#a month/month and a half ago just...never bothered to reach out and overlooked me as a candidate. sigh

[supercantaloupe]

so maestro told me tonight at the end of rehearsal that he "got an email about me", turns out it was the org that's interviewing me next week for their summer job reaching out to him as a reference. and then when that was figured out maestro proceeded to spend the next, like, twenty minutes standing there writing out a recommendation for me on his phone at 10 pm while i'm Sitting Right There, just trying to get the assignment notes to send to the orchestra,

[ddarker-dreams]

Epiphany. Yan Albedo x Reader

Warnings: General yandere themes, implied unhappy previous relationship, and spoilers for Albedo’s story. Word count: 2k.

It wasn’t fair. 

A snowstorm, unlike anything you’ve ever seen rages outside, shards of lustrous ice falling from the sky with the intent to kill. The Dragonspine’s traditionally somber ambiance contorts into something far more sinister. Numerous hues of grays and dark blues blur together, obscuring your view of the mountainous region. It’s difficult to see anything outside Albedo’s workshop save for the storm. 

“Your shaking won’t stop unless you sit by the fire.” 

His matter-of-fact declaration startles you. Albedo hadn’t spoken in some time, his attention devoted to a specimen he had discovered prior to the storm. You would’ve shared in his enthusiasm if not for the overall situation and company. Sighing reluctantly, you stand from your spot, hugging yourself to stave off the biting cold. It’s impossible to settle on which is worse: staring at the blizzard or staring at him. 

Albedo’s fair skin glows from the light of the crackling fire, sandy blonde hair tousled around his face without care. As he studies the new specimen, his lips purse, eyes focusing on nothing but the work before him, like nothing else mattered. This is how you’ve always known him to be. Even if the world was falling apart around him, Albedo would never falter from what catches his interest until he felt sated. 

Sensing how you’re fixating on him, his attention flickers briefly to you, an unidentifiable emotion gleaming in his eyes. You’re the one to avert your gaze first. Sucrose is going to owe you majorly for this one, why did you even accept her request in the first place? Thinking about it now and cursing your past self does nothing yet you still occupy the time by doing just that. She had come to you panicked, pleading that you take this letter to Albedo in the Dragonspine, claiming it’s urgent. In the heat of the moment, your judgment lapsed and you caved. She spoke of needing to continue her research in Mondstadt or else she would’ve done it herself.

Look where your goodwill has gotten you now, you think. She owes me a week’s worth of dinner. 

You lament giving credence to his advice, but your stubbornness concedes, the cold too miserable to withstand any longer. The fire is right by his side to add insult to injury. Did he do that on purpose to spite you? It’s unlikely, yet your mind wanders to the worst-case scenario. If any other citizen of Mondstadt were privy to your suspicious thoughts, they’d think you unreasonable, as Albedo has established his reputation well. He’s a known eccentric, sure, but a genius one. A few quirks on his behalf that anyone else could overlook. 

Quirks that you used to overlook yourself.

“Would you please grab my bag,” he doesn’t look away from his prized sample but motions to the general area it’s in. “I need to write down my observations.” 

You follow through with what he asks. There was a time you’d have been over the moon to participate in his process, you used to practically trip over yourself to do anything he needed. That enthusiasm has long died off and been replaced by apathy. It’s when he reaches out to take the bag from you that you snap from your trance-like reverie. Whatever remnants of obedience that lingered in your subconscious are brushed away, as you decide to finally challenge him.

Inhaling sharply, you hold the bag just out of his reach, finally earning his recognition for more than a millisecond. 

“I’m not your assistant anymore.” Among other things, you think. 

The words come out more childish than you intended. What you had meant to communicate was your new, critical view on him — he’s a person just the same as anyone else — who held no authority over you. You hold your breath awaiting his response. Albedo doesn’t have an intimidating presence, not in the traditional sense. It’s his mind that you’re wary of. There’s no guessing what sentiments run through his head, yet that’s never stopped you from trying to unravel the mystery that is his thought process.

He gives you a long, hard stare. “I’m aware of that.” 

Where were you going with this again? Albedo doesn’t need to point out your needlessly spiteful behavior with words, his mildly irate facial expression says it just fine. His thin eyebrows threaten to furrow together and the corners of his lips curl down into a frown. You’re unsure of what bothers him more. What you pointed out, or that his work is being interrupted for even the slightest moment. 

The budding confidence you had is all but crushed beneath the weight of his unblinking gaze. Clearing your throat, you decide to take a new approach, straightening your posture in an attempt to be taken more seriously.

“Then tell me, why do you still act like I am?” Your question comes from a genuine place of confusion. Ever since your arrival, you’ve begrudgingly done the odds and ends he’s asked of you, almost like clockwork. You had fallen back into the rhythm that was your life up until a month ago. There was just something about the silent authority he carries that makes it impossible to say no. 

That is, until now. You’re determined to clear up the problems that have plagued your mind. Albedo’s had his time to be nonchalant like nothing happened between you two, but you’re not having it anymore. 

“Force of habit,” he nods his head towards your hand that holds his possessions captive. “Now, would you please…?” 

Your grip tightens and you shake your head defiantly. “No. Or at least, not until you give me a better explanation. Not just about that. How you act in general… none of it makes sense to me.” 

It wouldn’t take much effort from his half to wrangle his bag from you, you’ve seen him in action before after all, so it comes as a surprise when he instead gives in. You blink, gaping when he takes a seat by the roaring fire, and motions for you to do the same. An opportunity like this is hard to come by. The past few weeks, it’s been your code of conduct to avoid any interaction with Albedo, but your frustration can no longer be repressed. 

You take a seat by his side but intentionally leave some distance. 

There’s so much you want to say. Insults, questions, demands, anything. Anything that could give just a hint of closure that he refused to offer himself. It doesn’t help that this familiar area brings memories with it — good and bad alike — painful nostalgia eating away at your heart from the inside out. While you battle with your inner thoughts, he observes you in silence. For a time you hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and wind howling outside.

Finding the courage to speak up, your throat tightens as you force a question out. “Did I… mean so little to you?” 

It’s rare that Albedo ever looks taken aback, but your inquiry managed to do just that. His eyes widen ever so slightly, confusion etching onto his face before he manages to compose himself. Lots of intimate discussions had gone this way. You’d spend hours prepping yourself, meticulously going over what it was you wanted to say, only for the words to die on your tongue when you saw him. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” He appears genuinely perplexed and you can’t help but feel silly. It may have served you better to think long about this, you realize, but now it’s too late. You rush to explain yourself in hopes of making better sense. 

“When I said I wanted to, er, part ways,” you can’t help but cringe at not knowing the proper label for ending whatever was going on between you two, “You just seemed, I don’t know, indifferent…?” 

In your head, this went down in such a different way. 

Your cheeks are set ablaze by the humiliation his silence brings. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this exact way when bringing up your feelings to Albedo, yet it’s just as awful. Archons, does he always have to look at you like you have three heads? 

When he finally gives you an answer, you wish you had never asked. 

“I knew you would come back to me eventually.” 

Now it’s your turn to give him an incredulous look. He says it without an ounce of hesitation, never once breaking eye contact, his resolve holding firm. Sensing a need to clarify, he attempts to do just that. 

“I considered a variety of variables,” he raises his hand and brushes his knuckles over your face, the unexpected tenderness making you shiver. “I know how your mind works very well. When you told me that’s what you wanted, your physical mannerisms didn’t line up with what you were saying.”

Your heart drops but he doesn’t stop there. 

“Biological responses never lie. It wasn’t anxiety that kept you from looking me in the eye then, it was reasonable doubt. You know it as well as I do. There’s something about me that you can’t place, and the natural human response to the unknown is caution.”

He stops caressing your cheek. “So, tell me [First], and maybe then you’ll reach the conclusion you’ve been searching for. Why are you afraid of me?”

Everything feels wrong. How he’s whispering such horrifying ideas into your mind, leading the conversation with expertise. Is it charisma? You don’t think that’s the proper word. No, it’s how damn certain he is, how he never once leaves room for argument. 

Albedo appraises your silence coldly. 

“See? You’re not sure yourself. Thus why I knew you’d return to me,” he retracts his hand and leans back, but the ghost of his touch leaves your face tingling. “When you don’t understand something, you study it. That’s who you are. It’s why I picked you to be my assistant, that quality of exhausting curiosity, much like the one I have myself.”

He’s hypnotizing you with his words, his even tone, his silent authority. You’re drawn in like a moth to a flame and trapped in a verbal standoff. Whether it was a result of your Vision flickering subconsciously resulting in the fire diminishing or some other cause, you realize what little warmth in the cave is disappearing, your breath materializing in front of you as a result. 

But it’s only yours. 

That’s when it clicks deep inside the recesses of your mind. Apart of what always bothered you about Albedo was this sense of uncanniness. Whenever you thought you were understanding him better, new mysteries would arise, leaving you worse off than when you started. This combined with his workload and the emotional distance you felt between the two of you is what led to your separation. 

Albedo’s face is but a few inches away from yours. He’s patiently awaiting a response or anything you could muster to challenge him with, though both of you are aware that no such thing exists. 

You manage to surprise him again by asking another question. “Why… why are you not breathing?”

And how could you never have noticed until now?

His long eyelashes flutter shut. “Relationships truly are troublesome. There are unspoken rules and expectations, both of which take effort to satisfy. I hadn’t mind trying to do so to keep you happy, but that approach didn’t work as intended.” 

Had it not been for the hammering of your heart and how lighthearted you feel, you’d challenge him on his definition of trying. Instead, you watch without so much as moving an inch, too in awe to utter a single word. 

“You always asked me to be more romantic, but I guess the phrase you take my breath away won’t suffice here,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you, but once you know… well, I don’t think I can ever let you leave my side.”

“I hope you won’t mind keeping me company a bit longer than you intended to.” 

[goldenraeofsun]

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

[xmint-conditionx]

《the emperor’s dagger》 ch4 | myg

❦ pairing: emperor!yoongi x concubine!reader ❦ w/c: 3.1k ❦ summary: you realize that your love cannot last beyond the secret meetings, but that doesn't make his pull to you any less powerful. he wants to give you everything in his power that he can, but the one thing he can't give you is the thing you want most. but that doesn't stop him from showing you how badly he wants to spoil you... ❦ tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, balcony sex, penetrative sex, one single instance of "daddy", light thigh smacking, gagging (on dick and being gagged), multiple orgasms, oral (f+m recieving), being tied to the bed, they both pretend like there isn't a problem so i guess it's not really that healthy ❦ a/n: please enjoy this unedited mess. school is kicking my butt right now but i figured i would get this out to you now and perfect it later lmao.

<3 minty.

taglist: @jiminisnotavirgin @aretha170 @btstrash2013 @bbykoos @aquaalanah

You’ve both learned to be more careful. Both with your time, and your feelings. The relationship feels more professional than it did in the recent past, but along with the sting comes the assurance that it’s the right thing to do. It’s the safe thing to do.

Your nightly sword fights have continued without a hitch, although you’ve yet to use a real blade again, since that night a month ago.

He’s made a deliberate effort to formally request you less, and for you, that has likely been the most painful thing. He’s called on other concubines, and the only time the two of you are intimate is when it’s “off the books'' so to speak. The two concubines you’ve grown closest to over your time here, Euriyan and Wysteria, take notice of your pallid demeanor.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Euriyan asks between bites of their lunch.

“Talk about what?”

They both give you the look.

“Nothing’s wrong, seriously,” you say, taking another bite. Wysteria rolls her eyes.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to… but I want you to know that I know,” Euriyan says, in an almost threatening manner.

“Wait, what? What do you know?” you ask in a panicked hush. How could they possibly know about your romantic affair with the king?

“I know something is bothering you. You can’t think I don’t know my best friend,” Euriyan says nonchalantly, swallowing their bite before realizing what you thought they meant. Their eyes fly wide open.

“Wait, you have a secret!” they say a little too loudly, so you gently shush them. Shit.

“Okay, yes,” you admit, “I have a secret, and it’s bothering me a little. That’s it.”

“Well, if I can’t know, it must be important,” Wysteria says, mid chew, “Is it your family? Is your mom okay?” she asks, eyebrows scrunching in worry.

“Mom’s fine. She’s actually doing much better. She went with Uncle Benji to the market the other day.”

“Just know you can tell me if you need to, okay?” Wysteria says and Euriyan nods.

“I know,” you say, “I just can’t.”

“It can’t be worse than me sleeping with the head guard,” Euriyan says nonchalantly.

You and Wysteria both stop chewing.

“You can’t be serious!” you exclaim, “how in the world can you manage that?!”

“Well, he does know all of the imperfections in the patrols…” they say. Of course, it’s the same way that you and the King are able to sneak off.

“How long has this been going on?!” Wysteria asks.

“Probably about a month and a half,” they say, continuing to chew, “He’s always been very professional, but something came over me at the moon festival last month.”

“You mean you approached him?!” you ask.

“Yeah,” they say, “he was looking up at the sky and I asked if he liked to look at the stars… then I asked if he wanted to look at them with me… and then he did… then I fell… on his dick… So it can’t be worse than that.”

You stay silent, moving around the bits of your lunch left on the plate.

“It’s not worse than that... right?” they ask.

“Everything is going to be okay,” is all you can say, before picking up your plate and walking back inside.

That night, your king requests you to his chambers instead of the meadow, which is a welcome surprise. Sneaking into the room, you gently close the large and ornate doors behind you before turning toward where your king sits waiting for you.

“Come, sit,” he says, smiling at you as he pats the space on his bed next to him.

You sit on his sheets comfortably, making yourself at home in his presence. No matter how much you tell yourself not to get carried away, you can’t help but melt.

“It’s your birthday next week,” is all he says.

“Um… yes…” you reply, unsure of where this is going.

“So, tell me what you want,” he commands.

“I don’t want anything, Your Majesty,” you say.

“Of course you do!” he says, “Ask me for anything in the world, and it’s yours.”

At that last statement, you can’t help but to wince a little. There are some things even a king cannot get for you. The thing you want most is the one thing he cannot give you.

“My parents could use another fishing boat,” you say, lighting up.

“The gift is meant for you, dove,” he says, but your pleading expression is unwavering. He sighs.

“If it would truly make you happy, then a new fishing boat for your parents would be my pleasure. But that will not stop me from getting you a gift as well…”

“It had better!” you tease, “I said I don’t want anything.”

“Nothing?” he asks, leaning in so that you can feel his breath on your skin, “Nothing at all?”

“Well, there is one thing,” you tease, “but I think you would have no problem giving it to me now…”

You allow your hand to wander up his thigh, and you hear a sharp intake of breath when you give it a small squeeze.

“I ought to make you wait until your birthday…” he says.

“You wouldn’t…”

“I wouldn’t?” he asks playfully, “you sure about that, little dove?”

He runs his fingertips over your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Every time he touches you, it feels as fresh and exciting as the first time you snuck into his chamber all those months ago. You get lost in him every time.

“Are you going to answer me?” he asks, tone more stern. You meet his gaze as he picks up your hand.

“No, I don’t think you would.”

“You do seem to be my weak spot…” he says onto the soft skin of the top of your hand, “but I’m sure you know that.”

He kisses each of your fingertips, one by one.

“How does it feel to have power over the most powerful person in the kingdom, little dove?” he asks.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Highness,” you say, taking your thumb and running it over his bottom lip, “you are one of the strongest men I know. And you are easily the most stubborn.”

“But you cannot deny that I would do anything in my power for you,” he says.

“That may be true,” you concede, “but I would never ask.”

He stands up from the bed and walks over to the window overlooking the balcony.

“Yes, that’s the infuriating part,” he says with a chuckle before turning around. The moonlight shines behind him and illuminates his blonde hair like a halo. “Why won’t you let me spoil you?”

“I don’t need to be spoiled, Your Majesty.”

“Nobody needs to be spoiled,” he says, “but I can’t stop thinking about how incredible you would look covered in my jewels.”

“Is that right?” you ask incredulously.

Without missing a beat, he walks over to a tall wardrobe against the wall, opens it, and begins sifting through a drawer. You can’t quite see what he’s looking for from your position on the bed, but you can tell by his gentle touch that it must be precious.

When he turns back around, he’s holding a large and heavy-looking necklace that shines a deep green in the dim candlelight. He makes his way back to you and kneels down at the bedside. He reaches up and around your neck to place the jewels, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as he tries to fasten it. He leans in further to get a better view of the clasp, and his warm breath ghosts against your neck. The cold hard metal of the necklace is a shocking sensation after his soft and warm breath. Once secured into place, he pulls back and can’t hide his smile.

“I told you that you’d look incredible,” he says, as he runs his fingers over the jewels and down your cleavage, “I wonder…”

He looks up at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes, as if he’s asking a question. You’re not sure what exactly he’s up to, but you want to find out. You smile back as your answer, and he begins to dip his fingers beneath the edge of the fabric by your breasts.

