before.

I didn’t have a word for it until high school though. My family was somewhat strict about my access to the internet and what sorts of films I was allowed to watch, so the first time I heard the word “transgender” was when I met someone else like me.

His name was Timothy, and in all truth we weren’t friends. Nobody was friends with Timothy, nobody wanted to hang out with the freak. There were many comments like “So if you’re a man, am I allowed to hit you?”, whispered slurs, and exaggerated caricatures drawn on scrap paper and surreptitiously passed around to a chorus of barely contained snickers. I’d like to say I never joined in, but peer pressure is a powerful force, especially when it comes to those of us who desperately want to fit in. I think part of me resented him too, for so flagrantly living the life I wanted to have. He wore a binder to flatten his chest, his hair was short and slicked back with gel, and he always dressed like someone out of a prior age, a holdover from an era of leather jackets, fast cars, and switchblades. I was jealous.

Eventually the bullying got bad enough that one of his bolder tormentors broke his arm. Nobody confessed to the act, and the school’s administration was less than cooperative in trying to find out who did it. Timothy’s parents wound up pulling him from school, and I never saw him again. My own parents saw it as a relief, saying that he was “a dangerous influence” and that his family should have sent him off to a psychologist rather than “indulging her delusions”. It was the first time I had ever heard them talk about someone like me, and the memory of my own mother and father describing with such vitriol how much they hated Timothy was permanently burned into my developing mind, a scar which I don’t think will ever heal.

I knew there was never any chance of being accepted by my family. At best, they’d see me as a victim of some perverted campaign to corrupt innocent young women into hating their bodies, at worst they’d treat me like a delusional freak. Either way, they would still see me as their daughter, and I very much doubt there is anything I could do to change that.

After so many years of being forced to hide who I am, I finally have the good fortune of living alone, far away from my parents and their bigotry. It was almost unbearable during the final few months of my living with them, when people like me became a political wedge and the hate spewing talking heads on the idiot box began telling horror stories of “groomers” and “radical gender ideology”. But I managed to get out and find a job. I was finally free to be myself. Well, more or less. I was out publicly to friends and coworkers, I bound my breasts, people called me Victor rather than the stupid name on my driver’s license, but in terms of actual medical treatment I was still stuck at square one.

The thing that they don’t tell you is it’s actually rather difficult to get on hormones, at least if you’re a transgender man. Estradiol and the like aren’t controlled substances, if worst comes to worst an uninsured trans woman can get her hands on some hormones via the gray market, and the process of getting a prescription is far quicker. Testosterone, however, is a Schedule III controlled substance, the same tier as anabolic steroids or ketamine. Getting a prescription is a bit more of an involved process, and going through unofficial channels could result in a felony if you get caught.

So, finally liberated from my family, I now had to deal with the frustration of the medical system. My crummy job working at a movie theater didn’t exactly have the best insurance plan, and by the time I did manage to get in touch with a doctor about getting an appointment set up, I was informed the soonest I could see someone would be several months at least. Without going into too much detail, certain conservative politicians in my state had made it rather difficult to get gender affirming care via telehealth, out of a fear that it would be too easy for “impressionable adolescents to permanently alter their bodies”. So I simply had to sit around and twiddle my thumbs, waiting for my turn at one of the rapidly dwindling number of clinics that offered consultations for getting on hormone replacement therapy.

Of course, I knew that hormones aren’t mandatory for being a “real man”, and I knew that even if I did manage to get on testosterone it wouldn’t make the bigots any more convinced of my masculinity, but I still couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness whenever I looked in the mirror. The reflection that stared back at me didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like me. Do you have any idea how terrible it is to feel trapped in a body which is utterly wrong? To have your own flesh and blood betray you every second of every day?

I coped as best as I could, and spending time with supportive friends helped. But really, the most comforting thing throughout this ordeal was my dreams. Even if I couldn’t pass as male in the waking world, even if I had to deal with the “thank you miss”s and “howdy ma’am”s from the customers at work, when I slept it was as though my mind and body were in perfect alignment. It sometimes felt like my own mind was comforting me, covering me with a blanket of fantasy to soothe the pain. Even in my darkest nightmares, I always had a body that felt like it belonged to me.

Though my dreams are especially vivid while they last, I do find they tend to fade quite quickly upon awakening, something which has only seemed to get worse as I get older. To cope with this, I began to write down records of my nocturnal visions, first in a notebook, then later on a blog under the pseudonym of “DysphoricDreamer98”. I found it easier to reach for my phone to jot down a quick post while the memory was freshest than having to fiddle about with pen and paper. Besides, while my little blog wasn’t especially popular or anything, seeing people comment on my posts, especially other trans men, made me happy. It brought me a little joy to know I’m not alone.

Now, obviously I didn’t put out any sort of personal information on my blog. No photos, no mention of where I work, not my real name, Hell, not even which state I live in. This is why it was so odd when I found the package on my doorstep one morning, all wrapped up in brown paper and twine, addressed to DysphoricDreamer98. There was no return address, so I had no idea who could have sent it.

In a panic, I simply shut the door and left the package outside, running over to my computer to search the web to see if I’d been doxxed or something like that. I didn’t think I’d ever said anything particularly controversial, and it wasn’t as though I had any sort of wide audience. I wrote a digital dream journal with a follower count in the double digits for goodness sake, it’s not like I was a celebrity.

Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t had my personal information posted publicly or stolen in a leak of some sort, I opened my front door again and peaked out at the package, feeling oddly nervous, as if worried it was going to sprout teeth and bite me. After I was satisfied that it wasn’t going blow up or catch fire or anything like that, I brought it inside and set it down on my desk, cutting off the twine with my pocket knife and unwrapping it. I was greeted with an old wooden box, of the sort that would be used to hold expensive jewelry. It was covered all over with elaborate ornamentation, a combination of floral and geometric designs. There was something oddly hypnotic about the patterns formed by the embossed flowers and curving lines, and I spent about a minute simply admiring the craftsmanship of the thing before I actually set about opening it.

The contents of the box were a small glass vial filled with liquid, a metal syringe that looked as though it were fashioned in the Victorian era, and a note, written on very old parchment in elegant looking cursive. This is what it said:

Dear Sir,

You’ve spent every night dreaming of who you truly are. It is time to make those dreams into reality. Inject intramuscularly once per week, one milliliter. Expect results in 3-4 weeks.

Sincerely,

A friend

Now, I’m not stupid. Obviously I didn’t immediately start injecting myself with mysterious fluid I found in a box left on my front door by an anonymous stranger. As a matter of fact, my first thought was that someone was trying to poison me. I didn’t know who would want me dead, but given the circumstances I thought a little bit of paranoia was the healthiest approach to take. Part of me wondered if my family had somehow been informed of my blog, and were trying to discreetly assassinate me in order to ensure I’d never be able to medically or legally transition. I didn’t have any evidence of this, but it seemed far more logical than there being some hormone gifting Good Samaritan wandering about leaving vials of testosterone on the doors of disadvantaged trans men. Besides, whatever was contained within the vial didn’t look like testosterone, at least not in any form I was familiar with. It was tinged slightly purple, and seemed to sparkle when I held it up to the light.

I did consider calling the police, but I decided against it. Realistically all they’d do is confiscate the box, and I was worried that I could get in trouble if the contents of the vial did end up being some kind of poison or illicit substance. Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.

And so, I tried to do my best to forget about the box and its contents. I didn’t tell anyone about it, not even my friends, though I’m not entirely sure why that is. I suppose I may have rationalized it as trying to keep myself safe from being reported to the police, but that’s not really true. Something about it just felt private to me, inherently it was a subject that necessitated secrecy. Its presence kept nagging at me, however, and it never felt like I’d ever be fully able to erase it from my mind. Sometimes, I’d open up the box and just stare at the vial for a while, considering it silently, before shutting the lid and pushing it back under the bed.

Regardless, I managed to more or less successfully ignore the box for around a month. It was a combination of many discrete factors that led to me giving in, and even after what I’ve experienced and even though I know it was a stupid decision, I’m unable to bring myself to feel any sort of regret for it.

The day I gave in started off terribly, with my period having decided to start a day earlier than usual. I don’t feel very positively about my reproductive system at the best of times, and my distaste only grows deeper when it decides to punish me for not getting pregnant with a torrent of blood. After dealing with that unfortunate surprise, I was then faced with my biweekly phone call with my mother, during which I had to play the unfortunate role of dutiful daughter, gritting my teeth whenever she referred to me by the name she gave me instead of my real one, and clenching my hand into a fist as I expressed in the politest tones that I could muster that no, I did not have a boyfriend yet. When she started to go on a rant about the latest news story she’d seen about “woke indoctrination” in schools, I made up some excuse about poor connection and ended the call. Then it was time for work.

The gendered politeness of the South is truly a tailor made Hell for people like me, and that day saw a constant stream of “ma’am”s and “miss”s that culminated in an elderly gentleman remarking “If you don’t mind me sayin’ miss, you are quite the beautiful young woman” while I tried very hard not to strangle him. But really, truly, I think that the deciding factor that made me open up that box and try my luck with my anonymous benefactor’s vial of mystery fluid was the text message I received as I walked through my front door, informing me that my consultation had been postponed again.

I’ll be honest, when I readied that first injection, part of me hoped it was poison. It wasn’t a large part of me, but that urge to just give up, embrace the call of the void and descend into a peaceful oblivion, it was there. “To sleep, perchance to dream”, as Shakespeare put it. When nonexistence no longer frightens you, it is far easier to take risks.

I didn’t use the syringe that came with the box. While it seemed to be in pristine condition, I didn’t trust something that looked that old, and I certainly had no desire to contract tetanus or something. I walked down to the farm supply store across from my apartment building and purchased some sterile syringes and needles there instead. When I got back to the apartment I spent a few minutes looking up where was best to inject, how to make sure I avoided pricking any veins and arteries, etc., until I finally felt fairly confident that I could actually do it successfully. There was no stalling after that, I didn’t want to give myself a chance to change my mind. I popped the cork on the vial, got a milliliter of that strange purple fluid into the syringe, and plunged the needle into my thigh.

It hurt far less than I thought it would, if I’m being honest. If you’d asked me before that day if I would have been able to perform injections myself, I’d have told you no. I’ve always felt slightly uncomfortable whenever I had to get a vaccine or have a blood test done, something about needles just made me deeply nervous. But this felt right, and outside of a slight pinch and some pressure as I pushed down the plunger, it was largely painless.

I pulled out the needle and applied a small bandage to the tiny puncture mark, though the needle was so thin no blood actually welled up at all. Then I went to bed early, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.

I woke up the next morning, writing down my latest dream on my blog in the haze of half-consciousness, and then got out of bed, pleasantly noting that I was not, in fact, dead. Whatever the liquid in the vial was, it at the very least wasn’t toxic. There wasn’t even so much as a raised bump at the injection site. Thus began my routine of injecting the purplish mystery fluid into my thigh every Friday before bed.

Just as the note said, it was around the 4 week mark when I started to actually see results. I was washing my face as part of my morning routine when I noticed something faint on my upper lip. I looked closer to see it was a few dark hairs, sprouting out from the previously smooth skin of my face. Excitedly, I looked closer, seeing with delight that all over my jaw, here and there, little hairs were poking up from my flesh. I was beginning to grow facial hair. As a matter of fact, on closer inspection of the rest of my me, I was beginning to grow more hair all over my body. It wasn’t as though I’d awoken looking like Bigfoot, but it was a noticeable change from my appearance the night before. I was ecstatic.

Now, I have to be honest here, I didn’t actually know exactly how quickly testosterone was supposed to work, nor what the exact effects were. It may seem lazy but I never really had sat down to read out how long it would take, what specific results I could expect to see, etc. I think a part of me always saw it as a borderline unachievable fantasy, so there was no reason for me to ever look up the details. However, even I should have known better than to think what happened was normal.

For one thing, the injections worked fast. Once the four week mark was hit and the changes began, it was like a dam had broken. By 5 weeks my voice was already starting to deepen. 6 weeks in and I was able to grow a faint mustache. 7 weeks and I had chest hair. Looking back on it now, it should have been obvious to me that this was too fast. These sorts of things take months and years to accomplish, not weeks. There was a faint tinge of nervousness during the 12th week as I looked at myself in the mirror and realized I was taller than I was before. It was the first hint that something was wrong. Testosterone can do a lot of things, but it can’t change your bone structure.

That wasn’t the only sign that something was off. I began to get these feelings of deja vu on occasion, about once a week, and I could never place exactly what it was. I didn’t keep track of every time it happened, obviously, but I do remember a few of the most noteworthy examples.

The first time was when I was doing a bit of shopping downtown and saw a street performer, a clown riding atop a penny farthing bicycle. He wasn’t frightening at all, I’ve never been afraid of clowns, but there was something unsettling about him. He didn’t seem to fit in with his surroundings as he glided through the crowd, occasionally honking his horn and taking his hands off the handlebars to juggle some balls. Nobody else seemed to pay him any mind though, they just kept on walking past him. He seemed so familiar, and I struggled to try and remember if I’d seen him in some viral video or something.

Another incident I remember was at work. I was selling tickets, when a pair of customers walked up to the booth in lockstep. They were identical twins, each the spitting image of the other, and wore the exact same style of formal black suit.

“We’re here-” started the one on the left.

“-to purchase some tickets-” continued the twin on the right.

“-for the 2 o’ clock show” finished the first twin.

The pair of them frankly freaked me out, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I did as they asked and got them their tickets. They paid in cash, using only 2 dollar bills. They bowed in unison after I handed them their tickets, and then marched in time to the theater I had indicated. I actually checked the purchase logs later to make sure I hadn’t imagined it all, as well as looking in the register to see if their 2 dollar bills were still there, and everything was still there. Like with the clown, the oddest part was that they seemed so familiar, as if their names were right on the tip of my tongue.

I had another encounter at a thrift store. I was shopping for some new clothes (my increased height was making some of my older outfits not fit particularly well) when I was approached by a short gentleman with white hair, who asked me “Can I help you to find anything sir?”

I turned to respond that I was fine, when I noticed that his eyes were two different colors, one blue, one brown. Something about this made my mind scream at me to remember, that this was someone who I had met before, but I just couldn’t place my finger on why. I stuttered out some noncommittal grunt and he nodded before walking away. I stumbled out of the thrift store without buying anything and went straight home.

The most recent incident is what made me put all the pieces together. I was taking a nighttime walk, something I felt more comfortable doing now due to my increased bulk and deeper voice. I felt safer knowing that any creeps would be less likely to see me as a potential target, plus I’d been hitting the gym so I felt confident in my ability to fight off anyone who’d try. I was thinking about how much my life had improved since I’d gotten the package, and wondering about what I’d do once the vial had run out. There were only a couple doses left, but my HRT consultation was only a few days away. Should I try and get more of what I was already taking, or should I switch over to a more legitimate source? It wasn’t as though I had any method through which to contact my anonymous benefactor. As I pondered this, I heard a faint hissing noise from a nearby alley, a “pssst” like someone was trying to beckon me inside.

I peered down the alleyway cautiously, trying to get a good look at whoever was trying to attract my attention. I could see the faint outline of a figure hidden partially by the shadows, but I couldn’t make out any details. I gently touched my pocket knife, just to remind myself it was still there, and then stepped into the alley.

I know it sounds like a stupid decision, and it was, but at that moment I thought that they may have been the mysterious “friend” who’d given me the vial in the first place. I figured they may have wanted to deliver the next supply in person, and frankly I wanted to thank them for changing my life. I was still nervous, of course I was, but after all that had happened I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

I stepped into the alley, cautiously, and made my way over to the figure. They hissed at me again, beckoning for me to come closer with a gloved hand. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that they were a thin man in a long overcoat, wearing a wide brimmed hat and, despite the night, a pair of dark sunglasses. They looked like some sort of secret agent stock character. His mouth was stretched wide in a toothy grin. When I was about 10 feet from him, I stopped, and asked “Hello? Are you the person who gave me the package? With the vial?”

Without moving a muscle on his face, he hissed at me again, and then held up his hand in front of his face. Using his other hand, he began to slowly pull off the glove. It was hard to tell at first, in the darkness of the alley, what exactly I was seeing, besides the simple fact that the human brain has difficulty recognizing that which ought not to be. His fingers shone slightly as they moved sinuously in the pale reflected light of the far away streetlamps, glittering like stars. Then he began to walk towards me with shaky steps, and I realized with a sudden shock what I was looking at.

The man’s fingers were snakes.

I tried to back away, but he lunged for me, hissing erupting from his writhing fingers as they latched onto my shoulder, extending out several feet from his arm. I didn’t feel them break skin, however, fortunately my denim jacket seemed to take the brunt of it. I slashed at the wriggling serpents with my pocket knife and ran when they retreated from the flashing blade. I kept running all the way home, and didn’t stop running until I was safely in my apartment with the door firmly locked and bolted.

Despite the completely surreal and impossible nature of what had just happened, it all felt so familiar, and finally the gears in my brain started to move, and I realized what it was that linked all of the strange interactions I had. I turned on my computer, and went to check my blog, searching up keywords and reading through my recorded dreams with a sense of dawning horror.

September 12th, 2023

Dreamed I was a lion tamer in some sort of circus. The lions were full of stuffing, one accidentally got caught on some fencing and was ripped open, the audience loved it. They were still heavy though, I lifted one up and everyone cheered. I guess I was a strongman as well as a lion tamer. Dream ended with a clown on an old fashioned bicycle riding across a tightrope over a big pool of water. The ringmaster said the pool was full of piranhas, but all I saw were what looked like eels or big worms. I woke up when the clown fell off his bike.

October 24th, 2023

I was a knight, going to save a princess who was trapped in a big floating tower. Accompanied by a sloth for some reason. On the way there, encountered a very polite two headed ogre. Each head would finish the other’s sentences, and it would bow at me frequently. Eventually reached the tower, but the princess was happy there, and told me to go away. Woke up soon after.

November 17th, 2023

In an old library, trying to do some research for something, can’t remember what. Went to go get help from a librarian, but he was a husky with two different colored eyes, one blue, one brown*. Got distracted by this and we got to talking for the rest of the dream, my research forgotten. It was very philosophical, but I can’t actually really remember what we talked about much. He did call me a “handsome young man” though.*

January 2nd, 2023

Nightmare. Man made of snakes. Don’t want to think about it.

I sat back in my chair, one hand over my mouth. I felt sick. This wasn’t possible, this wasn’t something that could be real. I told myself that I must be hallucinating, that it couldn’t possibly be real life, but then I looked over at the shoulder of my jacket and noticed the bite marks in the rough fabric. There was even a broken off fang sticking out. I thought about the strange twins and their 2 dollar bills in the register. Besides, it wasn’t as though I was the only person who had noticed the changes to my body. My friends and coworkers had commented on it, customers addressed me as “sir”, I had to buy new clothes to fit my changed physique. This was real. Whatever it was I had been taking, it was making my dreams into reality.

There was a knock on my front door. I got up and checked the peephole, but nobody was there. Opening the door, I saw a new package, wrapped up in brown paper and tied up with string. It was addressed to DysphoricDreamer98.

I don’t know what to do from here. I’ve spent the past day just going through all the posts on my blog tagged “nightmare”, weighing the pros and cons of continuing my treatment. The package lies unopened on my kitchen table, for now. You’ve got to understand, this substance, whatever it is, has made me happier than I’ve ever been before, but I’m worried for my safety. I got lucky this time, I managed to get away, but what about the next time? And the time after that? Do I risk acting out my nightmares in the waking world to live the life that makes me happy?

To make matters worse, I got a text message. My consultation has once again been pushed back another 3 weeks. I don’t even have the luxury of a third option. I have to choose between going cold turkey or sticking with whatever my “friend” has sent me.

I hope I make the right decision.

#horror fiction #horror story #horror #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creepypasta

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hopeamarsu · 2 years

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Snitches and Stitches - Mafia Madness #1

Santiago Garcia x platonic reader

Word count 701

Warnings Medical stuff, needles, sewing someone up, bad jokes, flirting (it’s Santi, it cannot be helped)

A/N: I’ve set all four TF fics into one universe, so they will work as a larger fic, told in four parts. And yes, Tom will be present also, though maybe not in the way you’d think at first. Or maybe exactly like you think.

He’s quiet when you stitch him up.

It’s not unusual, Santiago Garcia often has more things to think about than the needle that pokes his skin time after time while you make him whole again. He is responsible for vetting and finding all the intel that comes to the Davis crime family, his mind is a constant factory whirring and trying to tackle each and every angle to find the one that serves the family best or stops the family from coming into any harm.

“All good, Pope?” You pause the movements of your hand and try to look into the dark honey eyes. While his silence is usual, the way his thigh vibrates nervously under all the blood and numbing agent is not.

“Hmm,” He mumbles, his brow pinched in thought. “‘M okay. Keep going.”

“I can’t. You move around too much,” You place the needle on the metal tray, carefully avoiding touching anything with your gloved hands. The way the instrument clanks against the metal makes him startle and you are half-convinced that if you weren’t inside the Davis mansion and vetted within an inch of your entire life, he’d pull a gun or a knife on you.

Pope knows this room though, probably best out of his brothers since he’s been here so many times with you as his doctor, so the tensing of his muscles is gone in a flash and he relaxes on the hospital bed.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving you that blinding smile that could charm a rattlesnake. “Just a lot on my mind. I’ll keep still now, doctor. Quiet as a church mouse and still as a corpse.” You cock one your eyebrow at his morbid words and he returns it with a flirtatious wink. Bemused, you shake your head before silently asking him to lean back, which he does.

The needle back in hand, you flatten your palm around the wound and crouch down a little to keep working. It’ll scar, the jagged edge of the knife has made sure of that but you want to do a good enough job so it’s neat and tidy in the end.

“How did he know…” Santiago mumbles above you, the deep, husky tone vibrating in the back of your neck. “How did he see our play?” You pay him no mind, letting him work out what’s bothering his mind and focus on pulling the final few lines to close the wound. Once that is done, you straighten your spine in the rolling chair.

“Antibiotics will be delivered to your room. Do not make me come and check you take them, Pope. Because I will. And no strenuous activities either.”

“Will you restrain me to the bed, if I don’t follow your orders, doctor?” You sigh, a small smile on your lips at his ever-present flirting.

“Please, try to rest. I’d rather not see you back here because of this.”

“No promises doctor,” With one last wink, he slides down from the bed and tests his leg. It seems to pass whatever test Pope has in mind and he’s halfway out the door before you can blink. “I’ll give you a tetanus shot if you don’t! Don’t make this into a rat race,” You quip, intending for it to sound humorous but it makes him freeze up completely.

He twists around slowly, letting you see all the glorious salt and pepper hair shine under the fluorescent lights. He looks at the wall above your head for a moment in silence.

“What did you just say?” He finally grits out.

“I’ll give you a tetanus shot?”

“No, after that,” Santiago shakes his head and pins you with his blazing gaze. You look back at him curiously, almost seeing how the cogwheels inside his mind turn until his whole face turns murderous when he comes to a conclusion. He closes the door with his hand while the other pulls out a cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. “Doctor, I need you to lay low for a few days. I believe we have a rat in our midst.”

“And that rat…” The temperature of the room drops with his ice-cold words. “...just started a deadly game with us.”

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @themuseic @miraclesabound @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mariesackler @princessxkenobi @sixshooter665 @amneris21 @strangunddurm

Triple Frontier taglist @darklingveracruz @evyiione @kesskirata

#mafiamadness #hopeamarsu mafia #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #cw: needles #cw: medical #cw: organized crime

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proserpina-magnus · 3 years

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love can you please write like a comfort blurb? marauders era Sirius x reader where he is comforting and holding her while she’s crying? thank you🥺

Of course I can! I'm hoping your keeping yourself healthy! also, thank you for the request. xo

One where Sirius Black comfort you

Word Count: 1095

[ Warning: fem reader, heavy description of crying, comforting, slight flirting, cleaning someone up, help with dressing, nicknames such as “baby” “my love” ]

You wept on the bathroom floor, hands covering your face entirely. Hot tears slipped over your cheeks. Your breath in hiccups. You never really knew how this started, it was all a blur.

Your back leaned against the tub, taking a shaky inhale as you try to calm down. Pathetic sobs leave your mouth, instantly making more tears fall. Every emotion you kept hidden poured out of your system, tears wetting your hands as your face goes red.

Sirius came to check on you when you haven't arrived for breakfast. He peaked his head into your dorm, seeing you nowhere. You heard his footsteps come closer to the bathroom. You quickly wiped at your tears, holding your breath to stop the wounded sounds.

"Babe? Are you in there?" Sirius's voice rang out, he knocked at the bathroom door. At the sound of his voice, you instantly caved into the pitiful feeling. You leaped towards the door, opening it quickly as you exposed your crying self to him.

Sirius's expression morphed to a sad one, absolutely empathetic. He fell to his knees, his larger hands coming to hold your weeping face. More tears slipped past your eyes, shaking in his hold.

"Oh baby, what's wrong?" He asked, his eyes full of loss. You fall into his chest, sobbing as you hold his shirt. He holds you close, moving to lean against the wall.

He pulls you between his legs, holding your head to his chest. Your fingers clutch the fabric, digging your nails into it as you uncontrollably sob. Sirius is baffled, he never quite knew what to do in this kind of situation.

"Shh, I've got you now love," he's whispering soothing words, trying to get you to find some ease.

"I can't do it anymore," you're saying between loud breaths, whimpered sobs heaving their way past your lips. Complete nonsense and lost insecurities spilling from your lips.

"You don't have to, I will," Sirius claimed, meaning every word. He kept reassuring you with kind words, guiding you through a good cry.

"I don't want you to break up with me," you're sobbing to him, pulling your head back to look up. Your eyes are red, hair sticking to your teary face. You look like an absolute mess, but Sirius can't find you any more prettier.

"I'm not going to break up with you, never ever. I'm gonna marry you and keep you forever," Sirius made sure to make his voice affirming. His eyes are serious as he holds your face in his hands.

"Come on love, take a few deep breaths for me?" He asks, mimicking his own breath to guide yours. You let out another sob.

"I'm so pathetic Sirius," you say, tears still leaking their way down your face. Your hands shake while leaving his shirt as you place them over his hands.

"No, everyone's allowed to have feelings, love. Your not pathetic, your human," Sirius explained, biting his lip to stop himself from crying as well.

He brings you to his chest again, holding you close to him. You let out fresh tears for a few more moments, the wave of feelings washing away. You pull back, wiping your face with your sleeves.

"I'm okay," you tell him, Sirius smiled at your words. You take a long breath, calming down quickly.

"Come on, I'll clean you up? Then we can go to breakfast and get some food in 'ya" Sirius plans out, helping you to your feet.

He sits you down on the closed toilet seat, you lean back against the tank, completely exhausted.

Sirius brings a wet cloth to your face, gently rubbing it against your raw skin. The feeling is nice, you subconsciously lean into it. After he completely cleans your face, he's dabbing a fluffy towel to dry you.

"Hear, give me your hands," he says, though he grabs your hands in his. He pulls the wet cloth along them, cleaning your fingers and palm. He moves on to your other one, doing the same.

Again, he drys them with the towel. You let out a heavy breath, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sirius picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He walks you to your bed, being careful as he sets you down on the mattress.

"Let's get you dress 'ay?" He says, opening your trunk as he pushes through clothing. He picks out a white blouse and your house tie then takes out your shortest skirt.

"Sirius, not that one!" You complain, tossing it back to him.

"Oh come on! Why have it if your not gonna wear it?" Sirius whines, picking out another skirt that's slightly longer. You roll your eyes, feeling better than you had a few minutes ago.

"Because! That skirt is for your eyes only," you explain, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We could stay in today, play sick," he suggests, you throw a pillow at him. He laughs, putting his hands, mimicking a surrender.

"Okay okay!" He yells, catching the next pillow you throw at him. He throws the pillows back onto your bed.

"Alright, want me to dress you?" Sirius asked, you nod at his question. Sirius quickly dressed you, making sure to flatten out your outfit. He pulls you to the mirror.

"I love having a pretty girlfriend," Sirius whispered, standing behind you. You roll your eyes but feel heat cross your face. His hands slide around your waist, resting his head on top of your shoulder.

"I love having a handsome boyfriend," you say back, he smiles instantly. He spins you around, doing a small dance as you get to the door.

"Ready to go?" He asks, his hand never leaving your waist.

"Can I wear your jumper?" You asked, still a bit exhausted. Sirius smiled brighter, completely adoring your question.

"Of course, anything for the love of my life," Sirius beamed, pulling away from you. He takes his jumper off his body quickly, pulling the warm wool over your arms. He fixes it, straightening it out.

"Thank you, now I'm ready," You say, pushing your fingers between his. He squeezes your hand, a wet kiss getting placed on your cheek.

"Perfect! Let's go, my love," Sirius says, opening the door wide. He lets you out first, before taking the lead with your hand in his.

You feel warm and fuzzy as you leave your dorm with Sirius. He talks your ear off, glancing back at you as he leads the way. You only fixate on him, a small tired smile against your features.

#sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black headcanon #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black blurb #sirius black oneshot #marauder x reader #marauder x you

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

Note

bed bargain for satine and obi-wan maybe?? 😍

bed bargain: [Obi-Wan] won’t stay in bed. [Satine] convinces them. (from these prompts)

Obi-Wan groans from his desk as knuckles rap against the other side of the door. It’s Anakin, no doubt, come to question him on the events of the day. There’s no confusion on exactly what Anakin will be wanting to know.

Girlfriend. A ridiculous accusation and just something to get under Obi-Wan’s skin. The trouble is Anakin’s always been far too good at that and Obi-Wan let it get to him today.

He’s in severe need of a break. But Death Watch seems to be a larger issue than the Council had thought and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

The knocking continues.

He sighs deeply and pushes away from the desk. As he stands, there’s a rush of hot fuzziness that fills the space behind his eyes. But he blinks and it’s gone. Yet another side effect of the long day, apparently. To accompany the dizziness that has developed in the past hour.

The knocking is louder. More hurried.

Definitely Anakin.

“I’m coming!” he yells, making his way to the door. “Honestly, all these years and you have learned nothing of patience—“

He stops as the door slides open.

“You would be amazed at the patience I have developed, actually.”

“Duchess,” he says stiffly.

Her lips twitch into a frown, but flatten back out into a thin line. “Hello.”

“It’s late.”

“Yet you are still awake.”

He casts a quick glance behind him, but the movement is too quick. The room spins and his hand reaches out, blindly. He finds the edge of the door and grips it.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, turning back around to find that her eyes are fixed on his hand, clinging to the door.

She looks back up. “I assumed as much. Before tomorrow, when the Republic will undoubtedly take your words and twist them until I am the villain they are apparently so desperate for,” – she ignores his scoff – “I wanted us to try and get on the same page.”

“We have never quite managed to achieve that, my dear,” he says.

Her frown deepens as she studies him. “Not for lack of trying.”

He clears his throat. “Is this something we could discuss in the morning? I still have–”

“No,” she says, and pushes past him into the room. “Now is good.”

“For you,” he grumbles, but allows the door to slide closed. He turns and follows her in the room. She sits on the sofa easily, as if this is the most normal thing. “I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for the luxurious accommodations. Anakin hasn’t stopped talking about–”

“He’s not what I expected.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He wants to sit, but can’t bring himself to join her on the couch. So he hovers. “Pardon?”

“Your student. He idolises you, clearly. When you used to call and tell me of him–”

“That was a very long time ago,” he says quickly.

“Yes,” she agrees quietly. Her eyes move to the floor between them. “It was.”

His visions swims and he can’t determine whether it’s exhaustion or a response to the lowness of her tone. The unopened nook of hurt and betrayal that she clearly feels, though he can’t understand why.

But then–that’s not true either. It’s just what he’s told himself for the past ten years, to avoid the habitual pain he was putting himself through for so long. Constantly comming her–and thinking about her in the meantime. Something had to give if he was to honour his commitment to the Jedi and his commitment to Anakin.

He drops to the couch next to her. “I was lost.”

“I know,” she says softly. “But you also didn’t want to be found.”

“I needed to…” he frowns, looking for the words. It’s painful revisiting this part of his life, immediately after Qui-Gon’s death, when everything was overwhelming and nothing felt right. “Needed to figure it out.”

“No,” she says, but there’s no chastisement in her voice. “Not by yourself.”

“Yes,” he insists. “I–”

“My dear Obi-Wan,” she says. Fixes him with those eyes that have seen too much of the galaxy and too much of him. There’s too much compassion that he doesn’t feel particularly deserving of. “Accepting help is not a crime.”

He shuts his eyes, but it does nothing to stop the pounding in his head or the pain in his chest.

“Obi-Wan?” she says, her tone sharper than it was before. Then– “Obi-Wan!”

“I’m all right,” he manages, opening his eyes as the wave of nausea passes. He pulls a weak smile. “Sorry. I just–”

She fixes him with a hard stare. “You’re ill.”

“I’m not ill,” he scoffs.

She lifts her hand and rests it on his forehead. Doesn’t let him pull away. “Stubborn as always.”

Since she’s not letting him move away, he figures there’s no real harm in leaning into her a bit. “You have no experience with that.”

Satine laughs loudly and lets her hand fall to his cheek. They watch each other for a moment and Obi-Wan wonders if she sees the wayward young padawan the way he sees the headstrong young duchess. So much has changed, in the galaxy and between them, but beyond the light wrinkles (which he’d never point out, obviously) and thinner face, it’s the same eyes blinking back at him. He’s thankful for something consistent.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for not holding it against me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she hums. Her hand falls to the place on the couch between them. She moves it so that it rests over his.

He rolls his eyes at her snark, but turns his hand over under hers. Links their fingers together. “When Qui-Gon died. You were so…” A deep sigh. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I didn’t do anything, my dear. You–”

“Exactly. You just listened. Let me talk, grieve, process,” he says. “I needed that. Even though I left...you never…”

She squeezes his hand. “There was never a question of you leaving. I knew it was coming–and I wasn’t angry. You had to return to the Jedi. I...I had a system to lead.”

“But even so. When I sought your help–”

“I’ll always be there for you, my dear.”

His gut twists over. “I don’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” she says, nodding. Then, lifts their interlinked hands up and drops the lightest of kisses on the back of his palm. “You deserve so much more. More than this harsh galaxy will ever be able to repay you, I fear.”

“With Anakin. And...everything. I was overwhelmed. I was...I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean to lose you, too.”

She smiles at him. “You didn’t.” Kisses his hand again. “And you never will.” She stands from the couch, then, pulling him up along with her. The motion jars him, and he has to grip her shoulder to stay upright. She looks him up and down with a frown. “I believe it’s time for bed for you, darling.”

He pulls away as well as he can. Grounds his feet and takes a breath. “No. I have to finish–”

“Obi-Wan,” she says firmly. “Bed.”

“I have work to do. Death Watch. They...I need to keep you safe. Need to–”

“As the ruler of this world, I order you to go to bed.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth opens, then closes. “You can’t,” – he frowns at the floor for a moment, then smiles victoriously – “I have diplomatic immunity!”

“This isn’t the Republic,” she reminds him. “And if you remember–I’m particularly stubborn.” She begins to guide him toward the bed, even as he struggles against her. “Oh, honestly, Obi-Wan. Stop being such a child.”

“Stop treating me like one!” he cries, then stops walking abruptly as the room begins to spin again. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and takes a shuddery breath. This bout of dizziness lasts longer than the ones before and it takes him an extra moment to gather himself.

A light hand is at his back immediately, rubbing small circles. For some reason, the motion cracks his resolve.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, scared of how broken he sounds. “When I do...it’s just nightmares. Images, memories–”

“I’ll stay,” she says, and wraps an arm around his waist.

“That’s highly inappropriate,” he says immediately in response because it’s what he’s supposed to say. And Obi-Wan Kenobi has grown very good at saying what he’s supposed to say. If the Council were to catch wind of this. A Jedi Master sharing a bed with a Duchess–

She lifts an eyebrow and his face reddens. Because he knows she’s remembering what he’s remembering. How unconcerned he was with what was appropriate once upon a time. He’s lost the padawan braid since then, though, and she’s gained a system of planets. It’s not the same.

“I’ll only stay until you fall asleep,” she says, saving him from further embarrassment.

Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to admit his disappointment, so he just nods, and sheds his outer robe. She watches as he kicks off his boots and sets them in the corner of the room. Watches as he unties his belt and drapes it over a chair. When he finally makes his way toward the bed, she is waiting for him, standing with her arms crossed and a patient expression.

“Are you quite done?” she says, and her lips quirk up at the corners.

He doesn’t respond. Only rolls his eyes and slides beneath the sheets. She pulls back the other side in a much more graceful manner, making sure her long dress doesn’t get wrapped around her. She’s always had such a talent for making the mundane look like a dance. He tries not to stare; it’s hard.

There is at least a foot of space between them in the bed and neither makes a move to close it.

“You didn’t use to sleep with so many clothes on,” she says after a moment of silence.

“Neither did you.”

She makes a sound of indignation, then sighs. “Touché.”

He chuckles and reaches for her hand, under the sheets. She flinches when he first grabs it and he wonders if this is too much. Physical contact within the confines of a bed. He moves to pull back, but her grip is vice-like. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him, but he’s glad. He’s still having a hard time not staring.

“Thank you,” he says finally.

…

When the sunlight filters through the curtains he never drew closed and wakes him up the next morning, she’s still there.

#my fic #obitine #and just like that...it becomes 2k words HAHA OOPS #throwing this in the q because i'm gonna be out of commission for a few days so who knows when this will pop up on my feed #writing prompts #prompts now closed btw!#q

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doctenwho · 3 years

Text

Talk Me Down

Oof, not me disappearing for like a two months. I’m so sorry! I have the attention span of a goldfish and I’ve been fandom hopping. I sadly hyperfocus in and out, and then I’m back (currently stuck on Prodigal Son again, if anyone’s interested!). D: Still working on the prompts in waiting, if I haven’t gotten around to yours yet!

Anywho! Thank you so much for the prompt! It was a lot of fun to work on, and I’m sorry it took so long! Hopefully this was what you were looking for, I thought it was pretty fluffy!

Warnings: Panic/ Anxiety attacks, light angst

Word Count: 2,731 (Sorry it’s a bit short!)

Summary: Read the prompt above!

(Gif is not mine! All credit goes to the creator! :D)

You hated when you and the Doctor would get separated. It always filled you with a sense of dread. You knew he didn’t mean it—he'd never try to intentionally hurt you, but the two of you always somehow broke apart.

It wasn’t as bad when you were on earth—defeating whichever alien decided that earth and humanity was an easy target—but in space, when the Doctor would get carried away and leave you to fend for yourself like he tended to do with companions, you always felt like you were suffocating whenever he did that.

You loved travelling with him, and you were confident in your ability to fend for yourself, but you were just filled with a sinking feeling of doubt whenever he’d leave you alone on a planet you didn’t know.

Today was no different than any other day.

Then any other adventure.

You couldn’t for the life of you remember which planet the Doctor had been raving about when he’d landed the TARDIS. You’d followed along like you always did, excited for the adventure, but with that small inkling of doubt in the back of your mind.

He’d taken your hand with a wide smile and led you along. He talked your ear off, telling you of the planet’s history, the inhabitants. His personal favorites about the planet. You liked listening to him, listening to him ramble and gesture enthusiastically about what interested him.

And then you were running.

You were starting to think that there wasn’t a place in the universe where the Doctor wasn’t at least one person’s target. Where he hadn’t accidentally wronged someone.

He’d dragged you along by your hand before you’d come to a fork in the road. He’d looked both directions calculatingly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before chancing a glance back at you. Then, his eyes seemed to go through you and to whomever happened to be chasing you, which seemed to make some sort of decision for him if the way his eyes hardened was anything to go off.

His hand broke away from yours, and then he was giving you the slightest push towards one side of the fork with flustered order of “Go!” falling from his lips as he turned hurriedly and shot down the other road.

Your feet moved on autopilot as you sprinted down the path he’d directed you towards, instantly missing the warmth and comfort of the Doctor’s hand in your own. You weren’t sure how long you continued down the road. How long you ran—how far you got.

You were sure no one was chasing you. You couldn’t hear any other sounds besides your own feet pounding along the gravel, and you heart thrumming in your chest in both exertion and anxiety.

They wanted the Doctor, not you. Whatever it was the man had done to wrong these people, it had been long before you’d started travelling with him. Long before you’d even met the man.

That still didn’t stop the clawing worry in your stomach. Was the Doctor okay? Would he come find you? Would he find you?

What if he wasn’t okay? What if you’d be stranded here forever? Not only did you not think you’d ever be able to make it back to the TARDIS, but there was absolutely no way you’d be able to get her to fly even if you did somehow make it back.

You weren’t a Timelord. The TARDIS wouldn’t fly for you, even if you tried.

You’d be stranded here.

Somewhere deep in the back of your mind a tiny voice was whispering to trust the Doctor. He hadn’t gotten the two of you into any serious danger yet. He took care of you, and you’d never been injured beyond bruises and scrapes. He always came for you. Always found you and swept you back into the TARDIS and far away from the threat.

He’d always taken care of you--

But the larger, louder calling in your head shouted your fears. He wouldn’t find you. He was dead. They’d captured him. You were alone. Alone on a planet you didn’t even know the name of. You’d never see the Doctor again. You’d never see your friends and family, or planet again.

You were stranded.

Your movements slowed, and before you could fight to keep yourself up, your knees buckled under you. You fell to the dirty road below; your knees and hands scraping on the gravel.

You were stuck here. On this strange planet. Without the Doctor.

Alone.

You crawled to the side of the road, hiding yourself the best you could manage in a bush of some sort. It dug uncomfortably into your body, but you couldn’t be bothered. What did it matter?

A gaspy cry fell from you lips as you coiled in on yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as you buried your face in the fabric of your pants. It was a sinking feeling of loneliness—fear of the unknown environment.

You could barely force in any air. It felt like you were dying. This was it. You were going to die of lack of oxygen—which was weird considering the Doctor had told you this planet had the same atmosphere as earth. There was plenty of oxygen, but you couldn’t manage to suck any in.