You shift to allow him to pull the fabric down, and the cool air is shocking against your now exposed breasts. You think that he’s going to spend more attention there, but he just continues to slowly pull the fabric down. Once he gets to your hips, you raise yourself up and help him by shimmying out of the rest of the fabric.

Once your body is fully exposed, he tosses your white dress to the bottom side of his large bed, and turns back around. He goes back to the wardrobe and pulls the whole drawer out before returning back to you. He kneels in front of you again and sets the drawer beside his legs on the wooden floor. As he lowers it, you look inside to see a drawer filled with shining jewelry. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, delicate crowns, all glistening and all too nice to be worn by you.

“Let’s see how much we can fit on you…” he says, grabbing a diamond bracelet and draping it over your wrist. One by one, he adorns you with items from the drawer. Your fingers are covered in rings, jewels drape off of your wrists and ankles, your neck is heavy with the weight of the many necklaces, and a single ornate circlet decorates your forehead.

“In front of me is every last piece of royal jewelry that exists outside of the vault, and you are still the most beautiful thing I see.”

He leans forward and presses a wet kiss on your stomach before kissing his way back up your body, underneath your breasts, lips grazing against your pert nippples before he’s nibbling at your neck.

You begin to work at one of the necklaces to unfasten it from your neck, but he reaches for your wrist before you can.

“No, keep them on,” he says against your skin, “luxury looks good on you.”

He kisses you hard, not wasting any time before opening his mouth and biting your bottom lip. You groan as his hands grab your hips and thumb presses into you. The aching between your legs begins to spill out; you can feel your wetness beginning to pool. He breaks the kiss and tosses you over to the top of the bed, where you bounce gingerly on the pillows that lay there.

He strides quickly back over to the wardrobe and grabs something colorful.

Before you can register what he’s holding, he’s back on top of you; his weight presses you into the bed, and you can feel his cock twitch as he leans his body down over you. As he nibbles along your ear, he takes one of your wrists and hoists it up, and then you feel something cool and soft being secured around it.

When he releases, he quickly moves over to the other hand, leaving you the opportunity to look at his handiwork. Your wrist is secured to the post of his bed with a tight knot in the most beautiful silk you’ve ever seen.

He finishes the other side, and kisses his way up the length of your arm before settling back onto your lips.

“I’m not waiting for you to test my patience tonight, brat,” he says between kisses as he trails back down your body. He plants a sloppy kiss on your aching cunt, and looks back up at you through his lashes from where he is. “I want you to come on my mouth, slut. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“That kind of depends on you, don’t you think?”

He responds with a sharp smack against your thigh, causing you to yelp slightly. He narrows his eyes at you.

“You know better. Keep that pretty little mouth shut, too,” he says before plunging his tongue into your slit. The contact makes your fists clench until your knuckles turn white, and you really, genuinely try to keep it down.

He rolls your clit with his tongue and then closes his lips around it to add suction, and you suck in a sudden breath. Your body tenses up in an attempt to stifle your own moans, but despite your best efforts, a whimper escapes. He stops and looks up at you”

“One more chance, dove,” he says against your heat, “before I have to intervene.”

He continues his unrelenting pace on your clit, and as you begin to climb the mountain, he inserts two fingers into your slit, and you grit your teeth at the small stretch. He curls his fingers upward, hitting your spot, and you teeter on the edge of orgasm. Your thighs tense and tighten around his head, signaling to him that you’re closing in. The king looks up at you once more, and the hunger in his onyx eyes alone pushes you the rest of the way.

You come hard on his lips, unable to stop the small moan that escapes your lips. As you ride out your high, you’re bucking your hips against his mouth before he can wrap his hands around your thighs and hold you still. When you’ve finished coming down, you lay there panting as you hear and feel him readjusting himself. You close your eyes and hear the rustling of fabric before you feel his weight climbing towards you.

You open your eyes to find him walking toward you on the bed, his hard cock at eye level. You put on your best doe eyes and wonder what’s going to happen next.

He stands over your sitting body, cock inches from your mouth.

“Looks like we’re going to have to give that mouth something other than moaning to do, aren’t we, dove?”

You gladly take his length into your mouth in one go. It’s been a little while since you’ve gotten to give him head, and honestly, you miss it. Even without your hands, you’re confident in how weak you can get him.

You flirt with deepthroating as you take him all the way in, but as soon as it seems like you might, you back off and let him back out. He seems to be growing impatient, but you know it takes more than a little bit of teasing for your king to lose control.

You let him slip all the way out, and lean forward to that his shaft is resting on your lips. You move your head forward, licking the bottom as you find one of his balls. You look up and meet his gaze before sucking it into your mouth and rolling it over your tongue. It pops as you release it, and he grunts so quietly you could have missed it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been able to suck you,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes as his tip rests on your lips, “I think I forgot how…” He grabs onto your hair and speaks in a low voice.

“Then practice.”

You take him back into your mouth, this time opening your throat and sucking him all the way in. You hold him back there as long as you can, before tears begin prickling in the corners of your eyes. When you’re desperate for air, you release him and gasp. The tears fall out of your eyes and down your cheeks. You look up at him and watch as his chest rises and falls.

“Am I doing it right, daddy?”

He answers by pulling your head back onto him, so that you’re taking him in once again. He tightens his grip on your hair and begins to fuck your face, something that you’ve been waiting for. You know it won’t be long until he’s spilling inside of you. You hollow out your cheeks and look up, and as soon as he meets your gaze, he pulls out.

As you’re catching your breath, he quickly unties your hands and practically drags you off of the bed and onto the outdoor balcony. The balcony overlooks the back wall of the palace, and beyond that is stretching forest. He bends you over so that you’re supporting yourself with the balcony railing, and he takes one of those silk ties and gags you with it, securing it behind your head.

He pushes you forward with his body and pulls your hair so that you’re standing upright, neck extended back. His hand glides across your neck as his dick presses against your opening.

He doesn’t tighten his grip on your neck, but he eases himself into your dripping entrance. You moan at the slight ache of his length stretching you out, and then the sound is cut off as he tightens his hand.

“You have been spoiled, don’t you realize? In the clearing, you can be as loud as you want. But you’ve forgotten how to behave, haven’t you?”

You can hear the wet sounds of your cunt as he thrusts into you, setting an unrelenting pace. Before long, you find yourself nearing climax again, and you tighten around him. His hips sputter as he begins to reach his own climax, so you reach your hands back behind your head and tangle them in his hair. As soon as you give it a sharp tug, you hear him groan as he spills inside of you, and your second orgasm of the night begins immediately after.

After you both have cleaned up, you lay stretched out on his large bed as he’s putting the jewels away.

“You seem to be in good spirits lately,” you say, “any good news?”

He places a ring in its proper place in the drawer, and considers for a moment.

“Yes, there is good news, but you may tell no one.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. You have my word.” He sighs.

“I am making efforts toward a peace treaty with the neighboring kingdom. A century of war could be drawing to a close, my dove.”

“And your generals are pleased with this?” you ask. He sighs again, deeper this time.

“The generals do not know.” You allow him to continue.

“I am engaging in secret correspondence with the neighboring king,” he says, turning towards you, “If all goes well, this treaty will be done with only the two of us. We are both tired of fighting, it seems.”

“So, you think this will go well, then?” you ask, and see a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Our lives will depend on it, dove.”

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt1

so THIS idea came to me the other night and i wasn’t quite sure if i wanted to make it into a fic or not but i’m already like way too excited about it so here we go hehe

!!! this is also my first legend of korra fic !!!

pt2

She could hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the steps and braced herself. The door swung open, revealing a tall and lanky man with dark hair. A red scarf was draped around his neck. She smiled gratefully up at him.

“Hi!” She said cheerfully, her voice wavering only slightly.

The door slammed in her face. After the initial shock, she started knocking. “Um! I’m not really sure what that was about but I could really use your help! If you would just give me a second-”

The city was incredibly loud. As the girl walked, she flinched at each new sound. It was overwhelming. She hadn’t experienced anything like this before. At least, she didn’t think she had. Her last week had been spent below deck on a freight ship, listening to the crash of the waves and the blow of the foghorn. The sound of people shouting and bells and the small beeps of the mobiles that drove past her all seemed so...loud. She didn’t want to be here. But she was in Republic City for a reason and it was currently a piece of paper that lay bunched in her fist in her pockets. The city was cold, too.

She followed the street signs and made a left, turning into a residential area. The buildings were nice, she thought to herself. She liked the architecture.

Her brisk pace slowed as she reached her destination. She walked up the concrete steps and took a deep breath, pressing her finger against the doorbell. Why did she feel so nervous? Was that normal?

She could hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the steps and braced herself. The door swung open, revealing a tall and lanky man with dark hair. A red scarf was draped around his neck. She smiled gratefully up at him.

“Hi!” She said cheerfully, her voice wavering only slightly.

The door slammed in her face. After the initial shock, she started knocking. “Um! I’m not really sure what that was about but I could really use your help! If you would just give me a second-” The door swung open again but she realized half a second too late and accidentally hit against his chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“What do you want, (Y/N)?” The man’s tone was as sharp and biting as the cold air. It made her wince.

“(Y/N)?” She repeated, tasting the name in her mouth. She couldn’t tell if it was familiar or not. “Is that my name? Do you know me?”

The man scoffed and gave her a massive eyeroll. “I’m sick of your games. Bolin’s not here, why don’t you go find someone else to bother?”

“Who?” She shut her eyes tight and shook her head. She was so frustrated. All week, she had been frustrated. “Please, just listen to me! I don’t remember anything about who I am. I woke up a week ago in a place I didn’t know but I didn’t even know if I really didn’t know it! All I had was this.” She hesitantly gave him the piece of paper. It was the only thing that had kept her grounded. It was all she had.

The man took the piece of paper between his fingers and eyed it. A flash of recognition crossed his face, but the girl did not notice it. She would have if she remembered who he was.

With a tired sigh, the man stepped aside, allowing the girl to enter. “Come upstairs.” She followed him quietly to the top of the steps, where the room opened up into an apartment. It was large, with windows overlooking the city. The view took her breath away. She looked around, trying hard to recognize something, but she couldn’t.

“Tell me everything that you know,” He said. He had a pen and paper. She swallowed.

“I don’t really know. I remember waking up but I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know anyone. I don’t even know my own name, or how old I am, or if I have any family.” She could feel the tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She looked away so he wouldn’t see them fall. If she thought about how lost and alone she felt, she became worked up. “All I had was that piece of paper in my pocket. It seemed to be the only thing I had left of my life so I asked a man where it was. He told me Republic City and let me board his ship to get back there. He was very nice,” She finished quietly.

The man finished writing down her story and eyed her curiously. She stared back at him. “I know it seems insane,” She whispered, “But I really don’t know who I am. I came here to get some answers.”

“You’re (Y/N) (L/N),” He said, walking over to pick up the telephone. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

The next thing she--(Y/N)--knew was that the man was walking her down the street. He had introduced himself as Mako. She repeated his name slowly in her head. Mako. Mako. Mako. None of it rang a bell.

They walked to the docks where (Y/N) had started her day. He bought them two tickets and they waited patiently on a bench for the ferry to arrive. “Where are we going?” She asked. Mako made her nervous. He didn’t seem to like her very much.

“Air Temple Island,” He explained. “I know a few people who might be able to help you get your memory back. And then we never have to see each other again.”

(Y/N) frowned. “I can tell you don’t really like me, but I don’t have any of my memories so I don’t know why.”

“You’re not a very nice person,” Mako said simply. (Y/N’s) frown deepened and she looked down at her shoes. That didn’t make her feel very good. Was she mean in her past life? She didn’t feel mean now.

“I’d like a clean slate,” She said. She hated how small her voice sounded. “At least while I don’t have my memories.”

“I’m not the one who gets to decide that.” He stood and walked to the end of the dock. “Ferry’s here.”

The ride was quick and comforting. It reminded her of being out on the ocean. When they reached the docks of Air Temple Island, (Y/N) looked around for the person that would be helping her. Suddenly, a giant polar bear dog bounded in front of them, with a Water Tribe girl riding it. She was pretty, with copper skin and dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Her face was oddly serious.

“Who’s this?” She asked, her question directed at Mako.

“This is (Y/N),” He said. She gave a small wave.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The girl looked at Mako, her eyebrows shooting up high in surprise.

“This is (Y/N)?” She asked. “The (Y/N)?” Mako nodded.

“I think I’m missing something,” (Y/N) said. “Do I know you?”

“No, I came around after you were gone. I’m Korra. I’m the Avatar.”

(Y/N) looked up at Mako. “What’s that?”

“What’s the Avatar?” Korra asked, shocked. Mako held up a hand to stop her.

“(Y/N) has amnesia. She can’t remember anything. She didn’t even know her own name until I told it to her an hour ago. Can you or Tenzin help?”

Korra eyed her up and down. Her scrutinizing gaze made (Y/N) feel nervous, like she had done something wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. “We can try,” She said. “Kya’s here. She might do a better job than either of us.”

They walked up so many flights of stairs that (Y/N) was panting by the time they reached the Air Temple. An old man with a dark beard and an arrow tattooed on his head stood next to a woman with grey hair dressed in clothes that were similar to Korra’s.

“Tenzin, Kya, this is (Y/N),” Korra said. “She showed up on Mako’s doorstep this morning.”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Mako said. “I had to tell her what her name was.” (Y/N) felt her cheeks get hot as she stared at these strangers. When she had imagined walking up to the address that was on the piece of paper, she had assumed it was going to be her family. Now she just felt like everyone was eyeing her as if she were a specimen.

“Why don’t you come inside with me?” Kya asked, taking (Y/N) by the arm. Her voice was the nicest one she had heard all day. (Y/N) smiled at her gratefully. “Quite a day you’re having, huh?”

“It’s been quite a week,” (Y/N) sighed. “I thought when I came back here I’d have all the answers but now I just have more questions than I started with. And that’s saying a lot.” Kya let out a chuckle. She led her to a room at the back of the house. It was simple, just a wooden room, but in the middle was a pool of crystal clear water.

“I’m a waterbender,” Kya explained. “Do you know what that is?” (Y/N) nodded. She knew the basics of the Four Nations. She even knew a little bit about Republic City, but that knowledge was a little more fuzzy. “Fantastic. I need you to take off your coat. I’m going to see if I can heal your memories.”

(Y/N) tossed her coat to the floor and with Kya’s help, entered the pool. “Just lie down and relax.” She did as she was told and let herself float atop the water. She closed her eyes. She could feel the warmth that radiated from Kya’s healing hands. For the first time since she woke up, she felt completely safe.

Outside, they were completely unsure of what to do. Tenzin, Mako, and Korra discussed the odd nature of the girl’s return. “You’re telling me,” Korra said, “That she just showed up out of nowhere after months of no one hearing from her and that doesn’t scream suspicious to you?”

“It’s definitely suspicious,” Mako admitted, “But I knew (Y/N). The old (Y/N), at least. When she told me how she felt, all I could think was that it seemed...genuine.”

“Seems like a trick to get Bolin back,” Korra grumbled.

“You both need to remember that the girl inside is not the same girl you know,” Tenzin held his head high as he imparted his wisdom onto the two teenagers. “You might have preconceived feelings regarding her but until she gets her memories back, you cannot hold the past against her. Especially if she doesn’t know what the past is.”

Kya emerged a few moments later, her face looking grave. “It’s worse than I expected. She didn’t just hit her head and forget a few things. Someone stole her memories.”

“How can you be sure?” Mako asked.

“I can feel a hole in her being,” Kya explained. “Everything that she ever knew about herself is gone.”

“How is that possible?” Tenzin mused.

“I don’t know. But it’s important that you all refrain from telling her everything about her past. It could overwhelm her and seriously damage her chances of ever getting her memories back.”

As if on cue, Bolin walked up the final steps of the temple, giving his friends a big wave. “Hey guys! How’s it going?”

Then, (Y/N) exited the house. Her hair and clothes were sopping wet. “I was wondering if I could get a change of clothes? I’m freezing.” She crossed her arms over herself to keep any warmth she might have had. Her eyes locked with the dark haired, green-eyed boy from across the pavilion. She smiled at him.

Kya and Korra rushed over to (Y/N) and quickly ushered her back inside. Mako watched as the smile on Bolin’s face slowly fell. He looked at his big brother, his expression sad. “Why is she here?”

Mako pulled Bolin to the side. “I told you not to come looking for me.”

“How was I supposed to know that you’d be here?” Bolin questioned. “Mako, tell me what’s going on!”

Mako sighed. He had hoped that he would’ve gotten a few days before Bolin found out about this, so he could perfectly piece together his explanation in a way that wouldn’t absolutely shatter all of the progress his brother had made in the past few months. “She showed up earlier today, at our house. She doesn’t remember anything about who she is. She doesn’t remember us.”