You struggled for each gasp of air you got.

Your head was an uncomfortable mix of lightheadedness and pounding headache, and you were sure you were crying. Tears slipping down your cheeks as your thoughts consumed you. The bigger, louder voice washing over the tiny pleading one like a title wave.

How were you going to make it out of this? How would you survive this strange alien planet without the Doctor by your side? Your fingers subconsciously dug into your forearms where they were wrapped around your legs, holding your knees snug against you.

“(Y/N)!” You heard, but it sounded far away. Far away and drown out. Why did it feel like you were underwater? You struggled to suck in another breath as a foreign touch settled on your hand, curling to just slightly grip around yours, “you need to take a breath, c’mon, deep in...”

You tried to steady your thoughts, taking a stuttery intake of air like the voice suggested, and it was quick to cool your lungs down. That suffocating feeling eased the slightest amount. The soft voice talking you through this was steadying you—anchoring you back, “good, good, my dear, now out? You’re doing perfect.”

It took a second before you let yourself blow out the air in your lungs, “perfect,” the voice told you, soft and comforting, “very good, another one? Nice and slow, alright? Breath with me, in and out.”

You sucked in another breath, waited for the hand around yours to tighten just the slightest before blowing that breath out too. Now that you could breathe through the mist of anxiety, you were desperate to pull in more air. You weren’t sure how long you’d been lost—unsure how long you’d gone without a decent breath.

“Good,” the voice whispered lowly as a second hand settled on your forearm, thumb rubbing softly along your arm, “you’re doing brilliantly, (Y/N). Come back to me now, alright?”

You weren’t sure where you’d gone, but you’d try for the voice.

You forced your eyes open, unsure when you’d really shut them. You couldn’t remember squeezing them shut, but it was almost a relief when you let your face relax. You continued with the deep breaths, replaying the words that had been spoken to you in your head—in and out.

Before you, dropped in a panicked kneel, was the Doctor. He looked out of breath, and frantic. Worried eyes searching your face for... you weren’t sure what he was looking so intently for. The worry didn’t look quite right on the usually so confident and narcissistic man.

It was definitely the Doctor though.

“Doctor?” you wheezed out, uncoiling just enough to settle a hand on his chest to test if he was real or not. You hand flattened against him, and then one of his hands was pulling away from you to settle over top of your hand.

“I’m here,” he promised, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I’m here now. You’re alright.”

You let yourself fall forwards into him with the confirmation that it was him. That the Doctor was real before you. Alive. Here. You weren’t stranded. You weren’t alone anymore. A rush of that suffocating separation anxiety flowed out with your next heaving breath.

You buried your face in his suit jacket as his arms wrapped tightly around you, “keep breathing, love, alright? Deep breaths for me.”

It was easier to suck in the breaths with the Doctor in close proximity. Even if it really should be harder to get any air through his clothes. You managed to wrap your arms around him too, holding him close.

The two of you were at an awkward angle, the Doctor still on his knees in front of you, and you in an awkward mess of desperate limbs. Neither of you seemed to mind the odd position much. The longer you sat, the stiffer you got, but it was the furthest thing from your mind.

“You’re doing so good,” the Doctor whispered into your hair, “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

“You’re okay,” you whimpered out against his jacket.

“I am,” the Doctor agreed tenderly, “it was a misunderstanding. I’m okay, and you’re okay. We’re both okay, alright? Deep breaths.”

You just curled yourself in closer to him, afraid that you’d lose him if you let go. Your thoughts still ran rampant in your head, anxious and panicked, but the longer you forced in breaths, and sat in the Doctor’s arms with his hands trailing along your back and petting down your hair, the more everything eased away.

The Doctor didn’t say much else as you slowly calmed down in his arms. With your breaths finally starting to even out, he didn’t keep reminding you. But whenever you slowed, or swallowed a shallow intake, he’d calmly remind you again.

You didn’t know how long the two of you sat there on the ground, on some planet you didn’t even remember the name of. The Doctor made no move to get up, to move, and to speak until you’d calmed. Until you were okay, and breath steadily.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor told you once more, his chin settled on the top of your head as he held you close.

“What for?” You finally asked when it no longer felt like you were fighting for every breath. His heart beats below your ear calmed you down, focused your attention. Reminded you he was here. That even if your head was telling you that you were alone, that you definitely weren’t.

“We shouldn’t have split up,” the Doctor told you, “I should’ve kept you with me, but I needed you to be safe, and I knew they were after me, and not you, so I sent you away.”

“I thought you were gone,” you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing another breath just because you could, “I thought you were gone, and I didn’t know where I was. I... I thought I’d be stuck here forever. I was alone.”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your head, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. We should’ve stayed together. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). It was stupid, I know you’re different from other companions, and I still thrusted you into something that made you uncomfortable. I just needed you to be okay.”

“I’m okay,” you breathed out, but you weren’t sure if that was his sake, or a reminder for yourself. You’d never had a panic attack quite as heavy. Never one that broke you down like this one had.

“You’re okay,” the Doctor repeated, tightening his hold. You didn’t know if he really believed your words—his tone was pretty neutral. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. I’ll always come for you okay?”

“Okay,” you swallowed, letting your forehead settle against his chest.

“Think you’re okay to stand? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No,” you shook you head, pulling away enough to look up at the Doctor, “I’m okay... you were right, no one came after me. I... I just, I tripped, I think.”

You pulled your hands away to look down at them, frowning at the scratches from the gravel. The Doctor took your hands into his own, leaning away just enough to look down at your palms. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you told him with a small laugh that didn’t sound quite right. Not as okay as you’d hoped it would’ve. You ignored the kicked-puppy look the Doctor shot in your direction as you pushed yourself up, using the Doctor’s shoulder as support before offering a hand to help him up too.

It wasn’t his fault—he'd been protecting you. You’d always been a bit clingy anyways. The separation anxiety wasn’t new either—you'd just... never expected it could get so much worse on a planet that wasn’t your own. Being alone on a planet that you didn’t know; one not even in your own galaxy had hit you harder than ever.

The Doctor took your offered hand, accepting the help up, but he didn’t look convinced by your words.

The need to not let go was clearly just as evident in him as it was in you. You went to pull you hand back after he was standing, but he didn’t let up his grip. You didn’t mind though, just squeezing his hand in return.

He pulled you closer by your hand, only letting go when you were close enough to wrap his arms around. This hug was a lot more comfortable, standing instead of whatever odd sitting thing you’d been doing before. You could push closer, and he held you tighter.

You tucked in against his body much easier.

You melted into the embrace, letting him hold you. You weren’t sure if it was for your sake at this point, or his own, but you didn’t question it. Whether for him, or for you, it was a tenderness you needed right now. Comfort and protection from the Doctor.

“You scared me,” the Doctor whispered against your head.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you murmured.

He pulled back enough to cup your face in his hands, thumbs trailing under your eyes with a feathery touch, wiping away the tear tracks with a frown, “I didn’t think my plan through, and it put you at risk, even if it wasn’t my intention. The need to make sure you were safe was stronger than the logic that you don’t know this planet. That I was pushing you into the unknown.”

“I know you were trying to protect me, I just...”

“Not the right way,” the Doctor decided. You felt him gave a light shake of his head, “it’s not protecting you if it manifests like this, (Y/N). It was the wrong choice because you panicked, because of me. I won’t do that again, I assure you.”

“No more splitting up?” You tilted your head at him. It made you feel very clingy, and you were sure your voice sounded more relieved than you would’ve liked, but the Doctor just gave you a tiny smile, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“No,” he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, “no more splitting up—especially not on planets you don’t know. I can’t promise we’ll never get separated again, but I can promise I’ll always keep you safe, and I’ll always find you again.”

“I know,” you swallowed, nuzzling up against him and pulling him back into a tight hug. “I trust you.”

“I’m glad,” you could hear the playful smile in the Doctor’s voice, “now, what do you say we head back to the TARDIS and get off this planet. We can clean your hands up too.”

“Sounds good,” you returned the small smile. You wiped your hands against your pants halfheartedly.

The Doctor wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side easily. You curled in close, pressing the side of your face against his side. His thumb swept along your shoulder, arm keeping to tight and sheltered against him.

Protective, but comforting all the same.Comforting to the both of you.

<><><><>

Heyy! Thanks for taking the time to read this! I hoped you liked it! As always, if it wasn’t what you were looking for, feel free to prompt me again!

Hopefully the anxiety/panic attack was realistic enough, I’ve only got me to go off, but I know it’s different for everyone! Also, alternative title suggestions would be appreciated if you’ve got one!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #ten #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #dw #doctor who 2005 #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #TARDIS #writing prompt #writing requests

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sunsetmists · 3 years

Note

Can you do a scenario where satan and mc get sucked into a book together? pls and thank u

You had been several chapters into your reading of the Princess Bride when Satan flicked that fate-stained page, and let something wicked loose. The air had left your lungs as the room crumbled all around you. A vortex of wind, and sea-salt swept breezes poured outward from the ink which marred the page, and it took hold of you both, and dragged you within. The first thing you hear is laughter. Your eyelids give way to a vast darkness; stars flickering far more brightly in the sky than they ever had before. They were uncountable, only a milky whorl of light. Crinkling your nose, the scent of burning wood, and embers flood your senses. Twisting where you lay, you can make out three figures. One, which was the source of the hearty laughter was far larger than the other two. Another held curls which waterfalled down their back, and the last was impossibly small. As you try to push yourself onto your feet, you discover that your hands have been bound behind your back. Though you struggle against the bonds, they do not give. "What is this?" you shout, voice raising over the embers. The three figures turn towards you, and the smallest speaks: "Now, now, save your energy, sweetheart." he sneered. Squinting, you can just barely make out their faces for the first time. The largest seems almost hauntingly familiar to you, and without thinking, you ask: "Fezzik?" the enormous man tilts his head to one side, but it is the smallest which speaks again: "That oaf isn't going to help you." he remarked, with a laugh. If that was Fezzik, then... All of a sudden, a voice calls out through the darkness: "Avast ye' fiends!" through the film of embers, and smoke, you can make out a figure dressed in all black, with a mask obscuring his features. “What is all this now?” the man with the waterfall hair, Inigo, asked- his hand moving to the handle of his blade. From where he was standing atop a rock, the man in black announced: “I believe you foul men have something that doesn’t belong to you.” the edges of his lips turned up into a smile. “And I- the Dread Pirate Roberts have come to reclaim it!” his smile grew ever wider, and under his breath he muttered: “I’ve always wanted to do that.” the small man, Vizzini, shook his head, and then barked an order: “Deal with him.” to which Inigo rose from his place atop a log, unsheathing his weapon as he approached the man in black. As the pair shared words, and their blades began to sing against one another, you struggled against your binds- shifting over the sand until Fezzik thundered over, and lifted you up into his big, calloused hands. “Up we go.” he murmured, carrying you as one would carry a princess. Struggling within his grip, you raised yourself up over one shoulder, and looked back on the ongoing fight. From between crossed blades, the man in black met yours eyes with his own, which were a startling green: “Don’t worry.” he called, lips turned up one side of his face in a half-smile: “I’ll come for you!” it was as you looked into his eyes that your own widened. “Satan?” you screamed, digging your nails into the giant’s back as you tried to wrangle yourself free from his grasp. Only, it was all in vain, and the clashing swordsmen slowly faded out of sight. The night was drawing long, now, and you could see the sun cresting just over the horizon- gentle rays clearing what appeared to be the top of a mountainside. It was nearly an hour later before you saw a shadowy figure trailing just paces behind you. You parted your lips to speak when Satan beat you to it: “You haven’t gotten rid of me yet!” a hand on one hip, he beamed from ear to ear. The giant, Fezzik, slowly turned to face the man in black: “You haven’t given up yet.” he remarked, and Satan shook his head: “How could I give up when you have the most irreplaceable person in all the realms?” you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Something seemed to shift in Fezzik’s demeanor as he regarded the man in black, and slowly, he placed you down onto the ground. You had begun to hurry towards Satan when small hand made its way around your waist: “Now, now, you aren’t going anywhere.” Vizzini smile, leading you away from the pair. As you looked backward, you caught sight of Fezzik slamming his meaty fist down onto Satan’s shoulder, and a horrendous crack sounded throughout the mountaintop. Instinctively, you gasped, but as Satan rolled to one side, clutching his arm, you heard him say: “You should really know better than to cross a pirate.” You didn’t have the chance to see what happened next because Vizzini had begun to pull you down the slope of a hill where it bottomed out into a valley. Wildflowers sprouted up from deep within the dirt, and with one, solid push, Vizzini threw you to the ground. You coughed as a rock hit the center of your chest, dust rising on the air in front of you as the small man began to tighten your bindings. With another motion, he laced a swath of fabric over your mouth, preventing you from opening it. The sun had risen higher, now. Nearby, you could see Vizzini rummaging within a bag. A moment later, before you could even grasp a hold of your surroundings, Satan began to barrel down the slope. “It’s time to give it up.” he called, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath- sword in the devil’s grip as he approached. Vizzini paused his rummaging to raise both of his hands: “I am no threat to you, that much is obvious.” he began, and Satan raised an eyebrow. “Still, I can’t just let you take them.” the little man continued, gesturing with one raised hand towards where you lay. “So what do you intend to do?” the man in black asked, holding the blade towards Vizzini. This is when the small man lowered his hands, slowly, and pulled a pair of goblets out of his bag. Placing them down upon a flattened stone, he then retrieved a cask of wine. “I propose a game.” he began, pouring a bit of wine into each goblet. Slowly, Satan lowered his sword, and slid it into its sheath. “Within this locket is a sachet of iocane powder, one of the most deadly poisons known to man.” Vizzini tugged at a locket around his neck, and threw it towards the man in black. “You may poison the goblet of your choosing, and then present each to yourself, and I. I will have my choice of one, and you will drink the other. Whoever drinks the poisoned wine loses. Simple enough for you?” the little man raised an eyebrow, a smug smile upon his lips. Protest died on your lips as you squirmed beneath your bindings, and briefly, Satan flicked his gaze to you. Even through that slash of black fabric, you could make out his striking emerald eyes. After a moment of contemplation, Satan returned his gaze to Vizzini: “Very well.” the smile on the short man’s lips grew wider. Taking both goblets in hand, the Devil took them around to his back, certain Vizzini could not see them there, and then deposited the poison. You only wish you could have seen which goblet he had dropped it into. The goblets returned to their places, Vizzini placed both hands on his knees, and regarded Satan’s shrouded face. A moment passed, and then the little man began to speak: “All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet, or his enemy’s? Now-” the words died before they left his lips. Blood bubbled up from the pit of Vizzini’s stomach, the length of a thin blade disappearing into fabric, and flesh as Satan twisted it in his gut. The little man’s eyes widened, for a moment, and his hands desperately clutched at the wound, but it was already too late. “You see, much as I find the prospect of this little game charming, I can’t overlook what you’ve done to my precious cargo.” Satan reached for a goblet, bringing the edge to his lips as he let the tart swill drift down his throat. As he swallowed, he continued: “In fact, it’s made me quite angry.” the words dripped from his lips with a venom that set your skin afire. The devil rose to his feet, dropping the locket and the empty sachet of iocane powder down onto the stone slab. Resting a foot atop Vizzini’s hip, Satan looked down at him with unfeeling eyes, tilting his head to one side. “But don’t think that you would have won with wit, either.” he breathed, wrapping his hand around the handle of his sword. Satan leaned downward, a smile creeping up his lips: “I poisoned both goblets.” he murmured, just before wrenching the sword out of its resting place in Vizzini’s gut. With one, smooth motion, he slid the sword back into its sheath, and for the first time since before the game began, turned his gaze onto you. The corners of Satan’s eyes widened, for a moment, before softening. “A built up immunity to iocane powder does wonders for a man, don’t you think?” he murmured, helping you to your feet before unwinding the knot of the gag at the back of your head. The second you could breathe freely again, you asked: “Did you really have to let it go on for so long?” and Satan only half-laughed, a hand on your cheek as he peered down at you through his mask. “Careful, now, I have half the mind to leave you in your shackles.” he remarked, tugging gently on the rope which bound your hands together. You looked up at the devil with defiant eyes, stumbling a bit forward as he tugged. “I’m only joking.” Satan insisted, working at the knotted mess with careful fingers. In a moment, it gave way, and your wrists were once again free. Only, the second you taste freedom, the sounds of trumpets going off in the distance becomes audible. “What is that?” you ask Satan, jerking your gaze towards a small company of horsemen, galloping down the hill. Following your gaze, Satan sighs: “That’s Prince Humperdink, your would-be husband.” he offered, grabbing a hold of your wrist. “You’re joking.” you reply with an incredulous expression, but the rush with which he hurries you forward, towards the wood, affirms his seriousness. “Where are we going?” you ask, casting a glance backward as the group grows closer. “The Fire Swamps.” Satan replied, leading the way through shrubbery, and foliage. Thorns dug their way into the fabric of your clothes, tearing at your cheek, though the devil took the brunt of it all- his arm out in front of him to deflect the branches. Only, as you neared what you thought was a clearing, Satan came to an abrupt stop. Catching yourself on his arm, you peer down to find that the forest floor breaks off into a deep ravine. “What are we-” you began, but Satan broke your chain of words: “You need to push me.” he explained. “Push you? What are you--” the sounds of footsteps in the distance grow louder, but it is the abruptness of Satan’s lips upon yours that silences your voice. Your eyes grow wide at the edges, and his gentle hand lifts your chin. The feeling of his lips against yours is faint, and feverish; flush with the breathy heat of the chase as they melt against you. Instinctively, you move to push him off of you- your hands colliding with his chest as his feet push off of the edge of the cliff, and the ground disappears beneath him. “Not now-” you begin, only to realize what you have done. Branches catch and snare on Satan’s clothes as he tumbles down the slope of the ravine, and from within its belly, he calls: “As you wish.” his voice echoes throughout the ravine, and guilt brewing in your chest, you slip down the edge just the same, and begin the descent. The world collapses around you; twigs, dirt, and rock all fading into one violent blur which batters you over, and over again. When you reach the bottom, the air is knocked clean out of your lungs, but the ground beneath you feels oddly soft. A groan sounds just beneath your chest, and pushing up, you realize you’ve landed atop the fool who first got you into this mess. “You’re really an idiot, you know.” you remark, and Satan lets out a pained laugh. “Of all the things people have ever thought of me- idiot was never one of them.” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. In that instant, the unruly spell which had bound the both of you to the pages of that book unwound itself, and your surroundings melted away.

#obey me x reader #obey me #satan x reader #the princess bride

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broadstbroskis · 3 years

Text

the wedding date | morgan rielly

a/n: well first things first, i’m gonna give a shoutout to myself, because i started this fucking thing back in august and it’s finally completed (that’s right, it took me 7 months to write just under 5k, shhh, it finally came together).

anyway, since i started this back in august, you can tell i’ve had this idea for a while. it’s morphed and changed a bit but the basic premise has stayed the same- you go home with morgan for a wedding and everyone thinks that you’re the girl he’s been dating for the last few years- so i hope you all enjoy! (also i’m sorry i suck at titles but like i’m not)

a special shoutout to these lovely people who have listened to me whine about this at any point over the last SEVEN MONTHS and some fellow mo lovers because you’re all amazing and i love you, @denis-scorianov, @brockadoodles, @danglesnipecelly, @laurenairay, @hockeyboysiguess

-----

When Morgan approaches you, with what you’ll later learn is only his first attempt to ask you something, you don’t even give him the chance, really. “Hey, what are you doing this summer?”

“Not you.” You quip back, grinning cheekily, ignoring the barks of laughter from Matthews and Marner beside him.

“Haha.” Morgan deadpans, but it’s busy that night at the bar, Saturday night after a Leafs win, and you’ve really got to get back to work now that you’ve finished serving them, so you’re already walking away from him.

The second time it happens is a Friday night, a few weeks later, when you’re out with some friends for the first time all semester. It’s late enough that you’re feeling just on the right side of tipsy, you’re drunk enough that you know you’re going to go home with the guy you shouldn’t, and you’re okay with both of those things.

At least, tonight you are. Tomorrow morning will be a different story.

And then, Morgan stops you at the bar. “Hey.”

“Hey!” You grin back...and then it slowly fades as he just hems and haws. “What’s up?”

“I-” He blows out a frustrated groan.

Your eyebrows raise. You’ve known Morgan for years now, since his first season with Leafs had been right about when you started working at the bar for some extra cash after realizing just how expensive school was getting and grad school would be beyond that. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words. “Alright, well if you can’t think of it now, get back to me later, okay?”

“Wait-” He says, so you give him a minute or two, but there’s still nothing.

“Ok, I love you, but this is my one night out before my dissertation is due later this spring.” You tell him, reaching out for a hug. “You have my number and you know where to find me.”

“Ok.” Morgan smiles a little. “Have fun tonight.” And then you slink away from him, back in the direction of your friends, ready to let loose one last time before the craziness sets in.

The night that Morgan finally gets his question out is a quiet one in the middle of the week. He settles himself into the corner, doing his best to be discrete with a hat covering his face. By the time you and your coworker get everyone settled with drinks and you make your way over to him, he’s caught the attention of one older man, who immediately walks back to his girlfriend when you arrive at Morgan’s section of the bar.