“You’re lying,” Bolin said, shaking his head. “It’s a trick. She’s just trying to--”

“Bolin,” Mako placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Kya said that someone stole her memories.”

Bolin’s eyes started watering and his bottom lip began shaking. He wasn’t sure what was worse: that his ex-girlfriend was back or that she didn’t remember him.

“This is all she had with her.” Mako pulled the piece of paper (Y/N) had given to him at the beginning of their day. He handed it to Bolin, who unfurled it. He laughed bitterly, half-choked by the tears that spilled down his face.

“I wrote this,” He said softly. “I gave this to her on our first date and told her that if she ever needed to find me, this was where I’d be.” Mako stared sadly at his brother before pulling him into a hug.

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss , @realimbo , @lavendercrystals , @tomshollandz , @zukosvice , @itsivyberry , @awesomelupe , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr ,

[regency-gardens]

Tethered Hearts- part 3/3- ALTERNATE ENDING

A/N: surprise! two endings! read the original ending (and the much less mainful ending here)

warnings: angst, heartbreak

word count: 1,550 

published: feb. 27. 21

series masterlist

Benedict rode through the night, going over his speech countless times until he was sure he could say it backward. Sleep evaded him despite the carriage being quite comfortable; His nerves and the bumpy dirt roads kept him awake. He eventually forced himself to focus on something other than the disaster of his love life and he took to sketching, as usual. 

Drawing within the last few weeks was nearly impossible for him. He could never focus long enough or he was never pleased with the product. his hands never seemed to corporate. This time he tried to draw something that he thought would make him feel happy, at least for the time being. He started to draw two hands intertwined and imagined it was his and y/n, wearing wedding rings. All this did was remind him of how happy he could have been if he hadn't been so selfish.

The Y/L/N country home was a sight to behold. It overlooked a small lake surrounded by trees that provided a home to countless wildlife. The garden was home to a variety of wildflowers and shrubs with lemon trees dotted about. The front of the home was a beautiful work of masonry with climbing vines reaching up the first story and balconies decorated with even more greenery. Stone steps lead down to the lawn where the gardeners worked tirelessly on the upkeep of the statues and fountains in the middle of a circular cobbled walkway. It was a welcoming, lively home, but the sight of it made Benedict's stomach do backflips. She was so close.

The early morning sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon, illuminating the foggy countryside. The birds were chirping and roosters could be heard faintly in the distance welcoming the new day. A long inhale of the fresh morning air seemed to settle benedict’s nerves just a little. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and tried to fix his hair as best he could. It was bad enough he was bothering her so early and unannounced, he could at least look presentable. The tired eye bags would make that difficult. 

Meanwhile, in the Y/L/N home, y/n’s maid was just waking up when she heard the faint sound of approaching horses. She peeled back the drawing-room drapes and saw the black Bridgerton carriage quickly approaching.

“Oh my! Miss y/n!”

She ran down the hall and up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. She burst through y/n’s bedroom doors, panting. Yn, having been startled awake, sat up confused. Benedict's letters were still scattered around the bed.

“What on earth? Marta, what’s happened?”

“He’s here! Mr. Bridgerton is here!” y/n’s throat went dry and she immediately sprang from the bed and rushed to the window just in time to see the carriage door come to a stop at the steps. Without a second thought, she ran as fast as she could downstairs, not even taking the time to put on shoes. 

Benedict took a deep breath before reaching for the handle of the carriage. With a final rush of courage, he hopped out. At the same time, y/n appeared through the front doors and stopped at the top of the steps. She was looking down at him and suddenly he forgot everything he wanted to say. She was ethereal. The sight of Her long white nightgown and wild hair was something he had never seen before and he couldn’t get enough. 

There was a silence as they waited for each other to say something. When it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything, Benedict cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry to have bothered you so early in the morning. It couldn’t wait.”

Her expression was unreadable and it further worsened his nerves. 

“I realize you probably don’t want to speak with me ever again. Your ignoring of my letters made that clear enough but I couldn’t give up just yet and I think Eloise would have my head if I didn’t try one last time-”

“I wasn’t ignoring your letters.”

He paused, surprised.

“Until last night I didn’t know they even existed. My father hid them thinking they’d do more harm than good. I stayed up half the night reading them.” Her voice was soft and shaky. He clung to every word.

“Then you know. You know why I'm here. You…” he sighed in exasperation, his throat began to ache from holding back the tears he’d been fighting for so long. His voice was cracking and shaky but he couldn’t stop the words flowing from his heart.

 “You are the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs; you are my reason for living, for waking up every damn day. I hurt you so badly and I hate myself for it. I will always hate myself for it. I had the most wonderful woman in the world by my side and I threw it away. I am a weak man. I am weak but you make me strong and I am not ashamed to say that I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you and I will never not need you and I will never stop loving you. You owe me nothing. I know that. You have no reason to ever trust me again. I know that. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try-if I don’t get on my knees and beg you for one more chance. I don’t deserve it. you could turn around and leave me forever and I would not blame you. But right here, right now, I need to know- I am begging to know if there is any possible way that you still love me because I cannot spend another moment wondering. So please, my darling, my love, my life… is there any chance that you still love me too?”

They were both crying, thoughts running around their heads at the speed of light. Benedict, during his speech, had taken a few daring steps towards her and now stood at her feet, peering up into her glossy eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, y/n’s warm hand cupped his cheek, and just like that night so long ago, he leaned into its warmth. This was the first he’d ever touched her soft hands and it sent chills down his spine. His own hand reached to hold hers, keeping it from moving. She wiped away his tears with her thumb.

“ I am so ...so sorry.” His words were a mere whisper. 

She was at war with herself. Trusting him again could lead to complete heartbreak once again, but could also lead to some of the happiest days of her life. Maybe a fresh start was what they needed- a second chance. But maybe it was time to set this love free.

“benedict…” his heart raced at the sound of his name on her lips,”

It would seem that I have the grave misfortune of having my heart tethered to yours. No matter how far you throw me, I'll always come back to you. It scares me.”

He frowns, the pit in his stomach growing with his anticipation. She removes her hand from his face, backing away. His heart shatters.

“I will always love you, benedict. But I cannot let you play with my heart again. I cannot risk spending the rest of my life wondering if you still love me. So, I think it best for the both of us, that we end this for good.”

“y/n please… don’t do this.” his voice cracks and she tries to stifle a sob.

“You will find someone else one day, Benedict, and you will love them so much you will forget all about me. All I ask of you is that you allow it to happen. Let me go, and learn from this. That way this pain will not have been in vain.”

“I love you…” he pleads but she shakes her head, unable to look him in the eye. 

“Goodbye.” sobbing, she turns and runs back inside, into the arms of her family who watched it all happen from the window. 

Benedict, with all the strength he could muster, climbs back into his carriage and leaves the Y/L/N estate for the final time. 

The next few months are hard for them. The hardest thing they've ever had to go through. Benedict, especially, has trouble feeling even the slightest bit normal and it takes nearly three months before he can leave his home.

But in the end, y/n was right. Within the next few years, while the pain is still there for both of them, they are finally ready to move on. 

Two years later, y/n meets someone in Italy while traveling with her brother and sister. He reminds her a lot of Benedict, which is probably why it was so easy to fall in love with him. They are married in the fall and happy lives together. Benedict is a bittersweet memory.

Benedict eventually finds himself a wife by the name of Sophie and he loves her with everything he has in him. Not forgetting y/n’s last words to him, he makes sure to never make his old mistakes. 

Though they are not together, they will always love each other. Soulmates meant for another life.

________________________________________________________________

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione), Part Four

Well, here’s part four for you! It’s really just part three continued, but since I didn’t want the previous part to be 7k words or so long, I split it up. The total wordcount is 12.4k words now!!

Thank you very much to those of you who’ve commented and sent me lovely owls on here to let me know you’re enjoying it! (this is a sideblog for me, so I don’t respond to comments on posts, but I do answer asks as Cashmere).

I know a lot of folks (me included) don’t like starting to read WIPs that are unfinished, so thanks to those of you who have hopped on now. Consider yourselves honoured beta readers! It’ll go up on AO3 when it’s all posted on here and completed.

No real warnings for this one, just some discussion of their past relationships (for both Hermione and Draco) before the plot thickens and things warm up a bit in part five. Not sure when that’ll go up - it kind of depends on how much feedback I get on this one I guess! Comments and reblogs feed an author’s muse after all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

___

At her wry smile and tiny shrug, Malfoy laughed, apparently reassured. “A little,” he repeated softly to himself under his breath.  

After a heartbeat she shot him a sidelong look and added, “You’ve changed so much, Draco. I can hardly believe it, but it’s clear as day.”

He did a little double take at the sound of his name on her lips, and then he smiled. It was such a tiny, fragile melting of his expression that she nearly missed it.  

“I mean it,” she said, tightening her fingers on his steel-cable forearm for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know if it was the war or your marriage, or becoming a father, or something else entirely, but… you’re not the same person you were back at Hogwarts. Not at all.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he hissed. “I had a hell of a lot of growing up to do. I think I did ninety percent of it in the space of sixth year. But Astoria helped steady me after… after Hogwarts and all the bollocks and bullshit of the aftermath of… of… you know.”

“‘Bollocks and bullshit’ is a mighty casual way to say ‘a short stay in Azkaban and three years of house arrest’, Malfoy. That’s got to change a person, for sure.”  

He shrugged. “I’m just glad it’s all in the past now. For the most part, anyway.” The silence that followed spoke volumes of the baggage that they were all still hauling around with them, of one kind or another.  

They wound their way across the park’s pathways with no particular direction in mind. As the glittering waters of the Serpentine drew into view in the deepening dusk, she murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, voice little more than a low rumble above the sussurating wind in the trees. “Theo seemed on fine form, and it was nice to see Pans again. It’s been a few months. Longbottom looks good too,” he added as an afterthought. “He grew into himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Never would have called his and Pansy’s relationship though. I thought she went for the bad boys like you and Blaise…”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m a ‘bad boy’ now, am I? That’s an interesting spin on my past.”

“Maybe not so much ‘bad boy’ now as ‘grumpy reclusive Mr. Rochester’. How about that?”

“He one of your Muggle heroes?” he asked without sting.  

“Yeah. He’s Jane Eyre’s leading male. A bad-tempered rich man who has a big house in the middle of nowhere and a secret deranged wife in the attic.”

“Well, I hit three out of the four criteria…” he said and Hermione’s heart lurched as she remembered he wasn’t a bachelor but a widower.  

“Shit, Draco, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was thoughtless of me.”

He shook his head, the silver hair of his forelock tossing about as he chuckled, an entirely unfamiliar sound which she decided she wanted to hear again almost immediately. “It’s fine, Granger. You haven’t got a malicious bone in your body. Besides, it was a long time ago.”  

They came naturally to a halt in front of the man-made lake and stared out at the lapping water for a time before she uncoupled her grip from his arm and shucked her coat back on.  

That done, she drew in a deep breath and paused, leaning her forearms on the back of a cast-iron bench overlooking a flock of huddled, plastic pedalo boats moored up offshore. Malfoy remained a pace behind her, back straight as an arrow, his hands tucked into his pockets now that she was no longer hanging onto him.  

A fair few Muggles were out and about, some walking lazily as she and Draco had been, others pounding along the pavement on their evening run, and a good number were walking dogs. The sheer mundanity of it all struck her deeply for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.  

“Granger?” he asked in a soft voice.  

She straightened and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. “I was just thinking how close we came to losing all of this… Sometimes it seems like a million years ago, and others…”

“Like yesterday,” he finished a beat later. His eyes glittered in the half-light, pale lashes ghostly and ethereal, and in the dark, his pupils were wide and black and inviting.  

“Let’s keep going, hmm?” she chirped.  

In fact, he walked her all the way back to her rather modest apartment in Muggle London. “You didn’t want to live closer to work at the bookshop?” he asked as she fumbled for her very ordinary, Muggle keys with half-frozen fingers.  

Giving up, she murmured a quick ‘alohomora’ and pressed her hand to the extra ward she had placed on it. “I’ve lived here since I moved out of the house with Ron. Never seen any point in looking for something bigger or whatever. It’s cosy, and it’s just me anyway. You want to come in? I’ll have to tweak the wards if you do.”

“I… I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, his expression pinching.  

“No bother. It’s a three minute job, if that.”  

He looked torn, teetering on the edge of a refusal, but as she swept her curls back out of her face and blinked up at him, he seemed to waver, and finally he nodded. “Alright. Yes please.”

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she said, and left the door open so that he wouldn’t feel like a stray dog shut out in the cold.  

After setting her bag and coat down on a sofa in the main living room, she stood and centred herself, reaching for the wards with her magic. They thrummed reassuringly as she wove a slightly different pattern into them, allowing Draco Malfoy to come and go, and then she released the magic once again.  

“Ok!” she called to him and he stepped tentatively inside, shutting the door with a polite click behind him and levering off his fancy dragonhide Oxfords at the doormat.  

There was something so intimately sweet about seeing him pad across the fake-wooden lino of her living room floor in his dark socks that she couldn’t help grinning.  

“Those are some powerful wards you’ve got up,” he commented as he blinked curiously around the room.  

“Hangover from the Ministry days, I suppose. Plus this is technically a Muggle building, so I can’t have anyone noticing anything strange. There’s another witch here, up on the seventh floor, but we don’t see each other often. You want something to drink? I’ve got tea or coffee, and a small selection of wine, though nothing nearly as nice as what Theo has on tap…”

He smiled. “A tea would be lovely.”

She ducked out into the tiny galley kitchen and lost herself in the simple task of filling and boiling the Muggle kettle. She turned to find Malfoy leaning his shoulder against the door frame, hands cupped under opposite elbows, watching her with that owl-like intensity again.  

“Muggle kitchen,” she grinned almost sheepishly. “Magic is great for a lot of things, but some routines just can’t be beaten.” Ron had always hated and mistrusted things like electric kettles and refrigerators, not quite fully understanding the way it grounded her in her Muggle upbringing.  

“I’m not judging you,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse. “I’m just interested. Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, fishing in the cupboard for her selection of teabags. She held the cardboard box open for him to select one and her eyebrows rose when he chose a delicate mint and chamomile one, but she offered no comment. “I can give you a masterclass in using Muggle kitchens if you like.”

His lips pulled back into a broad, dazzling smile and he laughed. “Go on then.”

“Fridge,” she said, opening it and showing him. “Keeps things cold; powered by electricity. Freezer, keeps things, well, frozen…” She continued her tour while the tea steeped, and by the time she was done, the tea was ready and they made their way back out into the humble living room, with a second-hand sofa and a battered old coffee table with more ringed coffee-stains on than visible surface.  

Her stomach rumbled and he raised an eyebrow at her.  

“I didn’t get a chance to eat anything yet, other than nibbles at Theo’s,” she cringed.

“Don’t let me stop you having something for supper then,” he said.  

“I’m not going to scoff a freezer dinner on my own while you sit there and watch me,” she blurted, laughing. “Unless you want to join me? I’ve got a couple of pizzas in the freezer. Nothing fancy, but they’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so if I put the oven on now.”

Malfoy looked like he’d missed something somewhere but was too embarrassed to ask, so he just said, “Pizza? Sure. The last time I had pizza was when I took Scorpius to Rome.”

“Well,” she said, setting her mug down on the table and heading into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she called, “I can guaranteed these won’t be nearly as good as those were, but they’re pretty tasty. I think they’re both chicken and pesto - is that alright?”

“Perfectly.”

Oven on, she returned and folded herself into the squashy armchair which sat at right angles to the sofa, tucking one leg up beneath her and drawing the other foot up beside her. Malfoy, of course, sat like he was about to take tea with the Queen, while she felt like a pretzel on a shelf. A comfy pretzel though, she thought as she reached for her mug.  

“I’m glad we walked back,” she said after a moment. “I can’t believe I worked myself up into such a tizzy over Ron like that. It’s so childish…”

Malfoy sipped his tea and then cradled it between his long, pale fingers for a moment. “What happened between you two? I thought you three were —”

“— the ‘Golden Trio’?” she purred, voice laden with sarcasm.  

He made a conciliatory gesture with his head but said nothing more.  

She sighed. “We were. I mean, Harry and I are still super close - I’m James’ godmother after all. Ginny’s the sister I never had, but something went wrong with Ron somewhere along the line.” She knew exactly what the final blow had been, but there had been a myriad other issues on both sides before that. “I think… I think he felt like he never had a real niche, you know? He was always second fiddle to Harry in the heroics and quidditch departments, and, well, everyone knows I was the brains of the trio,” she said self-effacingly. “That’s not to say that he’s stupid — he’s not.”  

Malfoy scoffed at that, and for a moment she saw the petulant, petty little thirteen year old he had once been. A deeply sceptical look filled his eyes, and he looked like he was physically biting his tongue to keep himself from disagreeing with her.  

“No, really,” she scowled. “He just makes stupid, split-second decisions without thinking anything through. I’m not defending what he did or how he behaved at the end of our marriage, but…” she sighed heavily and drank a mouthful of too-hot tea that scalded her throat on its way down. “He’s in a pretty good place now with Lavender. We just… rub each other up the wrong way, even now I think.”

“Theo said he was being an arsehole earlier,” Malfoy pushed.  

She shrugged. “A bit. I think he carries a lot of bitterness towards…” she gestured vaguely in Malfoy’s direction, “… Slytherins? I’m not really sure. Stupid house prejudices that a lot of witches and wizards clearly never get over. As if one moment in our history defines us for the rest of our lives, or as if we’re limited to the characteristics of the house we were sorted into at the age of eleven… It’s just so fucking dumb, Malfoy!”

He laughed softly at that.  

“What? You don’t agree?”

“No, I absolutely agree with you. I was enjoying hearing you swear, that’s all. Forgive me.”

She flushed and looked away, anger leaving her as swiftly as it had come. “Ron has a lot of insecurities, and a few of them centre around me, but… I guess I just wasn’t enough for him in the end.”

“How could you possibly be ‘not enough’ for someone, Granger?” Draco asked in a hoarse whisper. “And you were the bloody Minister for Magic for Merlin’s sake…! What more did he want from his witch? Morgana herself reincarnated?”

She laughed long and loud at that, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little in the wake of his little outburst. “My reign was very short though,” she said as she stood and took the opportunity to put the pizzas in the oven. When she returned, she asked carefully, “What about you and Astoria?”  

“What about us?” he asked, voice even and steady, though his eyes swirled softly like Trelawney’s crystal balls, hiding their secrets behind a shifting sheen of silver.  

“Were you happy?”

Malfoy’s eyes slid away from her to stare unseeing at a point across the room, and he sat back against the sofa cushions, still nursing his cheap, Tesco mug between his hands.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “For the most part we were. It wasn’t… earth-shattering or anything, but it was pretty good, all things considered. It was arranged by our families, you know?”

She nodded.

“I knew Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, far better than I knew her, but Daph promised to an Austrian count already. He’s actually very nice. I’m glad for her.”

“I vaguely remember Daphne from school, but I didn’t have many classes with her as we got older.”

“I’d met Astoria a few times before it was all formally arranged, but even then, we only met a total of perhaps five or six times before the wedding proper. It wasn’t the huge event my mother had always dreamed of throwing for me, but with my father in Azkaban and me under house arrest, the mood wasn’t really there, you know?”  

Hermione did some quick maths and realised he must have been only nineteen or so when he’d been married, and her eyes widened. She’d only been twenty-two when Ron and she had tied the knot, but still, that struck her as very young. Scorpius hadn’t been born straight away though, and there had been vicious gossip about blood-curse-related infertility until the little mandrake had arrived. Hermione been about to make the leap to Minister at the incredibly tender age of twenty five when the attack on the Manor had taken place, and Scorpius had been mere months old at the time.

“Toria and I grew to know each other better,” Draco went on, “And in time, I think we came to love each other, in our own way. She certainly adored Scorpius before the blood curse took her.”

“What was she like?” Hermione asked in a whisper.  

Again, Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes with his head tipped back to rest against the sofa cushions. “Quiet, intelligent, articulate, easy-going most of the time, but when she got passionate about something, she could be pretty stubborn. Scorpius inherited a lot of that from her.”

“He looks like you though,” she said. “I mean… almost exactly like you did at that age. It gave me quite the turn when I saw the two of you on Platform 9 3/4 you know?”

He smirked and cracked an eye open. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Mother is always calling him ‘Draco’ instead of ‘Scorpius’. It drives him nuts.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Your mother lives with you at the Manor then?”

“Yes and no,” he said, shuffling a little and getting comfy again, relaxing his torso more casually against the arm of the sofa at last. “She moved out of the main manor when Toria and I married. Now she lives at what we affectionately call the Dower House. Officially it’s called Nightshade Cottage.”

“Ominous name,” she said and he smiled again.  

“Apt though. There’s a rambling, stone-walled potion-garden round the back of it, full of all sorts of interesting plants, and a stunning rose garden at the front. It’s really beautiful in spring, and rather potent in summer.”

“You make it sound almost welcoming,” she said without thinking and he huffed a dry laugh.  

“Parts of the estate really are lovely, Granger; its sordid past notwithstanding.”

When the beeper went on the timer, Malfoy jumped and looked confused, but she laughed and showed him. She did use her wand to cut up the pizzas though, and by the time they were seated back on the sofas with plates in their lap, they resumed their easy talk as if they’d never been interrupted. Watching Malfoy in his fancy clothes and eating pizza with his hands was almost too much for Hermione to bear, but if she focused on his voice too much instead, she found herself mesmerised on that front too. Who’d have thought that Hermione Granger would have found herself growing more and more attracted to Draco Malfoy all these years later.  

Long after they’d finished eating, they spoke a little more of Scorpius, and how Malfoy guessed he was getting on after his first week at school. “Of course, he hasn’t written to me yet, but I’m hoping he might pen something this weekend…”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“Constantly,” he snorted. “One of the burdens of being a father, I suppose.”

“Of being a good one,” she amended, and she didn’t miss the way he swallowed thickly and blinked his glassy eyes rapidly a few times.  

Then he sighed expansively and then levered himself to his feet. “It’s late, Granger, and I should probably be going. I’ve got a meeting to get to early tomorrow morning in Scotland, and I still have a bit of paperwork to do tonight.”

“But it’s the weekend, Malfoy,” she said as she rose too. “You can’t have to work, surely?”

He nodded and shrugged, but made his way to the door and slid his feet back into his shoes without further comment or explanation.  

A little, fluttering, doxy-wing cloud of nerves shimmered to life in her chest as they stood face to face at the door. Malfoy swallowed again and hitched a tiny, lopsided smile. “Thanks for tonight, Granger. And…” he faltered and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I should be thanking you,” she said. “You got me out of my funk and walked me safely home.” She ran her fingers through her mass of curls and didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to watch the movement before he blinked and turned away to open the door, clearing his throat.  

With his fingers still on the handle, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “My pleasure, Granger. Sincerely.”

Hermione barely managed to offer him a watery smile before he was striding off down the corridor.  

She lingered in the doorway long after his footsteps had faded down the stairwell — apparently using the Muggle lift alone had proved too daunting for him. After she locked the door and recharged the wards behind her, she picked up his empty plate and mug to put them in the dishwasher.  

As she passed the dresser that had once belonged to her mother, she caught sight of a moving photograph of Crookshanks. The half-kneazel was staring at the flat’s front door with his yellow, lamp-like eyes wide. “What do you think of him now, huh Crooks?” she asked the photo. “Bit different, eh?”

Photo-Crookshanks purred and circled in the bottom corner of the frame a few times, bottle-brush tail twitching, before returning to his fireplace and curling up with a look of contentment on his face. God, she missed that cat.  

“Yeah. I think I like him too, Crooks,” she said. “Merlin help me, but I think I like him too.”

.

Part Five

___

I’ve only written all 12,410 words of this because people told me they liked it, otherwise it’d have stayed on whatever the first chapter was, so if you want more, let me know with a reblog! Feel free to send me an anonymous owl too if you’re more comfortable doing that.

Anyway, take care, and more soon, I hope. I’ve got a fair chunk plotted out, and it should take us up to Christmas in the storyline (it’s September now for them).

writing masterlist | Ao3

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Two

Chapter One

Warning: oral (m receiving), unprotected sex

It’s not serious.

Two adults can sleep together and be fine. You’ve done it before. It’s kind of nice, actually – you get the milk and don’t have to put up with the emotionally unavailable cow. And even though you’ve only known him for a few weeks, you know that’s what Javier is: emotionally available. Physically available? Different story. He lets you know as much when, after a few more rounds, you start to get dressed.

“So, should I leave the money on the dresser?” you ask as you come back into the room, your skirt crumpled in your hand. He smiles around his third cigarette as you shimmy the skirt back up. You don’t really know why you’re bothering, to be honest- your apartment is five feet away and it’s 3 AM on a Wednesday. Anyone who would see you rush to the door in your underwear probably has a lot more going on than to be distracted by a half nude school teacher doing the world’s shortest slut strut.

“It’s about 100,” he jokes back. You twist your face as you bend down to snatch your shirt from the floor and pull it over your shoulders.

“Pricey, but fair.” Somewhat dressed, you stalk over to his side of the bed and pluck the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag yourself. His hand comes to rest on your thigh as you exhale.

“This isn’t going to be weird, is it?” you ask, flicking your eyes back down to him. “It was good, but I hope I didn’t lose my smoking buddy.”

‘Buddy’? God. You hang out with kids too much.

He smiles and reaches up to take back the cigarette you hold out. “Don’t worry, hermosa. I don’t scare easy.”

“Friends then?”

His eyes flick up and down your body before falling back on your face. He takes a drag.

“Yeah, friends.”

The way he enunciates tells you exactly what being friends with Javier is going to entail. You smile and bend down, catching his mouth in a quick peck.

“See you later, friend.” You stand up and give him a quick smile before picking up your purse from where you left it by the door and saunter out to the hall.

You don’t see him until the late afternoon Sunday when you take a break from grading to go stand on y’all’s usual spot to light up. He’s already there, smoking a cigarette that’s more ash than tobacco. He doesn’t even look up when you saunter up next to him, your hair up in a nest, and light your own.

“Lot on your mind?” you ask.

“What?” his voice is more on edge than you expected. You frown and gesture to his smoke.

“Think you forgot to ash,” you say.

He huffs and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, pressing it into the concrete on the steps with more vigor than is required.

“Something up?”

“Mind your own fucking business, will you?” he snaps. You physically recoil from him as he starts down the stairs, his hands in his pockets. You’re too stunned to say anything, watching his back until he’s out of earshot. Annoyed, and suddenly not in the mood, you stub out your mostly intact cigarette and head inside.

To be honest, you’re still steaming about it when there’s a knock on your door that night. Already in your sleepwear, you push yourself up from where you’ve been lounging on the couch, reading some trashy paperback you picked up from the airport months ago. You leave against the door, avoiding looking through the peephole – some trick your dad taught you.

“Yeah?” you call out.

“It’s me.”

You frown. You do want to open the door, but there’s a question of self-respect. Do you let the man you’re casually having sex with, who then treated you like shit, into your house, where you know you could happily drop your pants for him once again if he looks at you with even the slightest bit of regret and/or horniness? You’re a strong woman but you’ve been walking funny all weekend, and if you’re honest it’s been pretty nice.

Your indecision speaks for you because from the other side you hear:

“I thought- I’d explain. About earlier.”

Yeah, there goes that resolve. You flick the deadbolt and swing the door open so you’re sat in the doorway, your hand still resting on the doorknob as you consider him with a look you hope is at least a little intimidating, although it’s hard to maintain upon seeing him. He looks rough.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you echo back.

“…What’s up?” he asks.

“Mostly just minding my own fucking business.”

He purses his lips and looks beyond you. “I deserve that.”

A beat passes. You try and keep up your icy, indifferent demeanor, daring him to explain himself, despite the teacher in you wanting to pull him into a hug or potentially ask him to express his emotion through a crayon drawing. Instead, you fight the urge and just raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Can I come in?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment before making a show of stepping aside and waving your hand into your apartment dramatically. He nods before walking in and stopping at the edge of your couch, letting you close the door behind him. He turns around at the sound, his hands on his hips pushing his jacket back just so. You both wait a minute, daring the other to speak, before giving in at the same time.

“Do you want something to drink – “ “I’m sorry about earlier-“

You both stop, waiting for the other to finish. He speaks first.

“Yeah, what you got?”

“Water, beer, or tequila.” You say, gliding past him to the small kitchen that overlooks the living room. You turn back, awaiting an answer. He’s still a thousand miles away.

“Beer.” He says finally. You nod and go to the fridge, retrieving two cans from the bottom shelf. Closing the door with your foot, you walk forward and hold the can out for him. He takes it but doesn’t open it. Annoyed, you make for your spot on the couch and plop down, pulling the tab back as you tuck your legs under you.

“You can sit down,” you say.

As if snapped out of a trance, he comes forward and sits on the opposite end of the couch. In a fluid motion, he opens the beer and throws it back for a long gulp. You study him from your perch, nursing the cold can in your hand. When he finishes his gulp, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The air around the two of you is tense, and the stomach makes your stomach flip.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says. You sit up, prompting him to look up at you. You bring the beer to your lips and take a sip, letting him know he’s got to offer a little more than that. He shakes his head.

“It’s- it’s a shit excuse. It’s just work.” He says.

“Yeah? Did the embassy cut the janitorial budget? No more Comet?”

He shakes his head. “You’re smarter than that,”

You fall silent and look at the space between you. You both know you never bought the excuse he gave you that night out, you just let him have it because it was easier to let him have his secrets, even if he noticed your eyes lingering on the gun strapped to his side when he first went up to the bar.

It was just supposed to be a drink.

Nothing serious.

“I am,” you say, setting your beer on the coffee table. You sit up and wait for him to respond. Instead, he takes another sip of his beer and makes to stand.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he says, adjusting his jacket. “I’ll let you get back to your evening-“

“Javier,” you say. As you see him making for the door, you pounce up and grab his arm. He stills, and you drop it as if you just breached a barrier.

“You’re not bothering me,” you say. “You can tell me…or you don’t have to. It’s fine.”

He turns back and regards you with those eyes. Those fucking eyes. In this light, with the beers you’ve had, you feel suddenly so undressed in front of him. You bring an arm up to hold the opposite arm. It makes you feel less exposed

“Friends, remember?” you say, trying to recapture the jokey feeling from the previous night. Trying to make him feel comfortable. Like he can be light in here. With you.

He’s still for a second, but just as quickly as he popped up from the couch he’s got his hands on your face, pulling you into a desperate kiss. It’s messy and hard, but you let him take the lead, opening your mouth when he presses his tongue between your lips.  His hands drop to your waist and clutch at you, pushing your ugly, old University shirt up to touch your skin. Everything feels so urgent like if he let his hold on you relax even a little you’d float away from him. You feel the hardness in his jeans as he holds you against him, and you try to kiss him back with equal ferocity before realizing maybe he needs this kind of harsh control. So you relax, letting him take the lead and paw and gnaw at you. He leaves a trail of harsh, open mouth kisses along your neck that you know are going to leave marks, and you make a mental note to wear a turtle neck tomorrow to avoid the inevitable, unintentionally shaming little innocent voices asking “Señora, qué es esto?”.

Why do little kids notice everything?

Eagerly, as if he’s realized it’s the one thing that’s been keeping him from peace all day, he pulls your shirt over your head and throws it somewhere behind you. You’ve already taken your bra off, and his head dips down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the point before giving it a quick, testing bite. You let out a little gasp as he switches to the other, and for a moment you forget his face at your door – sad, like a puppy dog that got kicked – and the dullness of his voice, so different from just a few days earlier. This feels different too- not so much fun, but release.

You’ll let him have it.

Your knees hit the edge of the couch and, a creative idea coming to your head, you drop from the kiss and sit yourself on the arm, focus now on undoing his belt. Above you he strips his jacket off, dropping it to the floor. You pull the belt out of the loops with all the show of a circus lion tamer cracking a whip and immediately being to pull at the buttons and zipper. Aggressively, -maybe too aggressively, calm down, the dick isn’t going anywhere, Eloise- you pull the jeans down past his ass and lurch forward, catching the head of his cock between your lips and sucking. Above you, he hisses, and you bring your hand to him, wrapping your fingers around the top as if it were an extension of your mouth. Gathering spit from the back of your throat, you take him deeper, trying to coat his length. His hands come up to grab at your hair, and you’re encouraged to go faster. Suddenly taking care of him is the only thing that matters anymore. Your other hand reaches forward and presses up against his sac, and the groan from above you is enough of an indication that he approves. You pull him out of your mouth and flick your eyes up forward, holding eye contact as you lick along the side of him. The way his mouth falls open is enough encouragement to return to your work in earnest, and for the next five minutes, you’re working your jaw like a fucking snake – pulling him into the back of your throat, tickling the underside of him all the while before returning to give attention to the head.

Without warning, you feel hands on your shoulders, and before you can protest – no, I want to do this, I want to do this for you – your back is against the leather of the couch cushions. You stare up at him as he finishes undressing, his eyes are so dark and focused as he drops the clothes to his feet. In a fluid motion, he pulls your night shorts and underwear down, depositing them with the rest of his clothes as he crawls over you. You scoot back until your head is pressed against the pillow just fifteen minutes earlier you had nearly fallen asleep drooling on. He hooks your leg up, opening you up for him as he slithers up to kiss you again.