“Well finally.” He’s free of all teammates, a rarity but not unheard of, especially this late in the season. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some service around here?”

“Oh sorry!” You tease. “Did I interrupt something here? Did you want me to call that guy back up so you guys could finish up?”

He flattens you with a look. “Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, leaning down against the bar in front of him. You know how much he loves the Toronto fanbase, but as playoffs approach, the fans are becoming more vocal and more forward with their thoughts. “You want another drink?”

He looks down at his glass, contemplates for a minute, and then nods, so you return quickly with a new beer for him and then smile as you watch him take a large gulp of it. “So what’s new?”

“Ehh loaded question.” He says cryptically. You give him a look. “But hey, you’re here on a Wednesday! You done with your...dissertation?” He trails off hesitantly, smiling at himself when you nod.

“Yup. I should know next week if I’m all clear.”

“And then?” He prompts.

“And then you can call me doctor, asshole.” You tease.

“I mean, Dr. Asshole isn’t what I would have gone with as my first choice, but if that’s what you want…”

“Morgan!” You laugh, ducking your head at the lame joke.

He’s grinning when you meet his eyes again, pleased as always that he could make someone laugh. “But seriously, that’s awesome! I’m excited for you.”

“Thanks.” You grin.

“What’s your next step then?”

“Umm I get to start researching infectious diseases for money.” You tell him excitedly, since you’d accepted a job with the University of Toronto’s medical research facilities. “But it doesn’t start until August.”

You’d expected Morgan to tease you about your excitement of infectious disease-something he and his teammates (among many other people you know) have done multiple times before-but instead, he perks up and says, “So you’d be free, on say, the weekend of July 8th?”

“Why?” You ask suspiciously. Experience has told you not to immediately say yes to this.

Morgan sighs. “Look. I need a date for a wedding back home that weekend.”

“And I’m the best you could come up with?”

“Best?” Morgan repeats. “You are funny, you’re pretty, you’re a doctor, all of which, frankly, puts you well out my league.”

“You’re not wrong.” You agree cheerfully, which puts the smile back on Morgan’s face, as you’d hoped. “But that doesn’t explain why you’d need a date to this wedding.”

The smile fades quickly and you wince. “I was supposed to go with Laura.”

You frown. “What happened to Laura?” Last you’d heard, the two of them were solid. Really solid. Headed for a wedding themselves, solid.

“She wasn’t who I thought she was.” He says flatly.

You wince. “I’m sorry, Mo.”

He shrugs. “It’s over and done with now.” You send him a reassuring smile. “So will you come?”

Well, there’s really no way you can say no now and not feel like an asshole. “Sure.”

The grin returns to his face. “Knew you’d come through for me.”

-----

Morgan rolls up to the airport in Vancouver to pick you up in a very fancy looking Jeep, a far cry from the sporty Porsche he drives in Toronto, and you call him out on it immediately. “I see how it is. You go home and you’re a fancy country boy, not a fancy city boy?”

He laughs. “Fuck off.”

“Gladly.” You tell him, grinning teasingly. “Drop me off at departures, will ya?”

His tone immediately turns serious. “Thank you. Seriously. Thanks for coming.”

Your smile remains on your face, still beaming over at him. “It was nothing, Mo.” It wasn’t, really, and you both know it. You’d quit your bar job a couple weeks early because of this, but you were happy to do this for him. He’d been down about Laura, down about being bounced from the playoffs again. This spring had been rough on him and you were more than happy to do your part to cheer up one of your closest friends.

Morgan hmms, in a way like he’s pretending to be casual about it, but he changes the subject as he switches lanes to pull onto the highway.

-----

Morgan has a whole itinerary for the next few days, prior to the wedding, but promises he’ll take you around to some of his favorite spots before you leave late next week. A quiet night tonight, dinner with his parents and brother tomorrow, and then the wedding stuff began the following day.

Much like his fancy Jeep, his fancy house in Vancouver is also nothing like the condo he owns in Toronto. You wouldn’t go so far as to say that his condo is...edgy, but it’s pretty modern? The house here in Vancouver is larger, sure, but reminds you a lot of the house you grew up in...or well, a larger and fancier version of it.

“Gonna give me a tour?” You turn to Morgan, who’s standing next to you almost awkwardly, as you look up at the beautiful house in front of you. Your bags are still in his hands, and you nudge his arm playfully, reaching for one, but he won’t let you grab it, smiling back at you as he starts to lead you in.

The inside is just as nice, and even though it’s clear that his mom and interior decorator have done a lot of work on it, there’s still a lot of Mo touches too. Each one makes you smile, the ones he points out in his tour and the ones that he doesn’t, until he finally leads you upstairs, dropping your things in one of the spare rooms. “Did I-“

“If the next words out of your mouth are say thank you, I’m walking out of this house.” You warn him.

“-ask what you want to do for dinner tonight?” Morgan finishes lamely and you laugh.

“That sushi place you always hype up?”

Morgan smiles. “Anything you want.” He says, and then, instead of the thank you that you know he wants to say, he pulls you in for a hug and squeezes tightly, before letting go. “Change and we’ll go?”

“Shower, change, and we’ll go.” You correct, dying to get the feel of airplane off you. “45 minutes.”

Morgan looks at you knowingly. “Sure, uh huh.” He says, nodding like he knows it’ll be much closer to an hour, an hour and fifteen, and you laugh, shoving at his shoulder before he makes you want to stretch it out to an hour and a half on purpose.

-----

Morgan’s parents might be the nicest people in the world, but they’re also a little...odd? Like, you’re not trying to be mean, because just like Morgan, they truly are the absolute sweetest, but, like, they just keep smiling at you with this knowing smile, like they know something that you don’t and it’s just...weird.

But they welcome you with open arms, when the two of you show up to dinner on your second night in town, hugging you just as tightly as they hug their own son, maybe even tighter than they hug the son who still lives in the same province as them.

“We’re so excited to finally meet you!” Morgan’s mom gushes, once you get settled in their kitchen with a glass of wine, which at least explains the weirdness a little. “

“You guys too.” You admit. You’ve heard so much about them, his parents and brother, over the years of friendship with Morgan; it’s nice to finally put faces to names, to stories. “Thanks for having me tonight.” Next to you, Morgan nudges you, a grin on his face. You can practically hear him. Stop saying thank you, like you’ve been saying to him for the past day.

“Oh stop!” She says, practically in time with his nudge. “Morgan tells us you’re a doctor now!” It’s said with pride, like you may as well be one of her own children who’s done something great.

“Yeah!” You smile, swirling the wine around a little, and then, because you don’t want there to be any confusion. “Not that kind of doctor; you should still call 911 if something happens.”

His dad laughs and his mom beams. “What kind of doctor then?” His dad asks, and you spend a while talking with his parents about epidemiology and your dissertation- his mom, it turns out, works in a similar field, and it isn’t long before the two of you are rolling your eyes about some research that just came out.

“What?” You ask Morgan, laughing, when your conversation breaks out, and she has to go check on dinner, at his dad’s request, before he burns it all entirely.

“I just forgot how excited you get about infectious diseases.”

“Can’t believe you’ve been out here this whole time knowing that your mom and I both exist and haven’t introduced us.” You announce. “The rudeness, the hearsay.”

“I don’t think that’s how that word’s used.” Morgan cackles.

“Oh, sorry, are you a doctor?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with knowing how that word is used!” He protests, laughing.

You ignore him. “If you even think of keeping her from me when they come to Toronto…”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and squeezes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

-----

“Are you ready yet?” Morgan calls, and you take one last look in the mirror on the wall, smoothing the pleats in your dress. “We’re going to be late!”

“But it’s gonna be worth it!” You sing-song as you descend the stairs to meet him in the living room.

“Is it ev-” He cuts off abruptly, eyes wide and swallowing visibly as he cuts off. “Wow, okay then.”

“Worth it.” You wink at him, brushing past him to grab your purse.

Morgan’s laughing as he picks up his keys, this soft and gentle thing that you can’t help but smile at. “Yeah, I should’ve known it would be.”

“You’ll know better for tomorrow!” You tease, and breeze past him to get in the car.

The ride to his cousin’s rehearsal dinner isn’t far, spent mostly laughing as you keep switching the station from anything Morgan changes it back to. By the time you arrive at the restaurant, you’re both giggling as you enter, flagged down almost immediately by Morgan’s mom.

“Look at you two!” She gushes.

“Mom.” Morgan says dryly. “Come on.”

She smiles at him indulgently. “Make sure you say hi to your cousin.”

“Yeah, of course.” Morgan nods, grabbing your hand to pull you away. “Just after we hit the bar.” He mutters and you giggle.

His cousin, the bride, and her husband-to-be seem to have the same idea, and it’s just as you’re turning away, wine glasses in hand, that you nearly run into them.

“Oh!” Ashley beams excitedly, once Morgan introduces you. “Hi!”

“Congratulations!” You return the excitement. She’s so bubbly and bright; it’s easy to do, even though you don’t know her. “You guys look so great tonight; you’re going blow us all away tomorrow.”

“She’s going to blow me away tomorrow.” Dylan jokes, but you can tell by the twinkle in his eye that he’s entirely serious.

“Oh stop.” Ashley knocks his arm. “And you too,” She gestures at you. “You look amazing! How’d you do your hair like that?”

“This?” She nods and you walk her through it quickly; it’s a look that’s so much more simple than it looks and she’s gasping by the time you’re done.

“Ok, mhmm.” She nods. “I’m getting your number from Morgan later so you can go over that with me again because I’m definitely going to forget.”

Morgan flicks a piece of your hair. “It’s a hairstyle, what could you possibly forget?”

You and Ashley exchange a look. “I got you.” You reassure her as you both laugh at him.

“Men, honestly.” She shakes her head, as Morgan and Dylan protest, but then before you and Ashley can talk any more, she and Dylan are being called away, and there’s promises for you all to catch up tomorrow at the wedding.

“You can’t have her phone number unless you promise not to talk about me.” Morgan says.

“Fat chance.” You tell him. “But nice try.”

From there, you start making your way back to his parents, stopping off to chat quickly with relatives he recognizes (and once, ducking purposefully into a small crowd to avoid an aunt he doesn’t want to see). You feel like it shouldn’t be surprising how nice his family is, given how genuine Morgan is, but each person you meet welcomes you so warmly, with kind words and open arms.

“You must talk about me a lot.” You tease, as you two start making your way to your table.

Morgan shrugs. “More than I’d realized apparently.” You cackle and he laughs; it’s familiar and easy, but then you’re easily distracted by the appetizers coming to the table and fighting Morgan for extra of your favorites-also familiar and easy.

-----

It’s another morning of Morgan waiting impatiently for you, being rewarded with his gaping jaw dropped, and teasing him the entire ride to the wedding, before he easily gets his revenge when you tear up at the ceremony.

“You don’t even know these people!” He nudges you forward toward his cousin in the reception line right after the ceremony. “And you’re going to cry like that?”

“It was a beautiful ceremony!” You defend. You’d been right yesterday; Ashley had easily blown everyone away from the moment she’d entered the room. Their vows were incredible; you didn’t understand how anyone wasn’t crying.

Morgan snickers, nudging you forward again. “God, what do you do at weddings you actually know the people at?” He pauses as you both step closer another, like the idea has just come to him. “Oh man, what are going to do at your own wedding?”

“Bawl my eyes out, obviously.” You say dryly. “Tell my future husband to bring tissues.” You move up, next in line for Ashley and Dylan. “You clearly didn’t get the message.”

“What’d you do?” Ashley pokes him; you guess whoever was in front of you was a guest she didn’t know all that well because they’ve moved along pretty quickly.

“Me? I’d never.” Morgan says innocently, ducking down to kiss her cheek.

“I’m just giving him a hard time.” You agree and she grins, shocking you when she pulls you in for a hug.

“He probably deserves it.” She says cheerfully.

“Wow, I see family loyalty goes a long way here, huh.” Morgan deadpans.

Ashley gives him a look. “Not for much longer, I guess, though?” She nudges him.

“Oh I see how it is, you’ve been married for all of five minutes and suddenly Dylan’s family is better than ours?” Morgan teases.

Ashley blinks. “That is...not how I meant that at all.” She says, but before she can say anything else to you, the couple behind the two of you starts sighing impatiently, and you all realize how long you’ve been talking for. You quickly congratulate her and then move along to Dylan as well, before stepping out of line and moving towards the reception area.

The bridal party was quick to get the reception started after the ceremony, so when you and Morgan make your way over, there’s already a decent sized group chatting and drinking. You both grab drinks from the bar and make your way to a group of his cousins, chatting for a while and laughing along as they’re sure to include you in all of their jokes.

When it comes time to start making your way to your table for dinner, you excuse yourself to the bathroom quickly, running into Morgan’s grandmother when you’re there, who had the same idea as you it seems.

She lights up when she sees you fixing your hair in the mirror, stepping up to wash her hands. “It looks great.” She assures you and you smile, thanking her. “Are you having a good time?”

You nod, following her out so the two of you can make your way back to the reception. “Such a good time! Everyone’s been amazing and Ashley and Dylan are beautiful; it’s been a great weekend!”

“It’ll be great to be all be here again,” Morgan’s grandmother smiles at you and you return it politely. “Next summer.” She adds, like an afterthought, and you shrug. She’d know better than you what the upcoming engagements look like. You can barely remember the names of the people you’re seated with tonight.

“If Morgan brings me back then.” You throw her a finger gun and she laughs-loudly.

“Oh, you’re a trip!” She nudges you gently, laughing. “Such a doll. Let’s get another glass of wine together before we go back, shall we?”

“I will never say no to that.” You’re pretty sure you still have a couple minutes to spare before you need to sit down.

His grandmother links arms with you. “My kinda gal.” She beams and her smile is contagious, just like Morgan’s is when he’s really happy, so it’s not hard to grin along with her as she tugs you along for another glass of rosé.

-----

The evening’s winding down- the wedding long over and the after party beginning to do so as well. Almost all of the older relatives have made their way home or to their hotel rooms but there’s a few sloppy cousins and friends still going hard (you’ve got some serious concerns how the one groomsman is even going to make it upstairs). Ashley and Dylan keep stealing glances at each other, like they’re wondering if it’s late enough for them to sneak away yet, but each time they look like they’re going to, someone calls for another toast.

Morgan nudges you. “Hey.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a couple cigars. “Outside with me?”

You think about it for a second. Usually, you love a good cigar-and you’re sure that Morgan’s managed to acquire a good one- but tonight? “Not really in the mood, but I’ll come out.”

He grins, a little crooked, and offers his hand to help you up from the couch the two of you have been sitting on. Outside, the weather is beautiful, one of those crystal clear nights with a light breeze where you feel like you could be outside for hours. He lights the cigar while you continue to sip at your wine, the two of you standing in comfortable silence, until the door opens again.

“Cigars without me?” His brother grumbles. “I see how it is now.”

“Yup, just left you behind on purpose.” Morgan says shamelessly, but he’s already pulling the spare out of his pocket and handing it over.

“Unsurprising.”

“Yeah?” Morgan asks, amusedly. “Why’s that?”

His brother gives him a look, and then, when Morgan doesn’t react, looks over at you, but you just shrug. “Just promise you won’t forget about me once you pop the question.”

You choke on your drink; Morgan looks just as shocked, the cigar halfway to his mouth. “What?” He says finally.

For the first time, his brother looks unsure. “I think...we all just thought...once you brought her home, that was the only thing holding you back?”

“Oh my god.” Morgan says breathlessly.

“I’m not-” You add helplessly. “We’re not-”

“Oh.” His brother winces. “Wait, so you’re not…” He trails off and the silence between the three of you becomes so thick it’s almost palpable. You don’t know what to do, what to say. What he even means. “You’re not together?” He says finally, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else.

You can relate. You shake your head slowly, notice Morgan’s doing the same out of the corner of your eye.

“Um.” His brother continues. “And-and you haven’t been-together?” Another head shake. “Wow. A lot of people are going to be very disappointed.”

“A lot of people?” Morgan repeats. “Who...who all thinks this?” But you don’t need an answer to know and apparently, he doesn’t either. The silence thickens somehow; you didn’t think it was possible.

“Um.” His brother’s already backing away, even as he speaks. “I’m gonna go now. Before I say anything else to make this worse.”

He’s gone before you can tell him you’re not sure that’s possible, leaving you and Morgan in the loudest silence you’ve ever experienced.

It’s abundantly clear Morgan feels it too, from the way he won’t even meet your eyes, will barely even look at you, actually. And there’s so much to say here, but well, “You never brought Laura to meet your family? Never let them meet her at home?” Apparently, they really weren’t as serious as you’d thought.

Morgan laughs hollowly, finally meeting your eyes. “That probably should have been a clue, huh?”

“A little bit of a red flag.” You agree. It’d been how many years? Morgan’s tight with his family, that much you knew before you’d come out here and only became clearer as you met them. “Why...why didn’t you ever introduce them?”

Morgan sighs. “I think-I always knew something wasn’t right. And I just didn’t want to admit it?” He sighs again. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

“You didn’t know.” You tell him gently. “And I wanted to come.” You remind him. “I was happy to!” You pause for a second. “I was happy to come across the country to a wedding with you and your family with barely a second thought. So maybe we both need to re-examine what happened here this weekend.”

“Maybe we don’t.” Morgan says simply.

“What?” You frown, confused.

“You were happy to fly across the country for a wedding with me and my family.” Morgan repeats, with a small smile on his face. “And then you come here and meet my entire family, and they think I’m ready to propose to you, because you're the girl they hear me talk about all the time.” Your jaw drops-is he saying...what you think he’s saying-and his smile grows into a grin. “I think this thing between us has been more than either of us have been able to admit because we’ve had other things going on- school or hockey or-”

“Other girlfriends?” You supply teasingly, when he trails off, like he’s afraid to mention her name.

He nods. “There’ve been other boyfriends, too.” He nudges you, just as teasing.

“There have.” You admit, because it’s not a lie, but none of them have ever worked out, for a variety of reasons, but you can’t help but think, that now that he’s mentioning it, Morgan might have been a part of those other reasons.

He’s back to smiling again when he continues, leaning against you slightly. “I think we owe it to ourselves to see what we could be.”

You lean back against him. “You do, do you?”

“I do.” He nods.

“Little early for that, don’t you think?” It takes a second for your joke to land, but once it does, he cracks up and it brings a smile to your face.

“We are at a wedding.” He grins, nudging you playfully. “Who knows, maybe someday it’ll be ours?”

-----

a bit in the future

It’s one of those beautiful sunny days where the sun is shining with a light breeze where you feel like you could be outside for hours.

Unfortunately, you’ve got a huge project due at the end of the week, so while Morgan’s been enjoying the lake all day, you’ve been sitting at a table on the dock, staring at your laptop, tapping away at your keyboard, and ignoring his increasingly annoying calls for attention.

It’s harder to ignore when he comes up next to you, wrapping his wet arms around your shoulders. “Morgan.” You try to shake him off. “Come on, gimme like ten minutes and then I’ll come in.”

“Promise?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say because if you can get this one last thing done you’ll be ahead of your goal for the day.

It works; Morgan sits down next to you quietly, scrolling through his phone for a bit, and then, jumps up and runs inside the cabin, and you jump on the opportunity of quiet to get ahead even further, losing yourself in your next bit of project.

“Hey,” Morgan says casually, and it scares you a bit, his return far quieter than he’s been all day. “What are you doing the weekend of July 8th?”

“I don’t know, that’s like a year away!.” You snap, turning to tell him to stop annoying you, only for your jaw to drop when you see him down on one knee.

“Want to get married then?” He says, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face, like he’s been waiting for this reaction, like it was everything and more.

“Oh my god! Are you serious?” He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a ring; you gasp. “Morgan!”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes!” Your computer long forgotten in the face of an engagement ring, you throw yourself at Morgan, who catches you easily, like he was prepared for this. He probably was. He knows you better than anyone; he’s your best friend and so much more. He barely manages to slip the ring on your finger before you’re kissing him. “I love you!”

“I love you, too.” He grins. “Are you sure you’re ready to take this jump with me?”

“Of course!” You beam, but it hits you just a minute too late. He’s already jumping in the water. “You’re the worst.” You sputter out at him, purposefully spitting lake water at his face.

He doesn’t even look like he minds. “For better or worse.” He grins.

“That’s not what that’s referring to!” You splash him and he splashes back but before it can devolve into a full on splash attack, he’s pulling you into his arms.

“I mean it though.” He says, kissing you again. “And I’ll tell you again, next summer, at our wedding.”

Our wedding. The words sound almost unreal, too good to be true. “I’ll be the one in white.” You promise. “Or, well, maybe ivory.” You say and it’s hard to kiss Morgan then when he’s laughing so hard.

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly fanfic #morgan rielly imagine #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #my hockey fics

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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 16 (18 Pages)

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Nia spends time with Xander’s team, learning more about aura in the process.

Nia yawns, finally giving up on her book for today and slipping a furret bookmark that Maggie had given her between the pages. No matter how hard Nia tries to focus on the words about different types of Pokémon evolution, the sentences are starting to blur and jumble before her eyes, so she figures it’s time to give it a rest.