“Are you-?”

“Yeah,” you say.

It’s enough. Seconds later he’s sheathing himself inside of you, and despite yourself, despite that stupid cool disposition you opened the door with, you let out a moan. Harsh fingers grab your chin and pull you back into a kiss, cutting you off as he continues to pound into you at an unforgiving pace. God, it feels good. It’s been years since you’ve had sex without a condom, and you’ve forgotten how nice and right it can feel to have someone inside you without a barrier. You hum into his mouth as he pulls away, dropping his lips to your neck as he continues, hard and unforgiving and perfectly painful in a way that you’ll carry in your walk for a week. Embarrassingly, you’re so wet, and the excess slick only makes the sounds coming from between the two of you more obscene. You clench yourself around him, earning yourself a moan as he sucks a bruise onto your collarbone – it's okay, remember, turtleneck -and bucks into you, faster than before.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he continues. “Fuck!”

“Yeah?” he asks, his hand coming up to grab your breast. He pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and you let out another moan. Instead of answering, you dig your nails into the meat of his ass, urging him forward and deeper into you. It must have an effect because it’s his turn to moan into your ear, for you to hear the string of curse words that tumble from his stupid, perfect mouth. Encouraged, you press against his back, bringing him closer as you ride him from below. He sucks as his teeth and leans into it when you try again. You bend down and suck at the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, doing your best to leave a mark. Fair’s fair.

A few more minutes into this and you don’t think you can hold it off any longer. Opening your legs as much as possible, begging him to go as deep as he can, you finally let your body go. It’s deep and internal, a different sensation than when you’re circling yourself alone in your bed. It seems to pull him deeper and crush him in between the impossibly strong spasms. You let out a little cry, which is all it takes for him to finish. Seconds later you feel him pulse inside you, warmth spreading deep inside of you. He falls atop of you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high. You both stay like that for a moment, two sweaty bodies flopped atop of the other, basking in the afterglow. After another minute he pulls back and kisses your chin before pulling himself from you – you’re proud, you only let out a small pathetic sound of disapproval – before he’s up, making for your kitchen. He returns a moment later, a wet rag in his hand. You try not to remember that you used that same cloth to clean up split orange juice that morning as you take it, pressing it between your legs as you sit up. You reach forward for your beer and take a sip as he settles beside you, two cigarettes once again caught between his lips. He lights yours first and passes it to you, which you take gratefully. For a moment, the two of you relax in the afterglow, naked and sweating on your shitty couch, sucking on cigarettes and waiting for your heart rate to go back down.

“I saw a kid get shot,” he says out of nowhere. It's enough to jolt you upward. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring forward, lost in his own thoughts. He brings the cigarette to his lips again.

“…Fuck.” You say. Because what else can you say? Try and make him feel better, tell him you’ve lost students to the same bullshit he seems to be fighting? Yes, that’s always the solution- more dead kids.

“Couldn’t have been older than nineteen,” he says. “Other…kids were there. Saw it.”

You bite your lip and study his profile. You’re not sure what to say. Is there anything? If you were in his position, you’d probably hate someone trying to fill the silence. To make you feel better. Like people can’t just sit with something uncomfortable and true. It reminds you home, of the family you grew up in. You want to show him that isn’t you.

So, you swing your legs onto the ground and move to sit closer to him. He notices but says nothing. The two of you sit in silence, the smoke from your cigarettes intermingling in the smell of sex and sweat that permeates the air around you. He finishes his cigarette first, and you stub yours out – in what, solidarity? – before reaching to catch his hand in your own. He stills, but lets you interlace your fingers.

“You don’t have to-”

“Friends, Javier.” You say again. He turns to look at you and you hold his gaze, daring him to say something against you. A beat passes, and he drops his head. Reaching out, you pull his head to your lips and press a kiss against his temple. Leaning back, you pull him down with you, letting his head lay on your chest as you pull the ratty blanket over the two of you. You listen to his breaths go in and out, as you trace mindless patterns through his hair. After a few moments, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s asleep. Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes and soon follow suit.

The next morning, when you wake up alone on your couch, you try not to let the ache in your chest settle. When you leave that morning, alone for the first time in weeks, you try not to overthink it. And later, then night, when you’re lying in bed and hear another woman’s groans permeate the wall between your bedrooms, you try not to finger the bruises on your neck and ignore the ache between your legs.

It’s not serious.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Two)

Summary: Loki and (Y/N)’s friendship continues to grow but is soon threatened by a dangerous enemy and a life-changing secret.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief scene of verbal harassment

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Two April 14th, 2015 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

As Loki walked down the hall to the conference room, he thought about how he’d much rather be in his room or the library reading his new book. (Y/N) had picked Pride and Prejudice for him the last time he visited the library, insisting that he’d love the witty banter between Elizabeth Bennet and Mister Darcy. She had proven to be right yet again; Loki could honestly say that Jane Austen was indeed a very clever woman and that (Y/N) had a true talent for recommending literature.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he’d laid eyes on the trainee librarian almost two months ago. After complaining to Tony about the inadequate number of interesting books in his library, Steve had interrupted whatever insult the billionaire was about to utter and told Loki about public libraries, specifically the New York Public Library several blocks down the street from the tower. Needless to say, Loki was hesitant to visit; the super soldier was one of the only Avengers he could actually stand to be around most of the time, but he had a nasty habit of overlooking the more annoying traits of Midgardians. But in utter desperation for any interesting reading material, he finally caved and walked down the street to the library, feeling utterly ridiculous in the Midgardian clothes the others had purchased for him. However, his discomfort vanished the moment he stepped into the library; unlike the bustling street outside, the building was practically empty, and it was packed to the brim with enormous bookshelves.

In a trance, he strolled down the aisles and couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer number of books the Midgardians had written; it almost rivaled the palace library on Asgard. But when he turned down another aisle, he stopped cold in his tracks; standing mere feet away and busy placing books onto one of the shelves was a woman, and she was the fairest he’d ever laid eyes on. Her (Y/H/C) hair was streaked with faint strands of gold, and her (Y/E/C) eyes glimmered behind a pair of glasses that rested on her nose; he smiled a little when she had to push them back up after they had slid down. Her clothing was simple and modest, a pair of dark jeans and a light purple sweater with a pair of flats, but their plain-ness only served to accentuate her beautiful features.

When she placed a book on the shelf, she smiled brightly and looked up, but whatever she noticed made her frown. A look of determination came across her features and she reached for the top shelf, but it was far too high for her. Instead of giving up, she stood on her toes to give her more height, but as a result, she lost her balance and stumbled. Breaking out of his trance, Loki rushed forward and grabbed her elbows to catch her from falling. The moment her striking (Y/E/C) eyes met his, his face reddened, his heartbeat quickened and he decided that Midgardian public libraries weren’t all that bad. The woman had introduced herself as (Y/N), and after helping her finish her task of rearranging the bookshelf, he was recommended A Midsummer Night’s Dream and given a library card. He was quickly charmed by how enthusiastic she was about the play and he decided that a return trip to the library would be quite necessary.

And that’s how their friendship began. Every Friday, he would visit the library, discuss with her whichever novel or play he’d just read and leave with a new one. She had insights on each and every one, offering him explanations of plot or speculations of characterization, even background information on the author or the period it was set in, and he listened to her intently before adding his own views and opinions to the conversation. She was kind and intelligent for a Midgardian, and he quickly found himself looking forward to their weekly meetings. He couldn’t deny that another reason he was drawn to her was because she didn’t look at him with fear or hatred in her eyes. To her, he was simply a friend who enjoyed discussing literature with her every Friday, not the villainous Asgardian who previously tried to take over her planet. For some strange reason, she had yet to realize his true identity, which was why he had continued bend the truth and tell her that he was just a civilian consultant and not one of ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’. There was one Friday, however, when he seriously questioned whether he should tell her the truth or not…

Loki hurried up the steps of the library, humming an Asgardian tune under his breath as he climbed. The week had been a long and trying one; Director Fury had announced that they were planning on infiltrating several Hydra databases, Thor had broken nearly all the kitchen appliances with Mjolnir out of frustration after attempting to cook and on top of everything, Loki was forced to go on a mission with Tony, the most infuriating Midgardian he’d ever met. So, to say that he was excited to see his new friend was an understatement; he missed seeing her wonderful (Y/E/C) eyes sparkle as they looked at him, her bright smile as she spoke so passionately about literature, her infectious laughter whenever he told her a joke…though he would never admit it out loud, he was slowly beginning to develop a soft spot for the kind trainee librarian. And although he worried about how she would react to learning his true identity, he believed deep down that she was different from other Midgardians but the only way to be sure of her reaction was to go ahead and tell her about himself. He entered the library, his mind already made up, and headed towards the bookshelves to look for her when he noticed she wasn’t sitting at her desk. As he was leaving the biography section, two voices made him stop in his tracks.

“Aw, c’mon sweetie, just one date!”

“I already told you, sir, no thank you.”

Loki peeked around the bookcase and saw (Y/N), her back to him as she shelved books and shied away from a handsome but shifty-looking man standing too close to her and staring hungrily. Rage filled him but just as he was about to step in, the man spoke again.

“I’ll treat you to a real nice meal, and maybe after we could have a little fun; I’m the best you’ll ever have, sweet cheeks. C’mon, are you sayin’ no ‘cause I’m ugly or somethin’?”

(Y/N) looked at him with a mock expression of confusion. “Facially, or are we talking about your personality? I’m confused so you’ll have to clarify yourself for me.” Loki smirked to himself, amused at her witty comeback. “Now, I suggest that you check out a book to expand that non-existent brain of yours and leave before I call the police and have them teach you all about manners as they arrest you for stalking all the female employees here.”

The man’s jaw clenched in anger. “Wouldn’t wanna go out with a bitch like you anyways.” He stormed off down the aisle and she resumed her work.

Careful not to be seen by (Y/N), Loki gritted his teeth and followed the man as he entered the men’s restroom. He tapped the man’s shoulder and when he turned around, punched him square in the jaw. The man toppled to the floor, clutching his face and moaning. Grabbing him tightly by the throat, Loki lifted him up easily and slammed him hard against the wall, causing the tiles behind him to crack. “If I ever hear of you returning to this library or harassing that woman again, I will not hesitate in tracking you down and disemboweling you.” To prove his point, he allowed his eyes to flash Jotun-red before returning to their usual green. “Understand?” Instead of answering, the terrified man’s eyes rolled back and he fainted. “Insignificant ant.” Loki threw him back to the ground roughly and left the restroom to search for (Y/N). She had moved on to the sciences, her usual gentle smile on her face as she worked. “Lady (Y/N)!”

She turned to him and her smile widened. “Hi Loki! You’re late, you know. I almost thought you weren’t going to come in today.”

Loki only grinned. “What, and miss our weekly talk? Unthinkable!” She laughed and continued shelving. “I…I actually arrived several minutes ago and witnessed you dealing with that pig. You have an astounding talent for witty insults, Lady (Y/N), I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, I’ve learned over the years that they’re the quickest way to make men like him go away.”

He felt his knees weaken when she grinned at him, attracted to the mischievous glint in her usually innocent eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, however, as he considered her relaxed demeanor. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it that you stay so positive after being harassed and insulted like that? Does it not bother you?”

(Y/N) thought for a moment before responding. “Well…when I was little, my aunt used to always tell me this one quote from Eleanor Roosevelt; it goes something like ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent’. So, whenever someone tries to put me down like that man just did, I think of that quote and try to remember that life’s too short to let people believe that they can control me.” Pushing her glasses up her nose, she directed her attention to the book in his hand. “So, did you enjoy the book?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, very much!” Loki exclaimed, hoping that she wouldn’t notice how he stared at her. “Although, I’m not sure Tolkien needed to spend five pages describing a forest.”

She laughed again. “That’s one of the most common criticisms of Tolkien, you know. But you have to admit, his descriptions…” She continued talking, but Loki was only half-listening. She had surprised him with her answer to his question, and as he watched her talk animatedly about the merits of over-describing action and locations in novels, he knew that he couldn��t bring himself to tell her about his true identity. Not just because of how she would possibly react, but because it would almost certainly put her in danger. And he couldn’t purposefully put the most kindhearted woman he’d ever met in harm’s way, not for anything. With his mind made up, he just watched and listened to her speak with rapt attention and barely-concealed admiration.

“Loki!” He was drawn out of his thoughts by his brother, who hurried to walk alongside him. “I called to you several times, is there something on your mind that’s making you hard of hearing?”

“Nothing at all, brother, except the desire to return to my room and finish my book,” Loki snapped back. Although he’d never admit it out loud, Loki was happy that his relationship with Thor was different now that he wasn’t living in his brother’s shadow. The Avengers had allowed him to join their team to redeem himself and in turn he’d slowly earned their trust, finally making him feel just as respected as Thor for once in his life. And I suppose it’s rather nice to have a brother again, he thought begrudgingly, although he can still be as infuriating as ever.

Thor only chuckled. “Are you sure that’s the only thing on your mind?” When Loki shot him a questioning look, Thor grinned. “I know that you’re thinking about your Lady (Y/N). When do I finally get to meet the woman who’s enchanted my brother?”

Groaning, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and avoided his brother’s eyes. “I deeply regret telling you about her, you know. As I’ve said before, she and I are merely friends, Thor, nothing more. We have intellectual discussions about literature, something you could partake in and benefit from if you ever picked up a book in your life.”

“Whatever you say, Loki,” Still chuckling, Thor led them into the conference room and they took their seats at the table. The only other Avenger there was Steve since the rest of the team was on various missions or conducting experiments in the lab. “Did Fury mention why he’s called us here, Rogers?”

Steve shook his head, his arms crossed over his broad chest and a worried look on his face. “Nope, he didn’t say anything. His text sounded pretty serious, though.” They all seemed to have thought the same thing given that they were all dressed for battle; Thor and Loki in their Asgardian armor and Steve in his red, white and blue uniform complete with his vibranium shield.

Before Loki could speak, the director walked in with files in his hands. “Okay, now that everyone’s here we can begin. The three of you are gonna go on an extraction mission here in the city. As you know, our intelligence uncovered some Hydra files recently and they include one of their next targets. This is a sensitive one ‘cause we don’t know exactly when they’re gonna make their move, but we do know it’ll be today so you’ll need to leave immediately.” Director Fury handed each of them a file and continued. “And because we’re on a tight schedule, we don’t know why they’re targeting her yet but we’ll be working on finding out the answer to that question while you’re gone.”

Loki took the file and opened it, but as soon as he saw the woman’s picture, he froze. It was (Y/N), and the photograph was taken from her library identification card she usually wore clipped to her belt. “I believe I may know why she’s being targeted.” When the rest of the group looked at him with confusion, he continued, “This woman is Lady (Y/N), my friend who works at the library down the street. I meet her there every Friday afternoon.”

“Let’s go.” Steve stood quickly and everyone else followed. “I’ll meet you two there.” Slinging his shield over his back, he jogged to the elevators that led to the entrance floor below.

Fear clenched at Loki’s heart as he and Thor hurried up the tower’s emergency stairwell to the protruding helipad; he never intended (Y/N) to become a target of Hydra and had taken every precautionary measure to ensure her safety. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her because of him. “The library is west of the tower and three blocks down. I’ll go in first and meet you behind the building with her, all right?”

Thor nodded, a determined look on his face as he kicked open the door to the helipad. “No harm will come to her, brother, I promise.”

Without another word, Loki grabbed his brother’s arm as he swung his hammer and they shot into the air. Moments later, they landed in the alley alongside the library. Please let her be safe, he thought as he ran around the building and dashed up the front steps. Loki swiftly entered the building, ignoring all the strange looks he received because of his armor, and hurried over to the bookshelves. (Y/N) was in the philosophy section, so engrossed in her shelving that she didn’t notice him approach her. “Lady (Y/N)!”

She looked up from her cart and smiled. “Loki! Why are you wearing-?”

“Lady (Y/N),” He interrupted. “This is going to sound completely insane, but any moment now, some very dangerous men will come here and attempt to abduct you.” When she was about to interrupt, he held her shoulders and bent down so that he was eye-level with her. “This isn’t a joke, Lady (Y/N), I assure you, and I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but we need to leave now. Do you trust me?”

(Y/N)’s widened eyes considered his for a moment before she slowly nodded. “Y-yes, Loki, I trust you.”

“All right, we need to get to the-” Before he could finish, the library door’s slammed open and they could hear what sounded like a several armed men enter as the rest of the patrons screamed and took cover. He cursed under his breath. “We need to hurry; is there another way out of here?”

“This way!” Snapping out of her shock, (Y/N) quickly led him through the rows of bookcases to a door at the back of the room, but before they could go through, they were suddenly surrounded by eight Hydra agents. The sight of the men pointing their guns in (Y/N)’s direction filled Loki with a rage unlike any he’d ever felt before; the only thing keeping him from slaughtering them where they stood was the woman standing beside him. As (Y/N) gasped in fear, Loki stepped in front of her and thrust out his hands, causing their guns to melt in their hands and transform into snakes; attention was drawn from the two of them as the men fell into a panic and attempted to untangle the serpents from their arms.

A moment later, Steve jumped into the middle of the fighting and slammed his shield into one man’s face. “Loki, get her out of here, I’ve got this!” He skillfully dodged an attack and threw his shield, knocking two of the men into unconsciousness before flying back onto his left arm.

Giving the super soldier a nod, Loki took (Y/N)’s hand and quickly led her through the door, which opened into a long hallway. “Watch out!”

He spun around as an armed man came sprinting towards them down the hallway, already pulling a gun out of its holster as he ran. Before he could raise his hand and use his magic or daggers to defend them, (Y/N) raised her own hands and the man was suddenly slammed against the wall by a purple force and knocked unconscious. Loki looked at her in shock, an emotion which was mirrored on her face as well. She looked down at her trembling hands and back up at him before her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back in her head; Loki lunged forward and caught her in his arms before her limp body could hit the floor. She doesn’t know she possesses magic, he thought in astonishment. Cradling her protectively in his arms, he hurried down the hall and kicked a door open with his foot, revealing the alley where his brother was waiting impatiently beside a cluster of unconscious Hydra agents.

“Is she all right?” Thor asked, but all Loki could do was give him a hopeless look. “I’ll take her back to the tower to Banner, you stay here and help Rogers.” Loki opened his mouth to protest, but Thor interrupted. “She’ll be safe with me, Loki, but Rogers needs assistance!”

Giving his brother a curt nod, he carefully placed (Y/N)’s unconscious form into Thor’s arms. “Take care of her, Thor.” He watched as Thor swung Mjolnir and shot into the sky, flying towards the Avengers tower with (Y/N) secure in his arms. The moment they left his vision, he hurried back inside and helped Steve defeat the men and the reinforcements they brought along. All he could think of while he fought, however, was (Y/N)’s sickly face, the incredible power she used to protect him and the fact that she seemed to have no knowledge of that power. He had a nagging suspicion about what that power meant, but he prayed to the Norns he was wrong; if he wasn’t, then it meant that (Y/N)’s world was about to be turned upside down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy! 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Three-Part One

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[pomegranates-and-blood]

“Until spring comes.” (Freydis’ PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Freydis/Reader (onesided)

Summary: A little snippet of what happens during chapter 38-39 in Freydis’ PoV

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: The usual, passing mentions of injuries/broken bones, and of death/killing.

A/N: This is just the result of me trying to get my writing motor running smoothly again, so it isn’t that impacful or that good lol, so feel free to skip it.

This is her take on the night the reader made her choice, from the middle of the day before to the next one. A bit of fluff, a lot of unrequited pining (like holy shit, I really didn’t intend for her to be that into the Reader but oh well), and out came this. I hope you enjoy!

The man looks at her strangely, as if asking her a question with his eyes alone. Whatever it is, Freydis doesn’t understand, and pushes him with a quiet greeting.

“I…I was sent here to fetch something for pain.”

“What kind of pain? It matters to know that, you know.” You ask from behind the half wall, and even if your voice is as soft as ever the man’s eyes widen and…is that fear?

“A broken bone.”

And when you walk out, Freydis understands why the man was so scared. For such a small woman, you stand as tall as Valdís when you look into his eyes and, head tilted to the side, press,

“I know you. Why d-…?”

“F-For the King,” The man states, interrupting you. He folded quickly, Freydis thinks to herself. “There was an accident near the new stretch of the wall, he-…one of his legs is broken.”

You nod your head, hold your back straight and hold worry and what she is sure to be anger back, and dismiss him with short words. He leaves, and Freydis lingers for as long as you do in the short silence where you take a breath and lower your gaze.

Deciding to give you a moment, Freydis reaches for the small wooden box you asked her to safeguard months ago, where you keep the herbs you seem to be so familiar with, and some she has never seen before but you dashed for when a shipment from the East came with them.

When you turn to her, she offers you the planter of what you called ‘comfrey’ but she has always known as knitbone, the vibrant plant of bell-like purple flowers. You smile in thanks, and walk towards her to get to work.

“I told him not to-…” You bite back your anger with a sigh, shaking your head at yourself, “I married a stubborn, stubborn man.”

Freydis watches you leave, and wonders if you recognize the hypocrisy in complaining about that.

____

You don’t return for the rest of the day. Granted, there isn’t much left of the day by the time you leave, but…it irks her, that the routine she’s so comfortably settled in, where you both close the main door to the shop and overlook what supplies are left, talking quietly with one another before you hug your goodbye and return to the longhouse; is something she will be lacking today.

She wants to resent him. She does, if she is honest.

For having your attention, for having your love, for having your…you.

Because now you are with him, focusing on tending to him even though she knows he will try not to let you, offering him attention and gentleness even though she knows he does not deserve them.

Then again, she doesn’t think she deserves them either.

And yet you offer them regardless.

Freydis tries bending her stiff fingers, but all she manages is to make a jolt of pain run through her arm, all the way to her elbow. The pain is so blinding she has to grit her teeth to keep at bay a cry.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask, not hesitating to drop your work and walk towards her. There’s a small furrow in your brows as you take the hand she was massaging in your own. “Are you in pain?”

“How do y-…?”

“She’s very good at noticing that,” Valdís grumbles from her place next to her, still carving away at a piece of wood. The shieldmaiden grunts, “And the arrogant little witch won’t let you forget it.”

You offer the other woman a smile, but there’s concern still clouding your features, making the softness of your expression a little more cutting. Freydis lingers for a few breaths too long on the realization she is at the other end of your concern, of your care. It makes her feel warm, safe.

“I have to be attuned to others’ pain, I am a healer,” You argue, but it is half-hearted. Your eyes search Freydis’, and you ask quietly, “Are you hurt?”

“No, I just…” Freydis tries squeezing her hand into a fist, but her fingers don’t obey, her joints feel stiff and fat and she can barely move her fingers when pain shoots through her arm. It causes a bit of panic to rise within her, she won’t lie. “There’s something wrong with my hand.”

Your dainty fingers feel cold -they always do- as careful but certain fingertips run between the bones of Freydis’ hand, thumb pressing lightly down the center of her palm towards her wrist.

“There’s nothing wrong with your hand, you’ve just overworked yourself,” You reassure her softly. She nods her head, expecting you to let go and let her get back to work, since you have to be well aware a former slave knows quite a bit about working past the pain, past the point of exhaustion even; but you don’t let go of her hand. She tries tugging her hand out of your grasp, but you hold on, resolute when you state, “I can help.”

“You don’t need to.”

You frown, as if affronted, “I want to.”

It takes you a few moments to gather what you need, before you’re grinding buckeye and arnica, adding it to a thick oil of knitbone root that you have perfected in these last months.

Sitting next to her once again, you extend a hand, asking for hers. Freydis hesitates for only a moment, before putting her hand on yours, letting you work the salve into her skin.

She could swear you breathe a little easier now that she has let you help her, and she wonders -not for the first time- what this ground under her feet has done to deserve you.

She wonders, sometimes, the kind of woman you were before the Christians and their fire. Before you were made queen of the Greeks, before everything. Freydis thinks she sees glimpses of her, more and more often lately, when you sit across from one of the younger girls and teach her how to grind herbs, your eyes bright and kind as you guide her hands; when you walk by her through the streets and catch sight of Hvitserk or that brunette he is always around of, your face lighting up as you wave your greeting; when she drags her feet to the longhouse and finds you sitting by Ivar’s side, your smile lovesick and your eyes hopeful as you look at him.

She wonders if you would have met, she wonders…she wonders if you would be able to see a friend in her, when all you were was a healer that had never known what it was like to lie, that had never chosen to do the unthinkable in the name of survival.

She thinks bitterly that a different fate couldn’t even change the way you feel about him, and doesn’t bother telling herself it is anything other than jealousy.

You won’t ever lose me because of Ivar, you told her, and with time she is starting to believe you. It is a little scary to think of how much she needed words that spoke of what she wanted to hear that, past all the ways she knows better, she finds herself believing them.

But she has reason to. She knows that against the way you know better you try -and succeed, you’re too stubborn not to- to be honest, about everything. And she knows she has reason to believe you when you tell her not even the King can take you from her.

She knows between Ivar and her your choice will always be him, but that she understands. Most would say she doesn’t, but Freydis knows what love is.

____

Freydis keeps her eyes on the darkening sky, wondering how many are watching the falcon circle the longhouse with almost stubborn insistence. Wondering how many will be foolish enough to believe it a sign from Freyja, and not a world of Gods not their own demanding to have you back with it.

You told her a while ago about the deal you and Ivar made, and his promise to let you go when the time comes that you choose to. She knows Ivar is living on borrowed time.

Even if she didn’t know, she would have noticed something was tearing at the King from the inside, and it seems he had more than enough reason to feel that way.

She certainly feels the same.

She told you that she would be with you wherever the Gods took you, and she meant it more than she ever meant anything else. But she wants you to stay. She wants the routine of watching you work as a healer even with a crown on your head, she wants to hear you and that shieldmaiden argue and laugh, she wants to see that shine in your eyes whenever you are with Ivar.

She wants you to stay.

Still, she leaves the door to her home unlocked and, as the night falls, she waits for your presence at her door with a heavy heart, waiting for you to come ask her to let you cross past the barrier of this world to return to theirs.

But you don’t. You don’t come as the sun sets; you don’t come as the heavy darkness of night settles over Kattegat.

The falcon gives up and flies back towards the woods, and Freydis…Freydis almost wants to go to you, to find out what is keeping you here.

But she realizes she knows what it is.

“So, witch.” Valdís starts, taking a seat on the chair across from you and putting her feet up on the one next to her.

“So, shieldmaiden.”

“You insist on calling me something I am not.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

The ruggish woman offers the beginning of a smile at your wit.

“When you have a few princes and princesses,” Valdís starts, and Freydis’ eyes leave the infusion she was so carefully trying to get right to focus on you. She notices the way you falter, but the shieldmaiden doesn’t. Or, if she does, she doesn’t care. “Will you teach them our ways, or yours?”

“I-…um…” You lower your gaze to your hands, before shrugging, “Hiereia of Per-…of Despoina make cruel mothers.”

“Hiereia, that’s what you were back in Greece?”

“A few things more than that, but yes,” You return your attention to your work, “It is said women like me are cruel women to love. We aren’t…we aren’t fated to be good wives, good mothers.”

“They say the same about shieldmaidens,” Valdís comments, shrugging. Freydis notices the nonchalance is a farce, and something like a fierce kind of affection shines in the woman’s eyes. “And they are wrong. Have you noticed tis never witches, or shieldmaidens, who say those things? There’s a reason for that.”

“Will you tell me they just don’t understand?” You ask, a quirk in the side of your mouth as you tease the shieldmaiden.

But Valdís doesn’t falter, “They fear, they will always fear a woman that can be what she wants and still be a woman.”

“I don’t know what I want to be.”

“You do,” Valdís doesn’t hesitate to point out, “And no one, and certainly no title, can stop you from being it. You know that, even Ivar knows that.”

Your eyes meet Freydis’ for a fleeting moment, as if you want to find in her gaze the answer as to why Valdís speaks so surely, as if she too knows of the choice you will one day make. She returns the same confused stare, because she hasn’t spoken a word about your deal with Ivar to anyone, least of all to the woman that threatened her life if Freydis is to ever betray you again.

“What are you saying?” You ask, uncharacteristically braced and uncertain as you look at the shieldmaiden.

“I’m saying he can’t stop you, no one can,” The woman offers a crooked smile, “So, since it will be your choice to make: will your children be raised as Greeks or as Vikings?”

Your eyebrows raise, your breath leaves you, and something like pain intertwined with hope shines in your eyes; and Freydis feels the strange urge to shield you from Valdís’ gaze, to keep your weakness safe from the woman’s knowing eyes.

But she stays in her spot, and watches a small smile slowly appear on your lips. Incredulous, almost afraid, wobbly smile that it is; it makes Freydis feel warm.

Yet she also knows what world you leave behind. She may not speak your tongue, or be familiar with your Gods, or know of your ways; but she knows how much you miss them, how much you love them. How much pain they caused you.

And Freydis, better than maybe anyone, knows why someone might choose to hold on to something, even if that something is the jagged edges of a knife that cuts and hurts.

She also knows what it is like to finally let it go.

So, telling herself it is to try and give comfort however she knows how to -with shadows and secrets and lies- she shrugs on the cloak and sets off through the darkened streets towards the spot she knows will grant her an easy way out of Kattegat.

____

A woman, a woman not much older than Freydis, of dark skin and big almost-black eyes strides out of the safety of the darkness, her gaze probing and cold as she looks her over, gauging whether or not Freydis is a threat.

Freydis cannot help but linger on her hair, the tight braids that are so similar to what she sees the shieldmaidens and warriors wear but at the same time so different.

“She won’t be here,” The woman states gruffly, voice accented and rough around the words. At Freydis’ stunned silence, she betrays what in someone less guarded would have been a smile. “I learned a bit of your tongue. Sieghild taught me.”

“Oh, th-the shieldmaiden.”

The woman narrows her eyes, ignoring her words and insisting, “Why are you here, Varangian?”

“You called for her.” Is all the explanation Freydis can offer. For some reason, this woman makes her uncomfortable, puts her on edge, and yet she cannot bring herself to resent her for it.

Dark eyes roam over Freydis’ figure, before something like a smirk teases at full lips, and the accented voice turns teasing when the woman states, “You aren’t Y/N.”

“She…is needed elsewhere.”

The smile trembles, and Freydis knows what that feeling is, “Him. The King.”

She doesn’t know what to say, since it isn’t even a question. Freydis lingers in between two paths: calling an end to this careless curiosity that got her here and turning her back and returning to Kattegat, or…

“Why did you come here?”

“There was word the King had…returned.”

“A test, then?”

“In part, yes,” Dark eyes look over Freydis’ shoulder, focusing on the world at her back. “I had known winter was his, but…it won’t be just this winter, will it?” At Freydis’ silence, the woman focuses on her, and there’s a strange edge in her gaze that Freydis knows well. The anger at one’s own weakness, the feeling of unwanted attention at having someone witness you falter. “Are you usually this quiet, Varangian?”

“I have a name,” She mentions, defensive. Her name was one of the first choices she was able to make. She wants to be called by her name. For good measure, she offers, “Freydis.”

“Galla.”

She nods in thanks, or in recognition, she isn’t sure.

“Is there anything I can…do?”

Big eyes narrow in her direction, and Freydis sees you in that small gesture, “Why would you want to help us?”

“Y/N would want me to.”

“Don’t speak of her as if she were dead,” The woman snaps, the wood of her walking stick creaking under her tightened hold. The sound seems to be so loud in the quiet forest. Galla’s eyes leave Freydis’, and she takes a deep breath, “We are fine, we will survive winter just fine.”

“Foreigners settling in our land is not something Jarls and Earls will easily accept.”

“Varangians aren’t a threat to us,” The woman states, not an ounce of hesitation her tone, “What threatens us is the same beast that waits for us back home.”

“Christians?”

“Their God,” She sentences. Galla eyes Freydis carefully, before deciding to take a few steps closer. Freydis tenses, but doesn’t move. “If you find a friend of yours praying before a cross, Varangian, do not make the same mistakes we did. Slit their throat before they can spew their lies.”

Their eyes meet, and there’s something in the woman’s dark eyes that makes Freydis feel a little more understood, if nothing else.

When Galla steps back, Freydis rushes to find something to say.

“Will you come back? Try again?”

“She made her choice,” Galla sentences, though it isn’t an answer. Her eyes set over Freydis’ shoulder again, and an almost-smile curves the woman’s full lips. “There isn’t a soul on earth that can make that woman change her mind against her will.”

Freydis offers a smile of her own.

“Should I…tell her something?”

“Why would I leave a Varangian to say goodbye for me?” The woman states, a teasing edge that makes Freydis feel a little more comfortable, let go of a tension she didn’t know she was holding. Galla’s eyes seem to twinkle in the low light. “You’re a brave one, Freydis. I hope I can see you again,” She doesn’t give Freydis time to take in -much less come up with an answer- her warm words, before the Greek steps back again and, nodding her head in goodbye, promises, “Until spring comes, Varangian.”

She bows her head too, and offers, “Until spring comes.”

Freydis watches the darkness of the forest embrace her, as who embraces an old friend. Galla’s footsteps are so quiet, she can almost believe she is alone in the forest as she makes her way back, but she knows better.

____ ____ ____

So, what do you think?