She looks up at the two Pokemon lying a few feet away on a mossy rug, comfortably sprawled out in Xander’s team quarters. The luxio and his wartortle partner are playing some sort of game with dice-like stones. Felix is clearly losing, his fluffy ears twitching as he grumbles under his breath. Xander’s cat-like face is smug with victory, his tail flicking side to side with lazy patience.

Avery is sitting at Nia’s side, the two of them relaxing back against the wooden wall on a bed of straw and moss. Nia doesn’t want to disrupt the kirlia’s concentration as they focus on their own book, but the atmosphere is so peaceful and relaxed, bathed in the warm evening sunlight coming through the lattice window, and she can’t help but feel comfortable enough to speak up.

“Can I ask you guys something?”

All three Pokemon look up, faces open and curious.

“‘Course,” Felix says.

Nia smiles, a little embarrassed. “I know your team is just as busy as ours, if not more so. How are you not, like...exhausted? Literally all the time?”

Xander looks back to the game, laughter in his voice as he responds, “Oh trust me, we are. It used to be worse, before we got used to the job and the demanding work hours.”

“Naps help a lot, when you can manage ‘em,” Felix adds, frowning as he rolls the dice. He’s had horrible luck this whole game. At least, that’s what he’s been saying. Nia still hasn’t quite picked up the rules from watching. “You feeling worn down?”

Nia leans back against the wood of the tree. The bark making up the architecture of the tree is smooth, and thanks to her fur it isn’t even uncomfortable to lean against. She closes her eyes and hums.

“Yeah, I guess. I know I’ve been here a few weeks, but I think I’m just not used to everything yet.”

“I’ll never get used to waking up so early,” Felix grumbles. “Mornings are suffering.”

Nia laughs. “Actually, that part’s not too bad. It’s more the battling, I think. And just...I dunno, emotional stuff.”

“Mental exhaustion can take a big toll,” Avery says at her side, voice soft. They close their own book to turn their full attention to the conversation.

“I’d be exhausted too if I had Tobias for a partner,” Felix says. He’s clearly teasing, but Nia knows that on some level the wartortle actually means it. “I don’t know how you put up with him every day, Nia.”

Nia’s torn between a laugh and the urge to roll her eyes. She settles on a light tone to match the wartortle’s. “Come on, I told you we worked everything out the other day. He’s trying harder to be nice.”

Felix and Xander both make a doubtful noise.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Xander says.

“Well, I think it’s great that Tobias is trying to grow,” Avery says, giving Nia a soft smile.

Nia smiles back and leans forward to watch the boys’ game again, cupping her chin in her hands.

“He’s been really patient with all of my questions since we talked,” Nia says, feeling like she should defend her partner somehow. It’s clear that he’s been trying hard to reign in his temper and be more considerate the last few days, even if he still struggles with it. “When we cleaned out the guild’s food storage this morning, he didn’t even snap at me when I bumped into some shelves and buried us in rice.”

Xander snorts. “That’s called being a decent Pokémon, Nia. Don’t give him too much credit.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying he’s doing better, y’know?”

Felix gives Nia a grin, tilting his head in consideration. “You’re too sweet, ya know that?”

Nia doesn’t know what to say to that, so she blushes under her fur and makes a show of moving her book to her side with a quiet word of thanks.

“Yo! I’m back. Did Felix get whooped yet?”

Nia jumps and looks up to see that Kry has returned from her trip to the cafeteria to find a snack. The dinosaur-like pokemon is munching on an apple as she plops down next to Felix and Xander.

“Hey, I could still win,” Felix protests.

“Ha! Yeah, and bagon can fly.”

“You do know they can fly when they evolve, right?”

“Not anymore, genius! No evolution, no wings!”

Felix deflates and grumbles to himself as he goes back to the game. Nia tilts her head and leans closer to Avery.

“S-Sorry. Uh, what kind of Pokémon is Kry again?”

“A fraxure. Dragon type, middle evolution like the rest of us.”

Nia nods. Right. Fraxure. It certainly looks like the aggressive Pokémon could live up to her name and fracture some bones, from the brief interactions Nia’s seen. Kry’s a bit...rough around the edges. But it’s clear she fits right in with the rest of Xander’s team. Somehow.

“What have you been reading, if you don’t mind me asking?” Avery asks, polite as ever.

Nia shakes herself out of her thoughts. “No, of course I don’t mind!” She holds up the book. “It’s about different kinds of evolution? I still don’t exactly, uh. Get it. As a process. But it’s fascinating to learn about all the different ways it’s triggered.”

Avery tilts their head, looking at Nia with thoughtful consideration. “You don’t understand evolution?”

Nia’s ears flatten. “W-Well, uh, no, but—“

“Does evolution not happen to humans?”

It’s clear that Avery isn’t judging Nia’s confusion, just curious in return. Still, Nia is thankful that they keep their voice hushed.

“N-No, definitely not,” Nia says. “At least, not in the same way? I think? When Pokémon evolve, they change...suddenly, right? Like, Xander used to look like Luca and then he suddenly turned into a luxio?”

Avery hums. “More or less, yes.”

“Is...Is that...how Pokémon grow up, uh...physically? By evolving?”

The kirlia shakes their head, eyes softening into something almost sad. “No. If that were the case we’d all be in danger of dying out, with how Pokemon can no longer evolve. Don’t worry, you’re an adult by Pokémon standards, even as a riolu.”

Nia relaxes at the confirmation. With the way everyone has been treating her, she was pretty sure they’d been seeing her as the adult she felt she was in the human world, but it’s still nice to know for sure.

“Pokemon can stay unevolved forever,” Avery goes on. “They’ll grow larger than a child Pokémon of the same species, though, and physically mature. Their...statures would simply be smaller than if they evolved. Weaker.”

Nia nods. That...makes some sense, in a way. Even with humans, there were grown women who ended up much shorter than some teenage boys. Different statures among the same species.

“Humans don’t ever...change so radically. So suddenly. At least not naturally.”

Avery turns curious eyes onto Nia, so the riolu continues.

“We start out tiny, and then just grow gradually until we reach adulthood. We can change parts of ourselves, of course—darken our skin, cut our hair, change our clothes or our entire style. But...that’s not what evolution is for, right? Aesthetics, individuality? Comfort?”

The kirlia hums. “No. Evolution is typically for...strength, I suppose. Increased speed, strength, defense, sheer size.”

“So for battling?” Nia asks, confusion edging into her voice. She knew that Pokémon were more biologically geared towards fighting, with their toughened defense and incredible healing capabilities, but she also knows that most Pokémon don’t seem to prefer fighting aside from playful battles. At least, not anymore. Now they’re bakers, florists, carvers and artisans. A society.

Maybe Avery understands what Nia’s getting at, because the kirlia looks thoughtful. “There’s a reason so many Pokémon evolve through battling experience and so few from exposure to stones, or travel. Most Pokémon evolve by training themselves and growing stronger. Legends say that Pokémon used to be more...primitive. Less civilized. I believe it used to be less about strength and more about survival.”

Nia watches as Felix tries to creep his hand over the dice to cheat a turn of the stones. Xander, discussing strategies in-depth with Kry, doesn’t even look before batting the turtle’s hand away with a paw. Felix yelps, and Nia giggles.

“Maybe that’s why evolution stopped working?” Nia suggests. “Maybe Pokémon have just...evolved to the point that strength evolution isn’t necessary anymore. You’re a society now, after all. You didn’t need to be physically strong to have a lot of power or be successful in the human world. We have systems, laws, protectors. Technology and weapons. Maybe you’ve just reached a point in society where that changed enough for you guys, too.”

Avery suddenly laughs, tinkling and light. Nia isn’t sure whether to feel happy at the sound or embarrassed that she’d apparently said something stupid. She settles for staring at the kirlia with wide eyes and heated fur.

“Apologies,” Avery says, meeting Nia’s eyes, ruby to ruby. “It wasn’t a stupid thought at all. Fascinating, actually. I was just...struck. By finding such a kindred spirit in you. Xander’s the only one who even tries to humor my philosophical ramblings.”

Nia feels herself relax, and laughs as well. “Two curious souls, huh?”

Avery just smiles, warm and soft.

“What’re you two nerds laughing about?” Kry asks.

Nia looks up to see the other three Pokémon staring at them.

Avery waves their hand in a dismissive motion. “My usual ramblings, Kry. Don’t mind us.”

“Talking about evolution!” Nia adds.

At that, Xander and Felix go back to their game with amused smirks. Kry, however, rolls her eyes. “Why? We can’t evolve anyways.”

“But maybe it could be fixed?” Nia suggests. When Kry turns a doubtful look on her, the riolu shrinks back. “I-I mean, maybe not, but...”

“No harm in discussing it, right?” Avery says.

Kry snorts and goes back to the game. “Guess not.”

Nia relaxes. She knows there’s no reason for Kry to put her on edge, but she just has such a...strong personality. Nia’s become more used to Tobias’ sharp attitude, but Kry? Not so much.

“Would you evolve? If you could?”

Nia blinks and turns to Avery at the unexpected question. “W-What?”

"Would you like to evolve if it were possible?” Avery repeats. Maybe this is a normal question for most Pokémon. Or for their teammates and friends, at least.

“U-Um. I don’t know? Maybe?” Nia flicks her tail into her lap, trying to sound confident. “I mean, it doesn’t really matter much to me, since I’m going back to the human world as soon as I can find a way to return, s-so...”

Avery doesn’t respond aside from a soft sound that Nia can’t quite decipher. She’s too afraid to look at the kirlia’s expression, too scared of seeing the pity or doubt she might find there, so she deflects. “Besides, to evolve I’d have to form an affection, um...”

“Bond?”

“Yeah! An affection bond with someone. And from what I’ve read, that doesn’t seem to mean just a casual friendship.”

Avery nods, eyeing their teammates. “Correct. An affection bond that can lead to evolution only occurs between Pokemon who trust each other with anything. Who see each other as they truly are and would likely die for each other.”

Nia flicks her ear, nervously. “Th-That’s a bit, uh. Extreme.”

Avery laughs lightly under their breath. “Indeed. It’s simply how we tend to describe it. It’s...the deepest form of love, whether platonic or romantic.”

Nia nods, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, so...I mean, don’t get me wrong! I’m really glad I met you guys and Andyn’s group and Maggie and, uh, even Tobias, in a weird way. But...”

“You don’t think you’ll ever have that sort of bond with us,” Avery guesses.

Nia flinches. The psychic type’s words aren’t cold or insulted, but it still sounds...harsh.

“Yeah, I guess,” Nia rasps, pulling her knees up to her chest. “It’s just...I’m planning on leaving, you know? I don’t wanna get too close to anyone just to leave us both heartbroken when I go.”

Avery doesn’t answer, but the silence doesn’t feel heavy. Still, Nia rests her chin on her hands, sighing. She wants to go home, nice as it is here, but she still feels bad just leaving these people behind after their kindness.

She’ll miss them.

Maybe Avery picks up on Nia’s mood change, because they turn to the riolu with an encouraging smile. “Xander mentioned that you can read the aura of other Pokemon now. Would you like to try it on me, if it’s not too much strain?”

Nia recognizes the distraction technique, but can’t help feeling grateful for it. She lifts her head, blinking. “R-Really?”

“I’m a psychic type. I know how exciting it is to try out a new mental technique with someone willing.”

Nia straightens up and turns to the kirlia, feeling a smile edge at her lips. It’s not every day she gets to test her aura abilities on someone new! So far she’s only felt Val and Maggie’s auras, and Amani’s blossoming pink during a different training session. “O-Okay. You know it’s pretty, uh…personal, though, right? Like, I’m kind looking at your soul, I think?”

Avery nods with a smile. “I’m aware.”

“J-Just let me know if you want me to stop, okay? I’ll need your hand, though.”

Avery offers a delicate hand.

Nia takes it and closes her eyes, summoning her aura (it gets easier every time she does it!), pouring it down her arm and into her hand, brushing it against the kirlia’s skin to find their aura. When Avery’s silhouette sparks to life behind Nia’s eyes, she laughs. Even without looking deeper towards the core of Avery’s aura, Nia can feel the prickle of their curiosity.

“Your aura’s blue like mine!” Nia explains.

The kirlia laughs too, quietly. “Kindred spirits indeed.”

Nia nods. “Your aura is more of a...purpley-blue, though. Deeper. Kind of indigo.” It feels...serene. Filled with a boundless curiosity and something deeply wise. It’s a dusk sky just as stars begin to shine, a calm evening full of possibilities. It’s actually a little difficult to put her finger on, to interpret the color into a personality, more difficult than it has been so far. Before Nia can go on, Felix’s hushed voice breaks through her concentration.

“That’s so cool!”

Nia jumps, yanking her hand back as the tear drops at her head drop lightly to the collar of fur around her neck. Nia turns to find Xander, Felix, and even Kry sitting close to her and Avery and watching the whole ordeal with fascination.

“Ooh! Can you do me next?” Felix asks excitedly, scooting closer as if she won’t see him there, practically bouncing in his seat.

Xander gives Felix a reprimanding look. “Dude, chill, she might need to rest or something. You know how Avery gets when they’re overworked.”

Before Felix can deflate under the scolding, Nia smiles. “N-No, I can do it, don’t worry. Just give me a second. I’m still learning so it kind of wipes me out, but that’s why I need to practice. You don’t mind me reading your aura? It’s kind of, um. Personal.”

Felix grins at her with shining eyes. “Nah, I don’t mind if it’s not too exhausting for you.”

Nia exchanges an amused look with Avery, then turns her body to Felix. She closes her eyes, holds out her hand for him to take, and then repeats the process of finding her aura, and sending it to where she’s touching the wartortle’s skin.

Felix’s aura flares to life behind Nia’s eyes, and she feels her face drop slack in surprise as the color registers. “Oh. Felix, you’re green.”

The turtle sounds as surprised as his aura feels, the green energy jumping in intensity. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like...a calm, leafy sort of green.” Not calm in the typical sense because the wartortle is certainly not that, but…flexible, she supposes. Purposefully not anxious. Like the changing seasons and the trees that follow them, very go-with-the-flow and easygoing. As unexpectedly sturdy as an oak tree, too. Comforting. It does make sense for the wartortle, in a way, but she has to admit she’s surprised by how deep into his very being his instincts to comfort amuse stabilize go. Oh, he is a very kind soul. A very open, alive soul.

Kry snorts. “Calm. Sure. Clearly you’ve never seen him after being rejected by someone.”

“Hey!” Felix says, indignant.

Nia’s concentration is broken again, and Felix’s hand is yanked away. She blinks back into reality only to sees Kry and Felix play wrestling. Xander rolls his eyes at them, but then looks back at Nia, ears swiveling forward and his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

Oh, she’s breathing harder as her powers take a toll on her. But she doesn’t feel nauseous yet, which must mean she’s getting better! She gives Xander a smile. “I’m fine. This is already leagues better than I was a few days ago! Want me to check your aura, too?”

Xander blinks, exchanging a glance with Avery. Just as Nia’s about to reassure him he doesn’t have to agree, he nods. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

For a moment, Nia’s thrown by the obvious concern in the luxio’s voice, and her heart squeezes with something fond—

(She said she wasn’t going to make strong friendships here, she can’t, she’s leaving, but—)

—but then she just laughs it off, shaking her head. “N-No, I’m fine. Really.”

Xander looks at her face a moment longer, as if he’s worried she’s lying to him and about to pass out. But then he nods and lifts a paw for her to take.

Nia smiles and closes her eyes, curious despite herself. She’s only known Xander for a couple of weeks, but the more auras that Nia reads the more interesting they become, the more exciting it is to reconcile them with a person’s outward personality. So she reaches out eagerly with her aura, ignoring the strain that she’d just reassured she wasn’t feeling, and nearly recoils in surprise when Xander’s silhouette lights up in a very distinct color. It’s not a deep, protective blue, as she would have guessed, or really any color that she would have predicted.

It’s bright red.

Red, like blood pulsing from a wound, but it doesn’t bring to mind pain or aggression. It’s the blood of a beating heart, it’s the red of passion and emotion, almost too bright in its intensity, almost volatile, and oh, she never would have guessed that this was such an integral part of cool and collected Xander, that he would feel emotions so strongly they hurt. His aura is the blood of a fierce battle, of a pulse pounding away to act, to protect. It’s the red of a heart willing to bleed out before losing those close to him.

A surge of what Nia now recognizes as concern flows through his aura and slams into her like a tidal wave. Nia feels herself physically knocked back from the strength of it, pulling her hands away to catch herself. She snaps back to reality, breathing hard and loud in the quiet of the room, her heart pounding.

Xander is watching her with wide eyes, one paw lifted as if he’d reached out to help but then feared making things worse. Avery is watching her too. The sounds of Kry and Felix’s tussling have stopped.

“Nia? Are you all right?” Avery finally asks, voice soft and level.

Nia swallows hard, her own heart just starting to slow from the overwhelming intensity of Xander’s aura. She looks at the luxio again, and that’s what finally prompts her to pant, “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Xander asks. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“Y-Yeah, no, sorry, that was just, uh. Unexpected? You’re red, by the way.” Just saying Xander’s aura is red is the understatement of the century, but how is she supposed to explain what she just felt?

“Red?” Xander echoes, his stiff posture finally starting to relax again. Kry and Felix move closer to listen.

Avery hums. “Interesting. And that means?”

Nia fiddles with the collar of fur around her neck, gaze flicking up to the sun-washed ceiling as she thinks. “W-Well...I’m not sure how good I am at explaining it...”

“Wait, but you said green meant calm, right?” Felix asks. “Isn’t there like...a color cheat sheet or something? Like a list of what each color means?”

“Your green is calm,” Nia corrects. “The colors sort of tell me about someone’s personality and who they are, but I don’t think there’s like...a strict color-code?”

Nia looks to Avery for help, but the kirlia only offers a sympathetic shrug. Oh. Apparently their psychic powers don’t work the same way.

“U-Um. Okay. So for example, my aura is sort of a turquoise blue, but Avery’s is more purple, like a royal blue or indigo. Their aura feels...calmer than mine does, I guess? And Felix, yours is green because you’re so adaptable, like the trees. Very go-with-the-flow, but still sturdy and reliable. Someone else’s aura might be green too but feel super different to me.”

There’s a moment of quiet as they all digest that information, and Nia cringes. “...At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“So what did my aura feel like?” Xander finally asks. “Mine seemed to…affect you differently than the others’ did.”

Nia hesitates, still fiddling with her fur. How does she describe this? “Yours is red, but it’s red like…passion, I guess would be the word. It’s just really emotional? Kind of intense, actually. I’ve never felt someone’s emotions as strongly as I did yours. They kind of swept me away and knocked me right out of my aura state.”

When Nia looks away from the ceiling to gauge the others’ reaction to that, her stomach drops. Xander is staring at her in something close to horror, his fur lifting like a startled cat. She catches Felix shooting Xander a worried look. Wait, what…what happened? She just described his aura to him. Why does he look so upset?

Before the silence can grow too tense, Kry snorts and crosses her arms, apparently tone-deaf to the sudden shift of the room’s mood. “That’s a load of crap. Xander’s the most level-headed one here. Do mine next.”

Nia opens her mouth to say no, watching Xander back away with a gaze like he isn’t totally here. Avery and Felix exchange a concerned look before the kirlia moves to follow the luxio, approaching him with soft words and a hand soothing the spiked fur along his spine.

“Well?” Kry grunts, shifting to cut into Nia’s line of sight.

“W-Wait, Xander—”

“You admittin’ you were wrong?” Kry says, almost like a challenge. “Too afraid to read mine?”

Nia focuses on the fraxure, huffing in irritation. She just upset Xander—and something in her recoils at that thought, already flooded with guilt—and Kry hasn’t even noticed? Fine, if reading Kry’s aura will get her to shut up and move so Nia can check on Xander, she’ll do it. Nia closes her eyes and touches Kry’s open palm. She shoots her aura down her arm and into her paw almost angrily, and Kry’s energy flares to life. Once again, the color that she finds there isn’t quite what she’s expecting.

“You’re…gold,” Nia says. It’s the gold shine of priceless treasure, something proud and hard-fought. But it’s also the gold of armor, of a shield, determined and immovable. Protective. She feels the fraxure’s emotions shift too rapidly for her to catch, but she doesn’t really care too much anyways, with what’s happening to Xander three feet away. Nia pulls back and opens her eyes, meeting Kry’s hard stare with her own.

“So what’s gold mean?”

Nia frowns. “It feels...determined. Proud, I guess. I dunno, I’m not very good at this yet.” Nia’s attention is elsewhere, and she leans past the dinosaur to see Xander, only to find that Xander and Avery have disappeared from the room entirely. Felix meets her panicked gaze with a sad, soothing smile.

“Sorry, Nia, Xander just…had to get some air. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

“Wait, what…what happened?” Nia rasps. “Is Xander okay? He looked...”

Felix and Kry exchange a meaningful look. The wartortle nods, and Kry moves to start cleaning up the game abandoned on the rug a few feet away, completely silent. It’s such a shift from her aggressive prodding moments before that Nia wonders if the fraxure wasn’t as oblivious to Xander’s sudden emotional turn as she thought.