I am still clinging to writing that AU where Freydis and Reader end up together, just sayin’...It can’t happen in this canon of Nostalgia bc it just can’t, but I could write an AU of these two ending up together. I want to write slash for Freydis. If you wanna read some stuff for her, hit me the fuck up, I’d love to fill some requests in f/f pairings.

Anyhow, thank you for reading, hope this was okay!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @the-a-word-2214​ @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld​   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside​ @aprilivar​  

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

[beetleboo]

long post. one i’ve been trying to make for a while now. hell, i wrote this like... third week of may. didn’t post it until now because i didn’t know if I wanted to.

but something i want to lay out, been wanting to lay out for months. dont want to talk to anyone about it, just want to put the info out there for it to be seen.

if you re/blog this i will block you. i may put this on the relevant sideblog at some point.

because 2020 was the worst year on record for me for a number of reasons, and it’s torn me down to the lowest point i’ve been in a long time, and this is just. everything that’s gone down. not a callout post, no one gets named, but these are all the events

partially in relation to my fandom sideblog, because that’s where i had community, and where it’s all just. gone. doesnt exist anymore.

i started up a server, ages ago now. somewhere i curated to be a positive and safe space for things, and for a while, it was that.

around the end of 2019, spilling over to the start of 2020 when it picked up, i found, both on my blog and in discord spaces, in particular the server i ran, that people no longer talked to me. no one would hold a conversation with me past a few basic responses, no one replied to anything i shared, no one engaged when i tried to start discussions. so i pulled back from the main server - S1. thought it was just a lull in activity. stayed that way for weeks, months, and I just muted the server. no one ever cared about anything i had to say. was lucky if anything i posted got even a token emoji react

was in another, smaller server - S2. people i talked to damn near every day, even in voice. played games together - that became... no fun simply because everyone else was so much better/further ahead in the game. i was completely useless, so didn’t server a function in game and never really felt like anyone actively wanted me around, but i still participated in chat.

but again, no one ever responded to anything I posted beyond maybe a token react

couple people discussing something one day. I contributed with Theory A, and quite immediately got that shut down. few minutes later, they rephrased exactly what I said and happily nattered away. so whatever I said wasn’t worth it when it came out of my mouth but if they talked about it, it was all well and valid. so again, between that specific experience and no one interacting with me, nor anything I post. server muted. treatment taught me no one cared about my presence there.

gave admin rights to S1, my server, to someone I trusted. two requests only: dont delete channels and let me know if you want to invite anyone (since I kept it private)

RYE (i’m just assigning random three letter names to people to keep this straight) posted public invites several times. never asked me. one of the two things i asked. brought it up with them that it bothered me, just got vague noncomittal responses. more public invites. eventually, after having the server muted for months, i handed over full control and left. that was almost a full year ago. none of the people have talked to me in that entire year, through discord or here or anything.

except RYE who sent me a message after a couple months like ‘wow i havent heard from you in a while hope you’re doing ok’. i wasn’t. after a bit but still the same day, i said as much. that i wasn’t doing well. they never responded. and i don’t mean like, they didn’t respond that day. i mean i literally never heard from them until months later when they sent me a meme and also didn’t respond to me commenting on that meme.

and this is one side of things. all of the above was the first half of the year. this next bit happened about. march2020? I was in another server - S3. another place that was a good space at the time. was in voice chat with two other people. started talking about one thing. MIN very suddenly said something along the lines of ‘i don’t care about this i’ll come back when you’re done’

this is one of the very few things that can trigger me - i’ve had a lot of people talk down to me if I dare look excited about anything. when they came back, i asked if they could try to just. depart conversations more softly. MIN always said ‘if i do anything hurtful to you just tell me! i dont want to do that kind of thing!’

this was clearly a lie as they exploded on me, telling me they always have to walk on eggshells around me, that I ask so many things from them. before what I asked them that day, I can only recall one other thing i asked (which was not to talk about a person who was abusive towards me, and they were like ‘yea sure np’ about that, over a year prior’)

the whole thing turned into basically me having to shut down the fact that i was hurt by what they did, had to ignore that now and i had to fawn and placate them and the only thing i got out of that was that my feelings were irrelevant, only theirs.

(incidentally, I have had two other people turn on me in similar ways, accusing me of doing shifty/bad/terrible things, and not being willing to tell me what they are when I ask, only saying that ‘i should know what i did’ so that’s also now a Fun New Bit Of Trauma.)

and that entire weeklong event lead me straight to a breakdown. literal genuine breakdown i cannot convey how devastating that entire scenario was without going into far too many details.

so between all of these things happening in less than six months, with three different community spaces folding and collapsing and fading away from me, with many of the friends i thought i had just. moving on to other things and dropping me. people i talked to every day just not bothering with me anymore. they all have gone on to other stuff and no one ever went ‘hey beets wanna see what i’m up to’ or ‘wanna do this thing with me’

a handful of instances of me saying ‘yeah i’m dealing with these fears that have been reinforced lately that people aren’t safe to deal with, even thought part of me knows they’re probably irrational it feels like i have evidence to back it up’ and people immediately take it personally like i’m saying they’re not safe. despite. me outright saying. i know logically it should be irrational. but their reactions just reinforce it so it’s just a loop and tells me, again, never to bring up any of my problems with anyone.

so this all just reinforces that there’s something wrong with me. couple years back i spoke to a friend and how i was frustrated that I seemed to end up in bad spaces and they said ‘well you’re the one thing in common so its probably your fault’ and obviously they’re not my friend anymore but that has affected me so deeply. i can’t do anything without overthinking, whenever anything goes wrong i tear apart everything i’ve done and everything i’ve said or thought and i don’t know why things keep going bad. i try so hard but i’m just. not right.

so it all teaches me that there’s no point in reaching out in trying to talk to people because if i say ‘hey this hurt me’ i get ignored at best or torn down, yelled at, scolded. no point in trying to talk to new people because everyone just walks away at some point. not even a natural drift apart, i can handle that. but just very suddenly, they’re gone, off with better people doing better things.

roundabout, ties back to ‘consumption versus community’ - this is why i’ve been struggling so hard with lack of engagement on my sideblog. lucky to get a dozen notes on anything i make, unless it’s something other people can use (like mods) and even THEN it’s rare to see much activity. and that was FINE because i had people to talk to elsewhere, who would ask questions and we could back and forth and i shared my stuff and they shared those and it didnt matter if my posts only got a dozen notes because i had friends to talk to.

now i get (example) seven notes, six of which are likes and one is a reblog with no commentary. when i have something with a ton of notes, still, minimal commentary, no one talks to me. even on a mod with five hundred notes it just feels like i went ‘hey i made something :)’ and everyone picked it up and walked away with it, no one went ‘hey this is cool i want to talk to the person who made it.’

and it just feels like 95% of the time, i’m just overlooked. 

and it’s worse than it’s ever been in my entire life, and I wonder, what’s the point of any of this anymore.

why bother to make the posts to share when it all just gets passed by. what’s the point in trying to reach out to new people and make friends when i get lashed out at or left behind? the social is gone out of my social media. i had community, and now it’s gone.

so this has all been going on for months and months and months and hey! suffering. and i dont expect it to get any better, don’t expect this post to fix these issues, but i’ve been trying to say something about all of this for fucking months and i think just, laying it all out is all I can do about it. i’m sure i’ve forgotten some things to touch on but as it is, all these events, all of it happening all together. new traumas, old traumas reawoken, reinforced, i’ve been torn to pieces i don’t know how to function, i can’t remember the last time i felt like even half a real person. taught that the safe, positive spaces that meant so much to me don’t actually exist and they’ll all turn on me and be torn away. nowhere is safe anymore, and trying to make it safe is just going to ruin me again.

people aren’t safe, places aren’t safe, been proven to me time and time again so i just. stay away.

no matter how much i try to fight that, it just doesnt work.

anyway tl;dr beets needs therapy probably

[nonbinaryeye]

My dear Jonathan...

Written for @jonahmagnusweek

Day 1 - Letters

It has been years since Jonathan Fanshawe cut all the contact with Jonah Magnus.

Read on AO3

...

Jonathan Fanshawe has never given much thought to his future. There hasn’t been any reason to dwell on it too much; anything can happen any time, there is no point to plan anything; no one can predict what will come. Besides he usually has had much more important things to focus on! There have been so many things he wanted to figure out and discover. There has been his hubris telling him he will be able to. Of course he hasn’t had time to concern himself with his future.

That being said though he never imagined he would end up as a local doctor in small village in the middle of Switzerland. But well… anything did happen indeed.

It has been years since he cut any contact with Jonah Magnus. It has also been years since he left England and if he said he is not missing London he would be lying. But it isn’t that bad. His life now is much more… peaceful. Also more frugal. But that is fine. He can be actually helping people instead of chasing his own ambition. He can do some good for a change.

“Good evening, doctor!” as soon as he enters through the doors his housekeeper Frieda welcomes him. She is a widow and even though she’s somewhere in her sixties she is always full of energy no matter if she is cleaning the house or informing him about newest gossips in all the nearby villages.

“Evening, Frieda.” He gives her a tired smile and hangs his coat on a hanger expecting flow of questions. She could never stay quiet for too long; no matter what is the topic she has something to say. In the past these kinds of people used to annoy Jonathan but now no matter how exhausting it can be he prefers it over the alternative of being trapped in silence only with his own thoughts.

“How was your day? The autumn is almost here. There is always much more sick people when the summer ends. We are lucky to have you. You were visiting that Butcher’s kid today right? How is he doing?”

“Hm? Yes, yes… The fever is almost gone. Few more days and Wilhelm will be back on his feet.”

Fanshawe has been living here for almost three years now. He had to deal at first with lots of hostile looks but they quickly changed to more accepting ones as soon as people learnt he is a doctor. Then they changed to fully welcoming when they realized he is a real and actually good doctor who can do more than just offer to people some herb tea. And so no one bothered to ask him too many questions what exactly made him leave all the comforts of London and move in remote village in foreign country.

“You look tired. Go get some rest I will start making dinner. I’ve prepared the fireplace for you it was quite chilly in your room. The autumn really is here isn’t it? As I said more people will start getting sick soon. It is always like that when autumn arrives…”

“Call me when it’s ready.” He might maybe spend the evening by reading next to lit fire place. Maybe he will even pour himself a glass of… well he isn’t sure what kind of alcohol it was exactly, he got it as a gift from one of his patient as a thank you. But it doesn’t taste the worst and he could not exactly be picky here.

“Oh also I would almost forget, a letter for you arrived today. Isn’t it strange, doctor? I don’t remember that you would ever get any.” It is indeed… unusual. There is a seed of worry starting to grow inside him. He doesn’t receive letters very often. He is doctor after all so when someone needs him it is usually way too urgent to wait for post to deliver message since they usually come by only once every two weeks. Still it doesn’t have to mean… “Do you have any idea who might write you? It looks rather fancy it is even in an envelope!”

Jonathan feels a horrible feeling of dread washing over him. “Yes… I mean no. I have no idea. Where is the letter, Frieda?”

“I left it on your table-…”

“Thank you. That is all I… Good night,”

“There will still be a dinner, doctor!” Fanshawe barely registers her words. He rushes into his room. Since Frieda keeps whole house very neat it takes him only few second it find a single letter lying on his writing table. He doesn’t know how long he only stares at it before he finally dares to pick it up.

The space for sender’s address is empty but Jonathan doesn’t need it to know who exactly has sent it to him. Even without the extravagant envelope; even without the seal with the owl imaginary; even if he couldn’t recognize the handwriting he still knows painfully well; there is only one person who could.

It has been years since he cut any contact with Jonah Magnus.

Unfortunately Jonah Magnus still hasn’t decided to cut a contact with him.

When he return from his… “trip” to Germany he was welcomed at his house in London by series of letters from Jonah questioning his decision. And they haven’t stopped coming. After a consideration Jonathan decided to move away, afraid Jonah might eventually try to reach out to him personally. ‘It is just because he doesn’t want to have anything to do with him,’ he was telling himself at first. ‘He has no reason to be afraid. What could Jonah do to him after all?’

The answer on his question was waiting at him every night in his nightmares which were full of eyes. Sometimes they are just floating in nothingness. Sometimes they are staring at him from Albrecht’s dead body. And sometimes he sees himself and he is the one covered in eyes.

After thinking about some of their past conversations and after looking at some of their past correspondence he started to notice lots of double meanings he chose to overlook at the time but which he can ignore no longer. Also what was the name of Jonah’s ‘dear friend’ who so mysteriously disappeared few years ago? Barnabas? There is no doubt something is very wrong with Jonah Magnus. And one should rather get out of his way before they find themselves standing in the middle of it.

He thought simply moving to a different city will solve his issue. He found out he has thought wrong since just as he is settled another letter from Jonah Magnus arrives. Jonathan was more annoyed than worried. At this point he assumed Jonah obtained the address through some acquaintances; he seemed to have some everywhere. And so Fanshawe thought that maybe staying abroad for year or two might solve his problem. He returned to Kingdom of Württemberg but then he very quickly moved to Baden. Then to Nassau, several parts of Saxony, Luxembourg, Hanover and many others German countries.

But the letters never stopped coming. Sometimes he received letters only weeks apart. Sometimes it took months. Now it has been the longest time since the last one. He really hoped that he managed to disappear from his sight. Or that at least Jonah got finally tired and decided to stop bothering him.

As many times before he is wrong. The letter in his hand is proof of that.

He should just throw it out. Destroy it. But he needs to know – it would later bother him too much – he needs to see for himself if there will be some threats. Requests. Curses.

He opens the letter.

 My dear Jonathan,

It has been a while since my last letter and I would like to apologize that I haven’t find a time to write to  you any sooner but I have been very busy with my Institute lately. I have finally found a perfect place where could I relocate my institute I think that I mentioned my intentions to do so in the past somewhere in our correspondence. I must admit that I might have helped it a bit by…

 Jonathan tears the paper in half.

There are no mean spirited words no laughs at him for thinking he might be safe. No. There is just politeness the words written as if they were intended for an old friend. Just mundane information about his everyday life Jonathan couldn’t be less interested in. He doesn’t want to know any of this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with Jonah Magnus and his damned institute.

He tears the letter again. And again. And then once more. Only as he is throwing the scraps of paper in the fireplace he notices how much are his hands shaking. His heart is beating fast and the feeling of dread is swallowing him whole. Defeated, he sits down on a chair by the fire.

He feels so silly now. How could he think he can ever escape him? How could he think he is able to get rid of him?

The content of the letters really isn’t the point. It doesn’t matter whether Jonathan reads them or not because they already fulfill their purpose by just successfully reaching their destination. All Jonah wants is to remind Fanshawe from time to time that no matter where he moved no matter where he tried to hide he still knows his exact position. He isn’t about to hurt him. But he wants Jonathan to know that he could if he wanted. He is still at his mercy.

Jonathan should be probably angry. Enraged. But he cannot. He can no longer even bring himself to feel spite for what happened to Albrecht and for what probably happened to so many other people surrounding Jonah Magnus; for all the evil Jonathan unknowingly helped him to spread. He is only exhausted. He only wishes for it to finally end…

But it never will, will it? He should finally accept that there will always be a next letter. But living the rest of his life in state of constant paranoia seemed like fair prize to pay for his sins.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Bring You to the Asylum (The Riddler x Reader)

Red and blue lights poured through the windows, grime covering every one, nothing was visible inside or outside. The Riddler ran his hands through his hair in sheer panic, anxiety filling him. It was out of character for him to look so visibly distressed. However he wasn't afraid for himself. He knew what would happen to him. He would be put in Arkham until his inevitable escape. It was the same old routine he'd lived by for years. He was actually afraid for you. 

You'd be arrested but you were mentally sound by Gothams standards. That meant you'd be taken to Black Gate prison. Whilst Edward didn't want you to be arrested full stop, he would do anything to make sure you didn't go to prison. He spun on his heel, turning to Jonathan Crane. Jonathan turned to face him, Scarecrows mask boring into him. "Keep them busy. I need time." Scarecrow nodded before moving towards the entrance. 

Edward grabbed your wrist tightly before dragging you with him up several levels of the factory. He pulled you into an office slamming the door shut. "What are you doing?" You asked quietly, fear overtaking you. Ed was immediately accessing the computer, typing rapidly. "Sweetheart, I want you to take deep breaths, okay?" "Ed-" "Do it, (Y/N)." You complied. "I'm going to hack Arkham's files." He explained. "Why?" You asked, another wave of anxiety rushing over you. "Because we're going to get arrested." Edward replied. "I know that we're going to Arkham but you're not. I'm fixing that right now." "By..." You trailed off in confusion but it hit you quickly. "Ed...when you say you're hacking Arkham files, are you creating one?" "Yes." Edward didn't look at you but his response came with ease. "Those idiots wouldn't think anything of it. A simple mistake, something that's been overlooked." "You really think they'd overlook something as major as a patient no one remembers?" "Yes, you'd be surprised." Ed responded.  "Why?" You asked quietly but he never answered that. "I'm not going to tell you what I'm writing on this. I need you to trust me." He said to you. You shook your head as panic began to set in. 