Was Kry distracting her?

“Nia,” Felix says, catching her attention again. He gives her a small smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just…accidentally brought up some unhappy memories for Xander.”

Nia wilts, her heart sinking in her chest. She really likes Xander—she didn’t mean to upset him! Why would learning about his aura have upset him so much? Is this what Val was warning her about, about using her powers responsibly? But she didn’t do it without asking. He wanted to know! Should she have not told him what she saw? But then she would have had to lie to him!

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Nia whimpers.

Felix’s expression softens. “I know you didn’t. And he does too, don’t worry. But maybe for tonight you should head back to Maggie’s. C’mon, I’ll walk with you.”

Nia opens her mouth to protest—she doesn’t want to just leave without talking to Xander or at least apologizing to him! But Felix is already at the doorway to the hall, beckoning her with a twitch of his fluffy tail. He doesn’t seem angry with her, but it’s clear that he’s nudging her to leave for today. Feeling upset and a lot less proud of her aura abilities, Nia grabs her book and follows him out the door, shuffling up the guild’s stairs and hoping Maggie doesn’t ask her what’s wrong.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #wartortle #fraxure #luxio #pokemon #pmd seekers of soul #riolu #kirlia #tesha draws #tesha writes

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northofdespair · 3 years

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Well. This was going to be a 500-character anonymous ask. I had no plans of using this forgotten Tumblr account. And then I wrote 2k in one sitting this afternoon.

So, Clem, this is for you! Hats off for drawing me out of the abyss to pen a little pseudo-fic for my favorite pairing of all time. Forgive (m)any mistakes and the informal style, I suppose I really could have refined it, but I wanted to get this out here before it went to collect dust with the rest of my 30k+ of Obikin WIPs due to crippling perfectionism. 😅 I will say it’s a bit angsty and a departure from Anakin finding Obi-Wan’s fighting nothing but sexy… there is nothing to say he didn’t in the past, but my brain just went on auto-pilot and this is what happened. Hope you get a little enjoyment out of it anyways! 😘

For those of you who have not read it yet, you’ll get a lot more out of this post if you read @obiwanobi’s posts here, here, here, and here. <3

~*~

So Fight Club AU, right? What if Ahsoka and Anakin make their way down to the lower levels, following a lead on their latest undercover assignment. They decide to split up to search for what they’re looking for and Ahsoka soon finds herself weaving through the cheering and jeering crowds of a club that is far too loud and flashy. She peeks curiously over the tops of various creatures’ heads to see what they’re shouting about and sees a human and a Devaronian trading blows. A fight, whatever. They happen all the time in the lower leve-IS THAT MASTER KENOBI?!

That is DEFINITELY Master Kenobi and boy, she’s never been one to rat out fellow Jedi, but even if he’s grinning like a madman, he is hurt, and oh she is getting Anakin right now, because she doesn’t know exactly what to do, and Force knows that if Obi-Wan will listen to anyone, it’s Anakin. He’s not far away, and when she drags him into the club, he goes a little pale at the sight of Obi-Wan in the ring, standing victoriously over his opponent.

She thinks that he’s going to go get him, pull him aside and do something to fix this, but suddenly someone else in the crowd spots him. Suddenly the cheers and taunts are directed at Anakin, and Ahsoka has no idea what the kriff is happening. All at once Anakin is being pulled and pushed, and then both of her Masters are in the ring, eyeing each other up and down and squaring off. Obi-Wan flirts with Anakin as though he expected him to be there, as though he were an enemy, and her jaw drops as Anakin flirts back. Anakin quickly glances at Ahsoka over the crowd, and they begin.

It is both everything and nothing like watching them spar at the Temple. She sees all the ways in which they are familiar with each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but here the graceful arcs of lightsabers have been traded for brutal, bare-knuckled blows. They sweep under and over each other, deftly avoiding blows as much as landing them, and the crowd loves it. She spares a glance at the bookie, who looks like the tooka that caught the mouse-droid.

As the fight goes on, Ahsoka realizes two things.

One, this is not the first time that they have fought in this ring. Even for Jedi–an identity that they are suppressing extremely well considering the circumstances–they are altogether too at ease with the brutal hand-to-hand combat. The way they dance around each other and strike viperously quick would be beautiful if it weren’t so horrible. It is certainly awe-striking, and while all Jedi are trained in hand-to-hand, she’s never seen them fight like this.

Two, Obi-Wan is incredible. Anakin is holding his own and powerful in his own right, but even after knocking that Devarionian to the floor, bruised, bleeding, and tired, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a force to be reckoned with.

In a flurry of movement, Obi-Wan pins Anakin to the ground, just managing to overpower his former student despite his injuries. Ahsoka can barely see over the crowd as he sits on top of his Padawan, then offers him a hand up. She can’t discern their expressions, but they do not say anything to each other and make their way out of the ring, going in vaguely the same direction.

Ahsoka presses her lips together and follows Anakin to demand what in Sith Hells just happened. Suddenly the mysterious bruises that Anakin had started showing up with–the ones that he thought he was hiding well–make some sort of surreal sense.

She catches up to him in an abandoned alleyway seven blocks or so away from the club and opens her mouth to lay into him, but before she can draw breath, Obi-Wan’s figure melts out of the shadows from the other direction. Neither man has seen her, and something about the intense look on Obi-Wan’s face makes her slip into the shadows herself.

She has to slap a hand over her mouth to tamp down on a surprised squeak a second later as Obi-Wan takes Anakin by the shoulders, slams him into the wall, and kisses him hard. Anakin kisses him back, hands coming up to scrabble at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and breaks the kiss to get out,

“Wait, Obi-Wan,“ he gasps as Obi-Wan bites at his neck and Ahsoka wants to flee, but she feels rooted in place. “Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, she- hhhn- stop, would you?” He finally brings his hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, catching his attention for long enough to realize that he’s serious, if a little dazed. “Ahsoka saw us fight.”

His voice is quiet, but Ahsoka has always had good hearing, even for a Togruta. Obi-Wan freezes, and the two stare at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily into each other’s space.

“She led me to you because you were hurt,” Anakin whispers, and the tender concern on his face as he brushes a thumb over Obi-Wan’s swollen cheekbone is enough to cause Ahsoka to avert her gaze.

“Anakin, you know-“ Obi-Wan’s voice is different from any time she’s ever heard it, deep and rumbling with an emotion she doesn’t... quite want to think about, but Anakin cuts him off.

“I know, Master. I know. But she was worried, and I don’t... think she was wrong to be,” it comes out hesitant, and she looks up to find that Anakin looks like he’s prepared to flinch away from a blow.

Before tonight, Ahsoka never would have thought that her Grandmaster was capable of dealing any such hit to Anakin, but Anakin’s split lip and blackened eye prove her wrong. She still can’t believe it, and her heart tells her that even now he would never hit Anakin outside of the ring or the training salles, but it’s a hard thought to reconcile with as her Master stands before her with such prominent injuries.

Obi-Wan stares at Anakin again before sighing softly. “You don’t want to fight. You don’t want me to fight,” he says, and it’s a flattened-out question. Anakin bites his lip, wincing at the painful reminder of the cut there.

“Not- not like this,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan, I... I know that this is an escape from everything. I’m not saying it’s even bad, Force, I’d be one hell of a kriffing hypocrite to tell you that. I know I’ve given in to my own methods of escape, but Master, I-“ His voice cracks and he breaks off, working his jaw as he stares at Obi-Wan with an expression so open that it hurts. “I have you now, and you’re- you’re all I ever wanted. You’re all I need. Obi-Wan, if I’m not- if I’m not enough, then tell me how-“

Obi-Wan cuts him off with a kiss, raking his fingers through Anakin’s golden curls and holding him there. Anakin’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a whimper from the back of his throat, and Ahsoka has to avert her gaze once more. She’s intruding on something so viscerally personal, but she still cannot command her feet to move.

So she listens to the sound of lips parting for little kisses that make a larger whole, that bring a low moan from Obi-Wan’s throat in answer to Anakin’s desperate pitch. She listens until they part, and then risks a glance up at her Masters.

They are somehow closer than before, foreheads resting together with their eyes shut, breathing each other in as Obi-Wan strokes Anakin’s hair and Anakin shivers.

“Dear one,” Obi-Wan whispers. “You are enough. I… was afraid, my love.” Anakin’s eyes open in shock as the confession falls from Obi-Wan’s lips. “I was afraid that this... was the only way I could have you. It’s different down here. What happens here stays here, and I thought-“

“Obi-Wan. I only ever came down here in the first place because I want you. All the time. Force, I want you so badly it hurts. I don’t want this to stay here. I- do you really-“

“Yes.”

Anakin chokes a laugh and fixes Obi-Wan with a fondly exasperated look. “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he accuses, resting his head back on the wall.

Obi-Wan leans forward to pursue him, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, then another directly on his lips. “I do, darling. Of course I do.”

And as Ahsoka watches Anakin’s expression change from incredulity, to wonder, to overwhelmed adoration, she knows that her Grandmaster was not simply speaking of knowing the question that never left her Master’s lips.

“Me too,” Anakin whispers, voice thick, and Ahsoka can see the shape of Obi-Wan’s grin even from the severe angle that her perspective offers.

Anakin smiles back and flinches again as his lip pulls taut. Obi-Wan hums and reaches up to brush his thumb over the wound.

“Not a good look on you, is it, darling,” he remarks.

Anakin scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully.

“You should see the other guy,” he smirks.

“Ha, ha,” Obi-Wan intones dryly, and Anakin laughs.

They sober quickly, and Ahsoka holds her breath as the air and the Force around them seems to charge once more. She knows by the look on Anakin’s face that he’s working towards saying something, and Obi-Wan runs bloodied fingers through his curls in patient strokes.

“I won’t tell you to stop,” Anakin finally speaks quietly, looking down between them.

“But you want me to,” Obi-Wan matches his volume and sincerity.

After a moment, Anakin nods quietly, still averting his gaze from Obi-Wan’s face. Her Grandmaster lifts Anakin’s chin with a gentle hand, and their gazes meet once again.

“I meant it when I said you are enough, my dear. This habit... if I’m honest, it started when I failed to release certain feelings into the Force. The fighting cleared my mind and it was a good physical release. I don’t need it. Not if I have you.”

Anakin’s eyes grow wide, and Ahsoka thinks that she sees tears glimmering in his eyes in the low light.

“The Code, Master,” he croaks softly.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and strokes Anakin’s chin before tapping it lightly and resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re good at that, you and I. And we shan’t break the Code if we’re simply in a relationship, you know that.”

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, and tears at last track down his cheeks. “It’s not just a relationship. Not to me. I- I love you, Master. I’m atta- attached. I’ve struggled with this all my life and I can’t let go. Of you, or Ahsoka.”

Her heart skips a beat at her name, then warms with a sad fondness for her Master. Oh, Anakin... he really thinks that Obi-Wan doesn’t know? That she doesn’t know? They do and they love him right back just the same. Ahsoka hadn’t truly known about the nature of her Masters’ feelings for each other before tonight, but she had suspected. Both she and Obi-Wan love Anakin with all their hearts.

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms, and Anakin clings to him desperately and buries his face in his throat. “Dearest, love is no trespass, and attachment can be conquered. It is a part of human nature. It is nothing to fear. I am sorry I ever led you to believe otherwise, Padawan.”

Anakin gasps a single, muffled sob into Obi-Wan’s throat, and his Master presses a kiss to the top of his head. They stay like that for a while, rocking slightly back and forth and holding each other tightly until Anakin’s breathing evens out.

“You’ll stop fighting, then?” Anakin asks softly.

“Yes, dearest. I’ll stop,” comes the quiet affirmation. “And Anakin,” he steps back slightly so they are both looking each other in the face once again before murmuring, gentle as a spring breeze, “I love you too.”

Anakin’s face crumples before a smile overtakes his expression and he lets out a tiny, overjoyed laugh. Obi-Wan’s hands slide up to frame his face once again and draw him into a gentle kiss that slowly deepens. They break apart to smile at each other before coming together more urgently than before, and Ahsoka knows that it’s time for her to go.

She lets out a little breath–hopefully silent–and steps backward out of the alley. Once she has crept well away, she slumps against the wall herself. She... she’ll probably have to tell Anakin what she has witnessed. She really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop for so long, but she had needed to hear that promise from her Grandmaster almost as much as Anakin himself. As it is, she breathes out a sigh of relief knowing that for the moment they are both safe, happy, and that better times are coming. For all of them.

They’ll figure this out together.

#and then they had sex in the alley #i could #maybe be tempted into writing that bit #now that Ahsoka has removed herself from the vicinity #maybe #obikin #outsider pov #Clem's fight club au #*slams laptop shut and hides after first blog/writing post in over a decade*#north writes

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joy1579 · 3 years

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self indulgent

I've been sad. so i wrote a thing to make me less sad. maybe it'll make someone else less sad too or at the very least they can laugh at my “cringe” but either way it did make me less sad so goal accomplished.

Mc and jumin organize a bookshelf jumin asks what neko girls are and MC short circuits his brain for a couple of seconds. no smut just fluff

Moving hadn’t taken long. You had opted to donate your furniture to the local homeless shelter since Jumin’s penthouse was furnished with the highest quality furniture you could dream of. Honestly most of your things paled in comparison to the lavish goods Jumin considered tawdry. Still there were a quite a few boxes you had decided to save, filled mostly with sentimental keepsakes and the few odds and ends that catered to your specific tastes. You were practically finished by noon save the three or four boxes that sat in the main room next to the larger than life bookshelves. Certainly there was plenty of room on them. You never where a fan of negative space on bookshelves but if you were being completely honest that had more to do with how many books you needed to fit in such a finite space. Jumins bookshelves had plenty of room with just enough negative space to look perfectly balanced and while you knew Jumin had told you to do whatever you wished this felt intimate. Bookshelves where holy spaces after all, housing books that change hearts and minds alike that shape the soul and … okay so maybe you just really liked books and that made them seem important to you either way this was definitely something you wanted to do with Jumin. When you heard the door rattle with Jumin homecoming you bolt towards it excited to greet him after work.

“Jumin! Welcome home!” you cried bouncing in place as he made his way inside. You smiled as you saw the creases in his brown flatten and the stress slip from shoulders when he saw you. You waited all of 5 seconds for him to close the door giving you both some privacy from the bodyguards stationed outside before you pounced, leaping upon the business man wrapping your arms around his neck. You delighted in the deep honey of his laughter as he caught your waist in kind and kissed the top of your head gently.

“darling. I’m so glad to be home. How was your day? did you get settled?” Jumin asked as you pulled yourself back slightly giving him room to loosen his tie and set aside his coat.

“everything is in its place except um Jumin there is one thing I need if you don’t mind”

“name it and its yours”

“I wanted to share your bookshelves and I was hoping that maybe you could organize the books with me?” you admitted shyly. It had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning he could show you his favorite books, walk you through his favorite plots and tell you his favorite quotes and you could do the same with him. Yet now as you presented the idea to him you worried. What if he was to tired he had worked all day after all, what if he thought you too needy, or your books to childish. what if he didn’t want your books displayed in the living room because they weren’t very pretty, all of his books where gorgeous leather bound tomes or mint condition hardcovers, yours where second hand at best many where decommissioned library books or garage sale rescues, broken in battered and bruised by years of use. It would make sense to have them put away in a back room where they couldn’t tarnish the pristine collection Jumin had on display. Perhaps you where spiraling, working yourself into a nervous frenzy in the span of a few seconds.

“nothing would make me happier love. We can call the chef to start dinner and begin emptying the shelves for rearranging while he works.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face or the giggle that escaped your lips. The surprise on Jumins face was evident if only for a second before it gave way to a warm sort of fondness. “had I known simple redecorating would make you this happy I would have stayed home and done it all with you” he said affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

“it’s not that I just,” you paused face flushing a bit “books are a big deal, ya know? My dad used to tell me that every book you read becomes a part of you and that you can learn more about someone by the books they love than by the words they say so I wanted to share that with you” jumins eyes where so soft and gentle in that moment you felt your breath hitch “I want to know everything about you and, and I want you to know everything about me” suddenly his lips where on yours fervent and full of passion the hand that had been in your hair now on your chin guiding you too him. The kiss was short and when you parted from him he stayed close, just a hairs breath from your face.

Jumin voice was little more than a whisper as he asked “how is it that every day I manage to fall more in love with you?” you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him again an all too familiar giddiness bubbling its way through your soul. You loved this man more than life itself and you knew that would never change.

“so your ‘Encyclopedia of Fairies’ should go next to the Catherynne M Valente series so we can reference it while reading agreed?” you giggled thrilled that his collection of mythological reference books slotted together with your fae fiction so perfectly. Puzzle pieces connecting to create a masterpiece.

“yes I think that’s perfect. I can’t wait to read her interpretation of such ancient mythos. I also have ‘The World Guide to Gnomes, Fairies, Elves and Other Little People’ if you’d like to add it to that shelf” he said grinning like a child at show and tell.

“oh my goodness yes! That’s perfect and your book on Romanian vampires should be near my ‘Dracula’ and ‘vittorio’ that way that shelf over there can be dedicated to the occult, hauntings, and psychic reference books”

“that sound wonderful and takes care of all the written word but we still haven’t found a place for your comics” Jumin informed glancing toward the woefully large stack of manga you had brought.

“not comic Jumin manga and yeah I think we’re out of space though. I um I didn’t think I had that many books. Sorry” you admitted not meeting his eyes. He tilted your head up to look at him.

“there’s no need to apologize it simply means that tomorrow we can go shopping for another shelf and the next day we can organize those. I’m quite curious about ‘la petite cossette’ you said these where Japanese but that is most certainly a French title.”

“oh I actually think you’d like that one a lot it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman in a cursed portrait its actually pretty tragic in the end.”

“How interesting” he mused retrieving it from the pile of books and skimming through it “the art is truly enchanting and you said that manga has its own subculture?”

“yeah from neko girls to shonen action tropes it has its own vocabulary, history and groups of people its really fun”

“neko girls?” Jumin repeated and your eyes widened at his confusion. This was definitely something he of all people should know about! You jumped up and sprinted to the closet you had filled earlier that day with the few cosplay supplies you had. At the time it had taken nearly half your pay check but if Jumin liked them right now the purchase then would be completely justified. You put on your surprise as quickly as possible before rushing back out to greet Jumin who had just made it to the edge of the living room to come find where you had gone. He froze for a second processing what you were now wearing. White cat ears that moved and twitched fairly believably and just as he was able to cope with that your made paws with your hands and tried your best “nya”. For a moment you feared you may have broken him. He didn’t move his face blank, eyes fixed on you. You tried again hoping to spur some sort of reaction from him “nya?” you said turning to the side slightly to show off the other half of your surprise a white tail complete with pink bow and bell at the base where it attached to your skirt. You tilted your head to look up at him through your lashes trying every trick in your arsenal to look as cute as possible but nothing. He was completely frozen. “Jumin? Hello?” now you were getting worried “darling are you okay?” you asked placing the back of your hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. The second your hand touched him however his face flushed.

“neko girl.” He muttered “that’s neko as in cat” you could see him trying to calm himself. Fiddling with his shirt sleeves and attempting to stay in control. You smiled standing on your tip toes to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.

“am I a good little kitten at least?” you couldn’t contain your giggle as you heard him choke slightly before scooping you up bridal style.

“certainly not, in fact I think you’ve been a very bad little kitten.” He said his voice deeper than normal as he carried you back towards the bedroom.

#Jumin #jumin x mc #jumin han #mm jumin #jumin fluff

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delimeful · 4 years

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the shapes in the silence (12)

warnings: dissociation, fighting, mild blood & injury, panic, another hopefully less bad cliffhanger

Puff woke up to a gentle hand down his back ridges, his hoard chattering above him, and an odd, high pitched note on the edge of his hearing.

His ears twitched in agitation at the noise, but his hoard took priority, so he took a moment to stretch before finally tuning into the conversation.

The three of them were arguing about another one of their screen viewings, trying to decide which one of their little stories to play. Each of them seemed to treasure very specific titles with passionate reverence, but for Puff couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. The screen was always too bright for his eyes to focus on for long, and the sounds often too loud.

As such, when the decision was left up to him, he simply stared at them blankly for a moment before settling back into a curled up shape to continue dozing.

There was a pause in the chatter (making the strange noise seem all the louder) and then they continued speaking in much more muted tones, indicating discomfort and uncertainty. Puff felt a twinge of discontent run through him and sighed grumpily.

This was the problem with a human-shaped hoard. They were so difficult to maintain.

Not that Puff would trade his hoard for all the shining things in the world. Each of them on their own were more valuable than any number of treasures combined. Every dragon probably felt that way about their hoard, but in his case it was true.

He let his eyes slit open, peering at the nearest of his collection.

Roman, who carried the smell of pigments and an appreciation for the finer things himself, was like a golden gauntlet. Ornate but handcrafted, painstaking care in every detail, and dripping with rubies.

Logan, who needed his hands occupied just as well as his mind, was like an illuminated manuscript. Pages draped in silver leaf edging, needing such a delicate touch to keep the ink from wearing away.

Patton, who watched them all with keen eyes and a warm gaze, was like a polished wooden music box. Inside, rose-colored clockwork met precisely placed metal prongs, together producing the notes to a nostalgic tune.

They were so precious, all of them, but never more than when they were shining their brightest with joy and contentment.

Puff was having a hard time making them happy, lately. Without Not-Puff, it was much harder to figure out which actions would keep his hoard from becoming dull with misery. His tail thrashed irritably as he once again felt the absence in himself.

Despite his constant presence as a part of their shared being, Not-Puff was assuredly not part of the hoard. He was like a rusty, chipped butterfly knife. All double edges and caked dirt from lack of care. Barely even worth looking at.

Still, Not-Puff was better at understanding which choices would make the hoard happy, which meant he was useful to have around. Puff mentally prodded at the barrier aiding in keeping the other half of him tucked quietly away, but there was no response. As the days passed, he’d only stirred when one of the hoard did something dangerous-stupid that went against all of their shared protective instincts, and even then, only barely.

It made Puff think that he didn’t plan on coming back.

It wasn’t like Not-Puff was a dragon, so maybe he simply didn’t care as much about the hoard. And even if he was gone for good, what did Puff care? That just meant more room for him in the empty, echoing space of their mind.

… Whatever.

Puff rolled over and got to his feet, stretching his wings out until they threatened to cramp. How irritating, thoughts like this keeping him up when all he wanted to do was take a nap.

If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well investigate the source of the noise.

He leapt easily to the floor, his hoard having already picked a glow story to watch in subdued silence. Patton called out a parting caution, and then Puff was off, trotting over to the stairs.

He passed Not-Puff’s room with barely a glance down the darkened hall. It was empty, obviously, though most of his hoard didn’t seem to realize. Logan and Patton often stood at the threshold, knocking and trying to coax Not-Puff out with sweet foods or concerned words, and while Roman generally avoided it, Puff had caught him staring more than once.

No matter what they tried or didn’t try, it remained locked up, silent and dark inside. Just like its former resident.

Puff could still get in, though he refrained from using the small flap-like door when others were watching. It wouldn’t do to make his hoard feel excluded, after all.

His dagger, the obsidian one with the gilded edges and honeyed words, could get inside, too.

His dagger-- Puff couldn’t quite recall the false name he used-- spent a lot of his time locked in that room, which was a bit foolish of him. It couldn’t be pleasant. Even Puff could feel the stagnant, fearful aura that lingered there, and dragons weren’t known for being affected by such things.

Not-Puff had complex, many-edged feelings towards their dagger, but it didn’t really matter, because Not-Puff had complex feelings about all of the hoard. He was a strange one like that.

In any case, it didn’t stop Puff from occasionally tromping off to go curl up in his dagger’s lap, letting the silly creature talk at him. He always talked when Puff came to bask with him, trying to coax Not-Puff out with lies and threats and even apologies that made his voice crack.

None of it ever worked.

He wasn’t in Not-Puff’s room now, though. Puff felt around curiously, and found his dagger was out in the real world, playing pretend.

He did that more and more often these days, dressing up to masquerade as Not-Puff for their Thomas. It was a strange practice. Puff much preferred his dagger as himself, all shining scales and black velvet.

Thomas was the crown of their little hoard, of course. It only made sense.

The odd tone grew in intensity, and Puff shook off his distractions, ears flattening against his skull. He could curl up with his hoard later, once this irritating buzzing was-- as Roman would say-- vanquished.

He passed the doors in the hall one after another, listening carefully at each one. After such a thorough inspection, the answer became clear.

Puff studied the portal-like entrance to the imagination, head tilting back and forth as he listened carefully to the noise. Not-Puff’s fear of this realm had kept Puff from wandering into it alone up until now, but the painful buzzing was definitely coming from it.

It was Not-Puff’s own fault for not being around to stop him, he decided, and stepped through.

As Puff trotted down cobblestone paths and dirt roads after the sound, it only seemed to grow more and more intense, enough so that he had to stop a few times to shake his head agitatedly, trying to get rid of the ringing headache.

At least those irritating shadow projections Not-Puff spawned weren’t present. The woven thread around his neck seemed to do well enough preventing them, which was good, because Puff wasn’t in the mood to go scampering around avoiding the trifling things. Not when there were noises to attend to.

“So it worked, after all.”

The strange, lilting voice made him spin around, wings flaring defensively.

Up in the twisting boughs of an old oak, the stranger cocked their head, bird-like. “I wasn’t sure it would,” they continued. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”

They tossed a hollow stone in their hand, the strange noise emanating from it. The scales along their cloak rattled with every movement, and Puff’s hackles rose in response. He remembered them. The Witch that tried to turn him against his own hoard.

“Now, don’t be rude. I’ve skinned beasts much larger than you with barely a snap of the fingers, you know.” They slid down to the ground, and Puff skittered back a few steps. “Halt.”

The compulsion took root firmly in him, keeping his feet glued to the ground. He hissed viciously, furious that their magic had such a hold on him. They sauntered closer and dropped to a squat.

“So my thrall does affect you… perhaps before was a one-off? I suppose it’s still interesting enough that you somehow keep your mind.” The eyes of their mask were dark and hollow, sending a chill down Puff’s spine even as he continued to growl viciously. “Quiet, now. Keep your mouth shut.”

His teeth clacked together painfully as his mouth snapped shut, leaving an impotent glare as his only form of defense.

“Perfect,” they said, and plucked him up from the ground, calming his struggles with another pulse of magic and a hand down his spine. “His Royal Irritation has been rearing for fight after fight lately, so it’ll be nice to finally have some leverage on my side.”

A chill spread through him.

“How long do you think it will take for him to find you?” they mused, tone light and mocking as they continued to run their hand along his spine possessively. “Days? Weeks? I certainly hope I’ll have enough time to prepare for company.”

Puff felt as though the metal cuff around his leg had grown suddenly heavy. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't take them nearly as long as he might hope, not when his hoard had grown so used to having him constantly nearby. Not when there was a tracker to lead them right into the Witch’s trap.

“Don’t fret, little dragon,” they crooned, tapping a finger between his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for the fun.”

Unable to do anything else, he obeyed.

When he woke, it was on the floor of an ornate birdcage, with magic thick in the air.

He uncurled, limbs weak, and pushed himself up to see that not one, but three of his hoard were before him, standing there in the grand hall of an ancient castle, facing off with the Witch.

The sight sent a thrum of alarm through him. The three of them didn’t enter the Imagination together often, and the effects of their combined presence made the place feel more real, more lasting.

Seeing the way they were back to back, surrounded by vicious constructed monsters, that wasn’t a good thing. That was a very, very bad thing indeed.

Even from his position next to the Witch’s throne, he could make out the cut on Roman’s forehead that continued to drip blood into his eyes, the way Logan leaned his weight heavily on one foot as though injured, the exhausted shaking of Patton’s frame as he tossed away a monster at Roman’s back.

More than that, he could feel the strain of his mental connection to his hoard, the urge to keep them from harm nearly all-consuming. They were his, and he would not stand idly by while they suffered.

For the first time in weeks, there was a stirring inside of Puff, like a billowing of air on banked coals. A white-hot glow, expanding with nowhere to go.

A gloved hand flicked the bars of the cage, bringing all his furious attention to the Witch. Their invisible gaze rested intently on him, making his scales prickle.

“Enjoying the show, small one?”

If looks could kill, this battle would be long over. The Witch laughed lowly at him.

“You look at me so fiercely, but this wouldn’t have been possible without you, you know?” They turned their gaze back to the battle with a darkly satisfied tint to their voice. “All three of them, right here in the palm of my hand for the sake of such a tiny, helpless creature. I’d almost think there’s something genuinely special about you. Too bad you probably won’t survive the heartbreak when I kill them.”

The snarl Puff let out seemed too small, too weak to even begin to express the amount of vitriol inside of him. The Witch didn’t even glance at him before rising to their feet to join the battle themself. His body trembled oddly.

He was afraid, he realized with a startle. He was more afraid than he’d ever been before.

That internal stir rose up again at the emotion, but it still felt as though a wall of thick mental fog separated Puff from it, like reaching through a haze. Bracing himself, he pushed past it anyways, dizzy with the effort.

For the first time since they’d been separated, Not-Puff was reaching back. Puff hesitated for the barest of moments.

If they did this. There would be consequences.

If they didn’t do this…

Nothing could be worse than losing them, one of them answered, and the other agreed. Which one was which didn’t really matter, in the end.

He took the anger and the fear that bubbled up inside of him and let them grow, welling up into one singular drive to protect. And, as the empty space around him seemed to vanish, he realized that he was growing, too.

The bracelet was the first thing to go, the connecting thread snapping at the pressure of his changing form. The tracer cuff followed easily, metal crumpling, and then the bars of the birdcage bent until they snapped, and then he was free of every restraint at last.

Virgil half-expected to come back to a human shape at that very moment, but Puff was still more than present in their mind, and as much as he loved their humans, there was clearly a superior option to better keep them all safe.

He flickered up like the flame tongues of a rising bonfire, or a bolt of energy connecting the earth and heavens, until he was big enough that his wings spread and met the adjacent walls of the throne chamber.

Every eye in the room was upon him, and when he growled, it was like the rolling crashes of a thunderstorm. Some of the monsters cowered away from that alone, turning tail and fleeing.

The Witch looked up at him and cackled, exuberant where they should be terrified.

“I knew there was something there, something different! You may have changed shape, little dragon, but my thrall isn’t so weak as to be influenced by size. You’ve only made your hoard’s end that much easier for me!”

Virgil could see the three of them behind the Witch, crowded together and staring up at him with equal parts apprehension and hope. His hoard wouldn’t be hurt a single moment longer. Not by the Dragon Witch, and certainly not by him.

The Witch lifted their arm and snapped their finger at him.

“Stop all that noise, little dragon,” they commanded, and the compulsive magic washed over him and rolled right off.

Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward, and his growl rose in volume, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

There was a heady feeling of satisfaction at the way the Witch stumbled back, the mask barely hiding their shock. “I said stop, right now.”

The magic passed, easier and easier to ignore. The Witch would never control this body again, no matter what form it took.

With a howl of wordless anger, they vanished from sight, and all the monsters that remained turned to him with aggression writ in every line of their bodies. An unfamiliar sensation welled up in his chest, waiting to be released.

Might as well see what this familiar-unfamiliar form could manage.

Working off Puff’s instincts, Virgil opened his mouth and let something click in the back of his throat before exhaling what looked like thick, rolling smoke. It filled the air, clumping together dense and heavy, and Virgil blinked, recognizing the form of it.

Huh. Storm clouds.

In the next moment, lightning sparked, shooting down and lancing straight through every attacking creature. Virgil darted a few steps closer, somewhat alarmed that friendly fire might hit the others, but even as they hunched down in surprise, any electricity that neared them seemed to simply veer away.

Of course it did, the more draconic part of him crowed smugly. No magic of his would hurt his hoard.

He went to his humans anyhow, moving slow so as to not startle them. He was the oversized one, now.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he lowered his head into range, Patton lunged forward, wrapping his snout in the best hug he could manage. He was clearly sniffing back tears. “Oh, kiddo, we were so worried!”

Roman was attempting to casually lean on his sword, but there was clear relief in his gaze, too. “We should have known better than to believe the Dragon Witch would get the better of you, huh, Puff?”

Virgil huffed a cloud of colorless vapor into Roman’s face. Affectionately.

“We should celebrate our reunion later, once we’re safely out of here,” Logan pointed out over Roman’s faux-indignant complaints.

Despite his own words, Logan took a moment to reach out, gently placing a hand on the side of Virgil’s head as though to reassure himself that he was real. Virgil leaned into the touch slightly, an odd pleased chur bubbling up from his chest.

As his eyes slitted nearly shut in happiness, he caught movement from the corner of his vision.

The Witch, holding one hand aloft and casting something that made his skin prickle, aiming not at him, but at the other Sides.

Quicker than he could think, his body was moving, curling around his precious people with only a second to brace himself before the attack struck him solidly in the back.

It seemed a simple strike at first, barely breaking skin, and he regained his footing as the others rose to his defense with a ferocity that made his chest feel strangely pressurized. Between the three of them, the Witch was more than outmatched, and they were finally forced to flee.

It was only then that Virgil noticed the feeling of rot and fever spreading along his skin.

He stumbled, and then lay down heavily as his energy dipped well below what was sustainable. The others fluttered around him like moths, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Virgil let out a sigh, almost too exhausted to be panicked. He’d really thought for a moment that he’d pull it off, that he could deal with the backlash of the huge, energy-draining form on his own in private and maintain this fragile balance. So much for that.

On his next exhale, there was a flash-crack as the transformation came crashing back down on him, leaving him snapped back into the form he’d abandoned. Anxiety.

Around him, there was a stunned silence to replace the earlier clamor. He forced himself to blink his eyes open, resisting the urge to squint and see them more clearly. He didn’t really want to see what kinds of expressions they were wearing.

Whatever the Witch had cursed him with was still active, burning him up from the inside-out like the awful fever Thomas had gotten when he was ten. If the others weren’t going to take the opportunity to discorporate him, the poisoned injury would manage just fine on its own. And he’d just gotten back, too.

At least the others weren’t in danger anymore. Hopefully, Thomas would be okay until he reformed.

… Who was he kidding? Thomas had managed fine all these days with him gone. He would probably be better off without Anxiety, just like everyone had always said.

Still, he was leaving the others without being punished for the deception he’d been subjecting them all to for so long. He was leaving them without any real answers at all.

“Sorry,” he managed to grit out, barely able to think past the blood rushing in his ears. It seemed to break the fragile silence, because the others all began speaking at once, creating an indecipherable tangle of noise.

Soundlessly, Virgil passed out.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #tsits #tiny dragon virgil #the shapes in the silence #writing #my writing #i have been informed that this is not a better cliffhanger #oops.#:)#g/t

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince.

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress.

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly.

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls.

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.”

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.”

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself.

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside.

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming.

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation.

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded.

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.”

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe.

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened.

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you.

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen.

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately.

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle.

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to.

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide.

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.”

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.”

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously.

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again.

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen seokmin #seokmin scenarios #lee seokmin #seokmin angst #seokmin fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt x reader #enemies to lovers

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hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

let me (m) | park chanyeol

pairing: park chanyeol x f! reader

genre: little angst, fluff, smut

word count: 2.5k

summary: after a rough day in the studio, chanyeol knows a surefire way to make himself feel better.

a/n: umm hi everybody! i know this may not be what you’re used to or what you expected if you haven’t been following my blog. i’ve been captured by park chanyeol, and i’m still coming to terms with it but i desperately wanted to try to write a cute fluffy drabble for him. it ended up at 2.5k and a little smutty. also, i haven’t been writing as much as i’d like to lately, so... forgive me if you can tell that i’m a bit rusty!

You first noticed something was off when Chanyeol was quiet entering your shared apartment. Normally, he’d be calling out for you or for Toben, or perhaps singing softly to himself. More often than not, he was in an exceptional mood when he got off work and finally came home to you.

But today was different. Chanyeol simply walked through the front door and locked it behind him, setting his keys onto the wooden table set up in the entryway. You stood in the kitchen, halfway done chopping up the veggies you needed for tonight’s dinner. Toben was curled under the kitchen table, more than happy to be left on his own with his favorite stuffed toy.

“Yeol? Is that you?” you called, after noticing that he didn’t greet you as normal.

“It’s me,” came his reply, his tone low and without inflection.

You listened as his slippered steps carried through the apartment into the kitchen, setting your knife down and wiping your hands on a towel. When you turned to look at Chanyeol, you could read it all over his face.

Chanyeol didn’t often have bad days. He had long days, tiring days that drained his energy near his breaking point, but he rarely had days that had his mouth fixed into a frown and a crease settling deep between his brows. Today seemed to be one of those days.

“Oh, babe,” you said, your own mouth turning down into a sympathetic pout. “What happened?”

Something about the way he looked, ears sticking out from under his beanie, enormous hoodie draped over half his body, and his pink house slippers just made you want to melt into a puddle. The pathetic, yet adorable expression was just the cherry on top.

“Mmph,” he grunted, closing the distance between your bodies to wrap his arms around your waist. He ducked down, burying his head into your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbled as you circled your arms around his torso.

The whine in his voice let you know that whatever had him so pouty was nothing serious. More than likely, it was a particularly difficult day in the studio, one of those sessions where nothing seemed to come out right.

You stood there for as long as he needed you to, letting his warmth envelop you completely. Bit by bit, you felt some of the tension leave his body. No words were needed as he relished in the comfort that your presence brought him.

“Baby,” he finally said, pressing a sweet kiss to your neck. “Can dinner wait? Kinda just want to cuddle with you for a while.”

Years into your relationship, and he could still make your heart swell as if you were still in the midst of falling in love. Even something as simple as a kiss, expertly placed right at your sweet spot, was enough to have your pulse racing.

“Of course,” you answered, arms sliding around to his front so you could clasp his hands in yours. Once he’d pulled away enough for you to see his face, you leaned up on your tip toes to place a kiss to the freckle on his nose.

You let Chanyeol lead you back to the bedroom where he didn’t bother flipping the light switch, just tugged you to the bed. After he flopped onto his stomach, you stifled a giggle and climbed in after him, snuggling up to his side.

In the process of maneuvering into the desired cuddling position, Chanyeol’s beanie slipped off to reveal his wildly messy hair, making him look all the more kissable. Especially with that little pout and puppy dog eyes he was giving you.

“How was your day?” he asked softly. He had scooted down the bed, his face resting against your stomach as his arms looped around your waist.

You shrugged and rested your hands on his broad shoulders. “It was good. Missed you, though,” you told him honestly.

Chanyeol chuckled, his breath tickling your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. “I always miss you.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Mm. Can you play with my hair?”

Your lips quirked into a smile as you slipped a hand up the nape of his neck into the soft waves of his hair. The man might have been a head taller than you and be able to pick you up as if you weighed nothing, but he had no shame asking for you to rub his back or play with his hair when he couldn’t sleep, or needed some extra comfort.

“Is everything okay?” you whispered.

Chanyeol hummed, eyes still closed, and you felt his shoulders shrug. “Just wasn’t a good day. Thought I could finish the song today but I just couldn’t get it right.”

You could hear the disappointment in his voice, directed at himself alone. He was hard on himself when his creativity didn’t cooperate with his plans, and you absolutely understood. In his industry, he was constantly working towards a deadline no matter how inspired or drained he was feeling.

“I’m sorry baby.” You slid your fingers through his hair, petting the back of his head softly. Chanyeol brought you closer and nuzzled into your tummy, his eyelashes tickling your skin.

“S’okay,” he whispered.

A few minutes of silence passed between the two of you, just enjoying each other’s company in the quiet of the home that you shared together. Your eyes fell shut after a while, though your fingers continued to card through Chanyeol’s hair.

Just as you were nearly drifting off, you barely registered the feeling of his body shifting, ever so slightly. Then he was pushing your shirt up, revealing a larger expanse of your torso.

Goosebumps formed as Chanyeol pressed his lips against your skin, soft and featherlight. You shivered, your eyes fluttering open.

“Yeol.”

“Yeah?”

“What’cha doing?”

You felt him smile mid-kiss. “Mm, I’m just cuddling.”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you stifled a gasp when his touch traveled lower, dangerously close to the waistband of your leggings.

“Baby,” you whispered, lifting your head to stare down at him.

You were met with a mischievous stare, that glint in his eye telling you everything you needed to know. Maybe he’d had a bad day, but Chanyeol was a man that knew what he wanted. There was usually little to no room for persuading him otherwise.

“What? You don’t like it?”

A kiss under your bellybutton had you swallowing instead of answering at first, the movement of your fingers in his hair coming to a halt.

“Oh, no, I do. I just… didn’t think you’d be in the mood. For this.”

Chanyeol only hummed and shook his head, dragging his lips down even lower. His arms untangled from under your body, big hands traveling along your sides, warming you up with his touch.

“Can I?”

His voice was quiet, a seemingly innocent question. If you had answered no, that you simply weren’t in the mood or you were too tired, you knew he would back off. But for him, the answer was always yes.

At first, you’d been embarrassed how quickly he could have you spreading for him, folds dripping with arousal and voice begging for him to touch you. But Chanyeol had quickly shown that you had no reason to be bashful around him.

“Mhm,” you replied, hips lifting as your leggings were peeled from your legs. “But I wanna make you feel better.”

Chanyeol looked up at you then, his big eyes twinkling with stars and the sweetest smile on his lips. “Trust me, this will make me feel better.”

His smile was so contagious that you found yourself laughing softly, fingers trailing down to the tips of his ears. You squeezed the cartilage playfully and wiggled your hips as warmth traveled through your entire body.

As always, Chanyeol took his time. He liked to build you up, make you quiver for him and beg, before finally diving in and giving you what you wanted. It drove you insane in the most glorious way.

You got comfy, enjoying the gentle kisses he was peppering onto your stomach and hips, his hands gripping your sides to hold you in place. At this point, he knew your body and the way you liked to be handled. He knew you loved when he put his hands on you and handled you however he pleased.

“Legs up,” he whispered, at the same time he scooted down the bed until his head was between your thighs.

You obeyed, lifting each of your legs to hook them over his shoulders. When Chanyeol went down on you, he liked to press as close to you as he could, have your thighs pressing so tightly into his face that you could feel each clench of his jaw. And you couldn’t complain.

“My pretty girl,” Chanyeol muttered, as if to himself, as he leaned in to kiss your thighs.

“Do you have to tease?” you asked, huffing softly and jerking your hips. Just ten minutes ago, you hadn’t been in the mood in the slightest, and now he had you squirming and praying for him to get on with it.

Chanyeol chuckled, the deep tone sending tingles down to your fingertips. “I just wanna enjoy you. Is that okay?”

It was a sweet sentiment, but you knew him well enough to know that it was mostly because he wanted to drive you crazy. “I guess.”

For a few more minutes, Chanyeol dragged it out, though you were grateful when he pulled back briefly to remove your underwear. His kisses got closer and closer to the place you needed him most and you found yourself breathing heavier, pulse racing with anticipation.

“Baby,” you started to whine, just as Chanyeol flattened his tongue to lick a stripe up your center. You gasped, then groaned, fingers digging back into his hair to squeeze tightly.

The act encouraged him. He delved in and got to work, latching his mouth around your clit while flicking his tongue back and forth at a quick, practiced pace. You were loud, now, your moans and whimpers echoing throughout the apartment.

Chanyeol alternated between sucking and licking your clit, all while he held your thighs around his shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh to keep you in place.

“Right there, oh-” you whined. “Feels so good, Yeol, you’re so good…”

Maybe this was why he had been so adamant about tending to you, rather than letting you take care of him. As much as you wanted to get on your knees for him and cheer him up, you knew he needed this. He needed to be reminded that he was a man, capable of anything, including making you come with just his mouth.

Words were tumbling from your lips, praises of his mouth and his tongue, the way he was making you feel, and how much you loved him. It seemed the more you egged him on, the faster he went, the more determined he was to send you towards your peak.

You lifted your head and stared down at him because you loved to watch, and you were not disappointed. Chanyeol’s face was buried between your thighs but his eyes, they were open, staring back up at you.

“That’s it baby, fuck. You’re the best. Right there, yeah,” you whispered, gulping as you drew your bottom lip between your teeth.

There was determination in his eyes, a dangerous and exhilarating stare that you had come to know very well. You could feel the pressure building and the heat practically radiating off your skin the closer you got to the edge.

You started to squirm, both trying to draw yourself closer and further from the overwhelming pleasure at the same time. Chanyeol didn’t miss a beat, tightening his arms around your thighs and shoving his face deeper into your heat.

“I’m g-” you stuttered, fingers clawing at his hair, the hood of his sweatshirt, his sleeve, until both hands found the back of his head and gripped it firmly. “I’m gonna-”

Chanyeol hummed against you, the deep vibrations like a shockwave straight through your entire body. The tension snapped and you cried out, nearly sobbing from the euphoria he’d given you in such a short time.

Your body jerked with each wave of pleasure, back arching off the bed and hips wriggling despite how hard he was holding onto your flesh. His mouth never stopped licking and sucking, creating obscene noises that only made your orgasm more intense.

When it all became too much, you found yourself bending away from him, pushing at his head to avoid overstimulation. There was a time and place for that, and to be honest, he didn’t have the stamina for it today.

So he just kissed your skin, gently stroking your thighs and kissing over your stomach as you came down from your high. Your chest heaved with deep breaths and when you opened your eyes, you found they had been clamped shut so tightly there were stars in your vision at first.

Once he was hovering over you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down for a kiss. You tasted yourself and smiled, not ashamed to enjoy it. When you pulled away, Chanyeol tucked his face into your neck just as he had earlier, though this time he felt a thousand times lighter.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered with a gentle kiss under your ear.

“No, thank you,” you replied with a laugh, ruffling your hand through his hair.

Chanyeol chuckled into your neck before he flopped back over onto his back, a blissful smile on his face as he stared up at the ceiling.

“At least I know I can be the best at something today,” he confessed, glancing over at you with a smirk. “Just call me the pussy eating champion.”

“Oh, shut up,” you told him, though you found yourself giggling while you dressed your bottom half.

You turned over once you’d pulled your leggings on, settling onto your stomach so that you could prop yourself onto your elbows. There was an obvious tent in his joggers, proving to you that eating you out was just as pleasurable for him as it was for you.

But when you reached out for his belt buckle, Chanyeol opened his eyes. “As much as I would love that, I’m starving.”

“You’d rather eat than have me suck you off?” you asked, eyebrows high on your forehead.

Chanyeol just shrugged and climbed off the bed, reaching for your hands. When he pulled you to stand, his eyes were full of the kind of adoration that could only exist between two people that were truly, deeply in love.

“Later.”

The rest of the evening you spent in the kitchen, finishing dinner as a team and eating on the couch while you found something mind numbing to play on the TV. You didn’t end up returning the favor, but neither of you seemed to care too much as you dozed off together on the couch, limbs and hearts intwined.

#chanyeol smut #exo smut #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fluff #exo fanfic #exo fluff #exo scenario #park chanyeol #lowkey i hate this but i need to post something #be patient with me while i get back into my writing routine #i promise i'm trying #writing

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aereres · 3 years

Text

Still Into You - Mitch Marner

Summary: When Y/N agreed to join her older brother at the Marners' for Christmas, she didn't expect to find herself infatuated with her brother's best friend all over again.

A/N: I am so excited to post this ngl... Anons, here’s the Mitch fic!

Word Count: 3,4k

Warnings: drinking, maybe some swear words, lots of teasing and flirting, maybe some angst?

"God, this is bringing back High School memories," Andrew mumbled under his breath, a smile on his lips as he drove through the snowy streets. The landscape was a mixture of tall trees and mountains, some clouds blocking the view of their peaks.

"You guys came here often?" You asked your brother, noticing a rather large house just a few miles away.

"Every summer," Andrew said, taking another turn as he gave you a quick look. "We used to throw the biggest parties ever, before Marner left,"

"And you didn't even invite me," you tsked, pushing your beanie on the top of your head when he pulled up inside a driveway, your eyes scanning the fancy mountain house before you.

"Try to be nice, okay?" Andrew warned you, pointing a finger your way as he left the car. You lifted up your middle finger when he turned your back to you to knock on the front door, and you finally left the car to grab your bags.

"Oh my God, Andy! Hi!" You recognized Bonnie's voice, a smile forming on your lips as you looked at your long-time family friend hugging your brother tightly. "I haven't seen you in ages,"

"Hi, Bonnie," your brother chuckled, gently pulling back to hug her husband. His smile grew even larger when Mitch appeared, the two best friends finding themselves in a tight embrace as they laughed in chorus.

"Oh, Y/N," Bonnie sighed happily, pulling you in a hug and kissing the top of your head lightly. "I'm so happy you could make it, honey,"

"Thank you for having me," you smiled, hugging Paul when he greeted you. You met Mitch's eyes, a smile forming on your lips as you found yourself in front of the old friend. His features had changed from the last time you'd seen him, he was built, and he definitely looked taller. His smile was still the same, though. The one you had loved so much.

"Hi," he said lightly, opening his arms for you, letting you go after a couple of seconds. You took in the insides of the house: the tall Christmas tree, the fireplace in the living room, the large windows, and the soft lights that illuminated the various rooms. It felt... cozy.

"Anyone wants hot chocolate?"

-----

Mitch was trying to keep his eyes off of you. The light of the fireplace was hitting your body just right, and he could have sworn you were the prettiest sight on earth. It had been years since he had last seen you, leaving you with a quick 'goodbye' and an excited smile on his face.

It had been the night before the draft, he could still remember it. He said goodbye to all his friends, left the girl he was seeing with a kiss, and came to see Andrew one last time. You had happened to stand by the doorway, catching the last few glimpses of their bone-crushing hug as they laughed. Mitch had walked past you, ruffling your hair with a chuckle before walking towards the front door of your door to go back home, ready for his new start.

Since then, he had barely spent time home, missing not only the growth of his entire family, but also of his closest friends which, in some ways, involved you, too.

The braces you had once worn were gone, your short hair had become long, framing your face in the best possible way, and your younger version had left to let the new you take over. You were a sight to see.

"Marner, eyes on the game," Andrew snapped him out of his trance, tapping his thigh with his controller and pointing at the TV. His best friend had beaten him another time, making him scoff softly.

"Man, and I thought I got better at videogames," Mitch joked, slipping his phone out of his pocket to check some messages. Andrew stood up, stretched for a couple of seconds, and looked at his sister.

"I'm going to bed," he stated, running a hand through his dark hair. "We gotta throw a party, man, like the old times,"

"Sure," Mitch mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he saw the little smile that formed on your lips. "I'll try to find a way to get my parents out of here,"

"Cool," Andrew said, ruffling your hair and making you scoff softly before leaving the room with a small 'goodnight'. Silence grew between you and Mitch as you kept your eyes trained on your book, your heart beating out of your chest.

"It's been a while," he admitted, running a hand through his hair as his eyes found the fireplace. "I've missed you,"

You smiled softly, looking up at him as you shut the book. "Everyone missed you, around here," you chuckled. "How's the big NHL life going?"

"Busy," he sighed, letting his neck lean against the back of the couch and close his eyes. "Just constantly training and having games, but it's rewarding. School?"

"Dropped out of college," you chuckled. "I mean, now I got a job, so it's not that big of a deal,"

"Oh wow," Mitch teased, stealing your book and smirking your way. "So, nerdy Y/N is telling me she dropped out of college?"

"I wasn't nerdy," you mumbled as you tried to reach for your novel, stepping on the tip of your toes and following him around the living room. He let you get your book, his hands placing themselves against the wall behind you, caging you between his arms and the nearest wall.

"Oh really?" He whispered in your ear, your body so close to his you could feel his warmth. His nose touched yours, the smirk still painting his lips as his hazel orbs stared deep into yours. "Your glasses were cute, back then,"

The noise of a door opening made him scramble away from you, your brother's heavy steps making their way down the stairs. "God, I am thirsty," Andrew mumbled under his breath, totally not realizing what had been happening just seconds prior.

"I-I'm going to bed," you stuttered, gathering your things and letting your adrenaline-filled body lift itself up from the couch. "Goodnight,"

You didn't register their answers as you made your way to the guest bedroom as quickly as you could, shutting the door and sliding your back against it. Your breathing was heavy, hands shaking as the events replayed in your head. Mitch was just so close, his words just so teasing, he had you wrapped around his fingers.

But you were so sure you had moved on, you were so sure that your tiny, stupid crush on him had been over when he'd left, when many other girls had started to gain his attention. You were sure that you had been over what once was a teenage crush on your brother's best friend.

You clearly were not.

-----

The lights of the lampposts outside the mountain house reflected inside Mitch's room. He had been lying awake for what felt like hours, his thoughts making it impossible for him to sleep. Three days into the Christmas getaway and things were already going messy for him.

The vacation was supposed to bring him out of the chaos and anxiety that filled his head, to make him relax, to let all the stress that was his normal life aside for a couple of weeks. Yet, his love life had decided to make an appearance, turning his plans into old, stupid thoughts.

You had left his mind when he got drafted, he was going to be honest. He didn't expect to feel the exact way about you as he felt when he was a teen, he didn't expect his old crush to come back when he saw you after all those years.

The feelings inside his body were foreign, from the way his heart would start beating loudly when he'd see you around the house, to the way his fingers would tingle after he'd touch your skin. He couldn't understand his own body, and it frustrated him.

He felt as if he was standing in the middle of an empty, dark room, where he couldn't understand what was happening around him and to him. He was confused, and he needed to know what he was feeling for you, what his heart needed.

He closed his eyes, fisting the bedsheets as he clenched his jaw.

Mitchell Marner hated being confused.

-----

Mitch skated slowly on top of the iced lake, puffs of warmth leaving his mouth as he and your brother passed each other a puck, just like the old times. Mitch was laughing loudly, throwing his head back at something Andrew had said, his rosy cheeks looking as adorable as you remembered them.

Bonnie handed you a cup of warm tea before going back to the living room, leaving you to stand by the backdoor to look at the boys. Mitch's eyes caught yours as he skated around, a small smile never leaving his lips as he got off the ice, Andrew following right in tow.

"Damn, it's cold out there," Andrew mumbled while they got rid of their skates. Your brother walked past you to reach the fireplace, your eyes finding Mitch before you moved towards the kitchen.

You grabbed the sugar container and a spoon, turning your back to the entryway and getting deep inside your thoughts. A hand on your hip brought you back to real life, the feeling of a firm chest against your back making chills run up your spine. You spun around to face Mitch, your hands flattening against his chest.

"What are you doing, Mitch?!" You whisper yelled.

"Just, you know, reaching for a mug," he said, the smirk you knew too well adorning his features. "What are you doing, princess?"

You fluttered at the name, biting on your bottom lip as he kept his body close to yours. Your mind went into overdrive, thoughts filling your head as you got lost in his pretty eyes. You needed to understand.

He pushed a stray hair behind your ear, smiling at you when you blushed lightly. "Mitch, what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's-" you motioned between your bodies. "What's this? You leave me hanging, tease me,"

"Ever heard of flirting, Y/N? Or is Andrew that protective?" Mitch smirked, watching you bite on your bottom lip as you looked at him. "I could tell you had a crush on me when we were kids, and maybe now it's slowly getting mutual,"

You looked at him in shock as he moved around the kitchen, filling up his mug with tea, adding some sugar to it, grabbing a snack. "You-"

"I mean, I saw you as a little sister back then just because I didn't want to fuck things up with Andy," he said, leaning against the counter to look your way, his smirk replaced with a small, soft smile. "But now we grew up, Andrew has more important things to focus on, and you can't stop leaving my mind,"

He leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your cheek, making you heat up and gasp softly as he grabbed his mug. "Gotta go, now," he smirked your way. "Oh, and we're throwing that party on Thursday,"

Thursday. Christmas Eve.

"Alright," you sighed out, your heart beating out of your chest. He sent you a wink as he left the kitchen, your body still buzzing from his contact. You took some time to get yourself back together, biting on your lip before you made your way towards the living room, joining your brother and the Marners.

'Home Alone' was playing on the TV when you took place next to Andrew on the couch, picking at the skin around your nails as your long-forgotten tea sat in front of you.

"You okay?" Andrew asked, his eyes scanning your features before settling back on the TV. "You've been weird these past few days,"

"I'm fine. Just missing home, I guess," you mumbled, feeling Mitch's eyes on you, already knowing he was smirking. You almost groaned out loud at the thought of him having you wrapped around his fingers, at the thought of being so at his mercy.

"You'll be fine, you just need to relax," Andrew sighed. "The party this Thursday will probably make you feel better,"

You nodded your head absentmindedly, not noticing your brother's worried glare as you silently kept your eyes on the TV. You zoned out, the laughter from your companions becoming background noise as you fell back into your train of thoughts.

The trip was supposed to be a way to relax, and yet, there you were: panicking over Mitchell Marner. Your brother's best friend. Everything about what was happening was wrong, starting off with the fact that Andrew and Mitch had been friends since day one.

"You just need to relax," were Andrew's words, the ones that were playing on repeat in your mind. And what better way to relax than to join the party? Cute guys, drinks, music. It would have been enough to calm you down and figure things out with Mitch.

There was no way you'd miss the party.

-----

Mitch was deep in his thoughts, his phone pressed against his ear as he looked out of the window. Auston was talking about something that had happened to his sister the day prior, laughter coming from his side as Mitch looked at the snow.

"Man, you're never this silent," Auston sighed, making Mitch shut his eyes and bite back a groan. "I know something's happening, so spill,"

"You better not tell a soul," Mitch said, biting his nails. Auston tsked from the other side of the line, urging his best friend to finally start talking. "Alright, you remember Andrew? My friend from home?"

"Yeah,"

"He's with us for Christmas, and-" Mitch sighed softly, getting ready for his teammate's endless teasing. "And his sister is over, too,"

"Oh, God. You like her, don't you?" Auston whisper-yelled. Mitch was silent, which brought his best friend to conclusions. "Mitch, your best friend's little sister?!"

"I've liked her for years, but I've settled for other girls because of her brother," Mitch explained, rubbing his forehead as he tried to explain the situation better. "But now she's back, looking as pretty as ever, and I just can't help it,"

Silence came from Auston's line, making Mitch's heart beat a little faster than usual. "Aus?"

"I mean, I know you like her, and I know you wouldn't try to break her heart or mess your friendship up," Auston sighed. "Just- be careful, Marner,"

"Uh- yeah," Mitch mumbled.

There was a beat, silence being the only thing coming from both lines. "I gotta go now, man," Auston sighed. "I'll see you soon, okay? Don't fuck things up and ask her out,"

"Alright, bye," Mitch said, ending the call and letting his body fall on his bed. Surely, catching feelings for his best friend's younger sister had been a problem from the start, but he was sure. He was sure that, that time, it wasn't going to be just a game.

-----

The loud bass was enough to snap you out of your thoughts, making you take one last look at yourself in the mirror before leaving your room. People were already crowding the living room, the smell of sweat and alcohol reaching your nostrils and making you wince softly.

You took in some of the familiar faces while you slowly made your way towards the kitchen, your only goal being getting yourself a drink.

The countertop had been transformed into a makeshift bar, different types of alcohol sitting on top of it, waiting to be used. You poured yourself something heavy, just the right mixture that could make you forget about the events of the previous week.

Your eyes fell on the people in the living room, especially on Andrew, who was dancing with a random girl. Next to him stood Mitch, his arms wrapped around two different girls, his large smile on his lips.

Your stomach churned, jealousy taking over you as you stumbled across the house and reached the improvised dance floor. You swayed your hips to the music mindlessly, hoping you'd catch someone's attention and, hopefully, give Mitch a taste of his own medicine.

A pair of hands settled on your hips soon after, resting against the soft material of your skirt and pulling you to a warm body. The stranger's lips were close to your neck, his breath fanning against your shoulder as you moved against him. Wrapping your arms around him, you kept your movements sensual and teasing, your own hands running over your curves and feeling yourself up.

What was supposed to be just one song turned into two, another body taking its place behind you and dancing with you as you lost the concept of time. When you looked around and noticed that Mitch had gone missing, you fell back into your senses, throwing your empty cup inside the closest bin.

As you wandered around the house, you took notice of the people surrounding you, from the beautiful girls, to the boys you swore everyone had a crush on in High School. In the corner stood your brother, a shorter girl wrapped in his arms as the two made out, his hands dangerously close to her ass.

You shook your head, chuckling to yourself as you grabbed your coat, ready to head out to take a breather and chill down. As you stepped outside, you noticed the sound of the hot tub, a long sigh leaving your lips as your heated face met the cold air.

"Hot inside, huh?"

You snapped your head around, noticing Mitch's body inside the warm water, his eyes closed as he talked to you.

"Uh- yeah," you mumbled, biting on your lip as your eyes ran over his tattoos, his strong chest, his muscled thighs.

"You should come in, it feels great after dancing,"

"I'll die of hypothermia, Marner," you scoffed, turning back around to face the view of the mountains, the snow already making your feet cold. "And I don't have a swimming suit with me,"

"I'll keep you warm, Y/N," he smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Just- sit on the edge, I know you're starting to freeze,"

You rolled your eyes, awkwardly walking towards the tub and taking place on the warm edge. You took off your shoes and let your feet fall inside the warm water, a sigh of relief leaving your lips.

"See? I told you you would be just fine," he said, his hand toying with the hem of your skirt absentmindedly.

"What are you doing here, Mitch? This is your party,"

"Got bored, I guess," he mumbled. "And I didn't want to see you with those douches all over you,"

You chuckled coldly, wrapping your arms around your middle to keep yourself warm. "You were all over those girls, I had to give you a taste of your own medicine,"

He laughed under his breath, his hazel eyes finally meeting yours. "There's nothing holding us back, why are we playing hard to get?"

"I don't know," you whispered, your toes grazing the skin of his thigh as you moved around. "I don't understand if you're doing this for fun or if you want me for good, I can't have my heart broken again,"

Mitch looked in front of himself for a second, facing the mountains and the snow that surrounded him before looking back at you. "There has always been something about you, ever since we were kids. I've always tried to push it back because of Andrew, but now, after all these years, I can't just help it anymore,"

You looked at him, squealing when his hands found your smaller back and brought you inside the water, positioning your body on his lap. "I know that you deserve better than me, that you deserve someone who's always present and there for you, but maybe things will finally work out for us,"

"Mitch, just-" you whispered, closing your eyes as you took in his words. "Don't break my heart,"

He leaned in, his promise embedded in his kiss as he let his body lean into yours. Your hands found his cheeks, holding him close to you as you melted into his arms, the whole world around you disappearing. The music that was playing inside the house vanished, and so did the people, leaving only Mitch and you in your own universe.

You pulled away only when your lungs started to hurt, screaming at you to breathe in some air. Your eyes stayed closed as your forehead rested against Mitch's, his hands soft against your skin. "I won't," he whispered, his swollen lips brushing against yours.

"I promise I won't,"

Taglist: @thirsthy-bitch @bellaguarneri @celestialblae

#mitch marner x reader #mitch marner #mitch marner fic

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