Edward looked up and quickly hurried to your side. "Hey, look at me." His hands moved to your shoulders. "You're going to be okay. I've made sure of it. I just need you to trust me. Be cooperative. I've dealt with everything else." Ten minutes passed before you heard a door get bust open down below you. You trembled in fear as you heard shouting, banging and and what sounded like a fight down stairs. Suddenly there was a chorus of wailing and screaming. Edward hurried from the computer, pulling you from the room.  “What is that!?” You asked in panic.  “That is Crane’s fear toxin.” Edward said lowly. “We’re going to stay here until the come for us. Remember what I told you and everything will be fine. Tell them nothing. I’ve dealt with the rest.” 

Fifteen minutes passed before the GCPD  rushed in. You screamed as you were wrestled to the ground.  “Get off of me, you buffoons!” You heard Edward snap.  “Shut it, Nygma!” An officer spat in return. “Who’s this?” Edward snorted. “Some lunatic from Arkham of course, couldn’t have that one telling anyone we had escaped could we? Check the files, moron! You’ll find them under the ‘useless’ category!” That stung, but you knew it was an act. Edward was the Riddler and the Riddler threw insults left, right and centre. 

“Well i’ll be damned, There’s the name right there. (Y/N) (L/N). “ The officer said as you tugged slightly against the cuffs.  “I’m taking Scarecrow and the Riddler back to the Asylum, I’ll take this one too.” Batman said lowly. You had never seen the Batman up close and intimidating wasn’t the word to describe him. He took your arm in a tight grip, pulling you along to the back of his car. You couldn’t help but feel dread as it opened. 

There was a glimpse of relief to see both Riddler and Scarecrow strapped in, there was no way they were getting out of that alone.  “Sit all the way back.” Batman told you gruffly. “The seats move.” Batman firmly helped you into the back. something latched around your wrists as soon as you sat down and you jumped.  “Calm down. It’s for your safety.” He reached out, ready to steady you. Two criss-crossing bars moved across your torso.  “What’s your name?” He asked. You stayed quiet, unsure whether to answer or not.  “Is it (Y/N) (L/N)?” So he did know your name. He wanted to make sure you knew it.  “Cash, was this patient injured?”  “Not that I know.” Cash looked you over. “They were cooperative.”  “We’ll have Arkham look them over.” Batman finished before slamming the door shut. 

Hours passed. So many questions were thrown at you that you didn’t know if you even answered half of them. A man who was supposedly your doctor was fired, your ‘neglect’ being the last straw. Seemingly Edward chose a doctor who had already had instances of neglect. It didn’t help the doctors case when he insisted that he had no idea who you were and you couldn’t be his patient.

You were put in a holding cell next to Edward. Jonathan was no where to be found. After a couple of minutes of silence, you spoke up. "Edward?" You asked quietly. "Why did you do all of this? Why go through all the bother to send me here?" There was a pause before Edward finally responded. "I cannot be bought, but I can be stolen with one glance. I'm worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?" Of course he'd answer you in a riddle. Although, you were worried you'd likely get it wrong considering everything you had went through in previous hours. An answer came to your mind. You paused, uncertain if it's the wrong answer. "What if I get it wrong?" You answered nervously. You heard a quiet hum of amusement. "What am I?" Edward repeated. "Love..." You answered shakily. "Correct." He said lightly. "As a friend?" You asked, although you whispered it mostly to yourself- not necessarily expecting an answer. "No." Edward answered softly and your head whipped to his direction. Edward laughed quietly despite being unable to see you. "You're clever, my dear, but so stupid sometimes." Edward continued with a smile. "Everyone knows. It's so obvious. I made it obvious and only you missed the signs. Think about it, how many of my friends do I give pet names?" Now that you thought about it, it was only you. They were lucky if they weren't thrown insults as a matter of fact. "How many do I show affection towards?" He continued. Edward wasn't exactly an affectionate person. It was only in rare moments, all of which as far as you understood, were with you. "You had me the moment you hugged me. When you were worried that the Bat had hurt Crane and I. Sure, you hugged him too but I was first." You couldn't help but crack a smile, recognising he was rather smug about it. That time was months ago at the very least, perhaps even approaching a year. "I got you put here because the other option was BlackGate...I couldn't handle you being there. You could be killed within 24 hours because some moron just isn't looking. It's not a place for people like you. So I created those files to get you sent here...with me. Where I can protect you." 

You shifted closer to the wall, pressing against it as you slipped on arm through the bars to the door of your cell and curling your arm as best you could towards Edward. "Come here." You quietly pleaded, years welling in your eyes. You heard shuffling move towards your hand before cold but long thin fingers curled around your hand. You sniffed in attempt to hold back the tears. "Don't cry." Edward said quietly. "I won't let anyone hurt you-" "It's not that." You couldn't help but smile. "I just...I really had no idea that you felt the same as I did." Edward chuckled. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now." "I wish I could hug you." You said. "You will, don't know when but...you will." Edward responded. You felt lips press against your hand.

[whattodowithace]

First Kisses (A.C.E)

Title: Firsr Kisses

Pairing: Reader x A.C.E

Genre: Fluff🍰

Word count: 1694

Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)

Summary: What would it be like to kiss ACE for the first time?

Chan

Chan had just returned from a world tour. It was our first experience of being apart for long periods of time since we had started dating.

I scan around me watching people pass by. The large park filled with people since it was such a beautiful day.

I had pulled myself up onto a railing overlooking Korea as I waited for Chan to return with our coffees. My feet swaying gently as I waited. He returns five minutes later and hands me my cup with a large smile on his face before resting his elbows on the railing beside me.

“I didn’t realize how much I liked being around you until I was separated from you for three months.” Chan says after taking a swig of his coffee.

I look over at him, smiling, “This is new. Usually you roast me like you do Jun and the other members. But you’re actually being nice.”

Chan laughs and draws himself up to full height, looking up at my eyes, “So I can’t tell you I missed you?”

I smile down at him, ruffling his brown hair gently. “I never said that.”

Chan steps in front of me and puts both hands on either side of me, tilting his head up to look into my eyes. Making me blush.

“I did miss you.” Chan whispers, his face serious but his dark eyes soft and gentle.

I feel my chest warm as I lean down and rest my forehead against his, a soft sigh escaping his lips from the action.

“I missed you too, Chan.” I say. Hoping my voice conveyed my genuineness.

I start to pull away to sit up straight when Chan takes the back of my neck, holding me close to his face. His eyes focused on mine.

“Can I kiss you?” Chan whispers, his nose rubbing gently against mine.

I nod my head in response, my voice extinguished from our closeness. Realizing we had never kissed before. Chan steps a little closer to me before letting his lips rest on mine. The soft feeling sending chills down my spine and butterflies in my stomach.

Chan gently and slowly moves his mouth against mine. The kisses long and drawn out as he places both his hands on my cheeks, cupping my face as he kisses me. I felt myself become addicted to the way his lips moved against mine and how they tasted sweet like the coffee he had been drinking moments ago.

I detach his lips from mine slowly, keeping my face inches from his. “You really have missed me.” I giggle. Chan laughs as he wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me tightly.

Jun

“Jun, don’t be a baby.” I whine as I try to pull the blankets from him. Making him pull them tighter around his face.

“I’m not a baby! I just...don’t think I need to see this part.” Jun answers, his voice muffled from the blanket.

“It’s a scary movie, Jun. this isn’t going to be the only scary scene.” I point out. Still tugging at the blanket.

Jun shakes his head and buries himself deeper in the blanket, clearly not happy with my movie choice for our date night. I sigh and sit back on my heels. Then, a thought occurs to me.

“Jun,” I say, trying to take the blankets from him. “I have an idea that might help.”

This makes Jun peak his eyes out from the blanket, his dark eyes wide. But I at least had his attention.

“Whenever you get scared there’s something you can do to distract yourself.” I tell him, my heart hammering in my chest.

By now Jun had lowered the blanket completely, his eyes darting nervously from the TV to my face.

“What idea?” He asks curiously.

“This,” I whisper as I close the gap between us and press my lips against his. Jun sucks a breath in, his hands stayed at his sides awkwardly. The movie plays in the background, it’s music suspenseful but neither one of us notice.

Jun moves his hands to my arms as he begins to move his lips curiously against mine. I rest my hands on his chest before moving them up to his neck, letting him deepen the kiss.

When we pull away, our breaths fast, I smile in the dim lighting. “It took your mind off the scary movie didn’t it?” I breathe against his mouth.

Jun smiles, his voice deep, “I would be willing to watch scary movies more often now.” He says as he brings my lips back to his.

Seyoon

I smile as I sneak up behind my boyfriend, who sits in a chair waiting to have his makeup done for his concert.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, making him jump slightly and look in the mirror to see who was behind him.

I giggle lightly before saying, “Hi.”

A wide smile goes across Seyoons face, his cheeks soft looking in the light. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

I rest my head against his shoulder as I answer, “I wanted to see you before your concert. There’s a lot of people waiting outside the door to be let in.”

Seyoon smiles sweetly. His dark eyes looking me over before saying, “You’re the most important person I care about being here right now though.”

Butterflies go off in my stomach, I smile as I wrap my arms tighter around him. His hand goes to my wrist before linking our fingers together and kissing the back of my hand gently.

“Seyoon,” I say softly. Catching his attention making him look at me through the big mirror.

“Look at me.” I say softly. Seyoon turns his head slightly until he can see me out of the corner of his eye. I move closer to him and place my lips on the side of his mouth. Making him breathe in deeply.

I run my fingers through his hair as he tilts his head back to rest against my shoulder so I could have full access to his mouth. His fingers trace my cheek as our lips move softly against each other.

Seyoon pulls away slightly, his eyes still closed. “I’m going to have a hard time focusing on the concert now.” He chuckles, his fingers still on my cheek.

“That makes two of us.” I whisper before meeting his lips again.

Byeongkwan

Rain comes down heavily as me and Byeongkwan make it back to my apartment from our dinner.

We didn’t know it was going to rain so neither of us thought to bring an umbrella. I laugh as the rain hits my face and makes my hair and clothes wet.

Byeongkwan laughs at my cheerfulness. We don’t bother running, we just walk like we normally would as we make it down the dark streets.

By the time we reach my apartment rain soaks Byeongkwan’s white dress shirt and his blonde hair hangs over his eyes. Making my breath hitch and my head feel light.

Before I can stop myself I say, “Why are you so beautiful?” I clamp my hand over my mouth, heat rushing to my face.

Byeongkwan gives me a sideways grin, his unique eyes looking down at me. “Is that what I am?” He says, stepping closer to me.

I let out a nervous laugh but can’t seem to take my eyes off him. Byeongkwan reaches out and removes my hands from my face, holding them in his own.

“You don’t look half bad yourself, angel.” He says to me. His hands warm against my cold skin.

My heartbeat picks up as I step closer to him. The rain falling down harder, drowning out any noise around us. Byeongkwan leans his head down and runs his noise against my face, making me suck in a breath.

Before I know it his mouth is covering mine. Rain water dripping off our lips as we kiss. I rest my hands against his chest as his hands go to my hips.

We don’t pull away until a bolt of thunder splits across the sky, making us both jump apart. Byeongkwan laughs at my screech before resting his forehead against mine and pulling me close to him. The sound of the rain surrounding us as we get lost in each other.

Donghun

I walk nervously around the large airport waiting for my boyfriends flight to come in. My jacket hangs off one shoulder from me running from the car to inside the airport. The cold January wind biting at my skin.

I keep checking the long hallway he would be coming down, people file out of it one by one but none of them Donghun.

I finally sit down at a bench nearby and try not to fidget too much. I hadn’t seen Donghun in six months, his concerts and traveling filling up most of his time. I felt like I did when we went on our first date months ago before he left.

Not being able to sit still, I stand up again, checking the hallway again. I had almost turned around when I see a familiar head of dark brown hair walk down the hallway. A mask covers his face as he carries his suitcase.

Donghun see’s me and removes his mask, a wide smile spreading across his face.

I let out something between a sob and a laugh as I run to him. He drops his bag and catches me in his arms, his face hiding in my neck.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, a chuckle vibrating his chest as I hold him close to me.

I laugh before taking his face in my hands and pressing my lips to his. The action makes him tense under my touch, but he soon relaxes and wraps his arms fully around my waist before he deepens the kiss.

I smile against his mouth once we pull away, his arms still holding me close.

“To answer your question, I think I did miss you.” I tease.

Donghun smiles and kisses my forehead, holding me close to him. Enjoying being in each other’s company once more.

[cultgambles]

Sometimes You Need a Little TLC from a Villain (Dabi x Reader)

Summary:

Reader is a normal civilian...well as normal as you can get dating a villain. On Friday, Reader is stalked. On Saturday, an 'accident' occurs. On Sunday, Dabi comforts you best he knows.

word count: 1925

Masterlist | Requests? open

It was Friday, the last day of the work week. I wouldn’t be able to see You in person for a couple days. It made me feel so sad, but then I saw You through the doors of the office building. The clear office doors where You worked as an accountant. I knew You hated that job, with your slavedriver of a boss pushing you around constantly. But, I suppose You did make good money, your apartment was nothing to laugh at. Even if it was at the edge of a seedy part of town. Even if You have creepy neighbors I’ll always be watching You.

 I could faintly smell your scent as You walked past me. You didn’t see me, luckily, otherwise I would have to converse as to why your coworker was ‘reading’ a paper in front of the building in which you both worked. 

You walked past that karaoke bar as you always do to get to your train--the local green one. I saw You insert the ticket, and I followed after a few people. I stayed near You, maybe I could be your gallant knight in shining armor to save you from weirdos. I saw You sitting by the window, squeezing your legs, your brow furrowing as You stared at your phone. What was on there? I craned my neck to see, even though I knew I was too far away. The train came to a stop: station 5. Your commute was at least 30 minutes, mine more. As You walked out of the station, I saw your head tilt and You swerved around, scanning the area. I ducked behind a wall, and your heeled feet continued on their way. Relief flooded me, You didn’t see me. 

That relief however, was short lived. Right out of the station’s doors, I saw You jump into someone’s arms. I heard your laugh, like bells in the wind.

I clenched my fist, fishing my phone out of my pocket to snap a photo of this mystery man. No one was good enough to be with You. Everyone except me, of course. You and that man walked hand in hand all the way to your apartment. Disgusting. Suddenly, the man lifted your arm above your head, spinning You into a hug. 

“Hey! What are you doing?!” You giggled. Your back was to me, but he. He was facing me. As I stared on, his eyes focused, landing on me. They were a bright cerulean, deadly. Just as quick as they focused, he turned around, an arm slung on your shoulder.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes. Did that actually happen? Or were my eyes playing tricks on me? 

You were gone by the time I decided to move again. Maybe that was for the best. 

Your apartment was on the 2nd floor, overlooking the street. Your window blinds were almost always open, the lights inside silhouetting your body perfectly. You of course, weren’t alone. That man. I saw his shape too, that should be me. 

I stayed outside for another hour and a half at least. I would have stayed longer, but he was pissing me off too much. Since when had this happened? I’ve been following You for a couple weeks now and I’ve never seen him before. I spared another glance at your window, and the blinds were drawn except one part was lifted.

Cerulean blue eyes.

[ Y / N ] P O V

“What are you doing, weirdo?” [Y/N]  called to their boyfriend.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Doll,” Dabi said, pulling the blind down.

“Well, I hope you’re hungry! I made cold soba.”

“Starving,” he replied, joining [Y/N]  at the small dining table. “Hey. You ever feel like you’re being watched?”

“Watched? I can’t say...today I thought someone was behind me a lot though, why?”

“Why don’t you take your pants off then? I know you hate wearing them after work.”

“Oh so you just wanna see my ass, huh?”

“Course,” Dabi gave a lazy smirk and waved a hand towards [Y/N] . 

“Fine, fine! Let me finish eating at least.” After, [Y/N]  and Dabi cuddled on the small couch and watched Into the Tall Grass. 

Dabi always smelled like campfire smoke and pine, cigarette smoke seeped into his clothes. [Y/N]  used to hate the smell, but now, it brought them comfort.

“Why did you ask if I thought someone was watching me earlier?” [Y/N]  asked, pressing their face into his neck. In return, he tightened his grip.

“Don’t worry about it, Doll. Thought I saw someone from your work.”

“Oh, Hidashi? He rides the same train as me. I think he told me he gets off at the stop after mine or something.”

“Hidashi, huh?”

“Yeah, okay, shh, movie time now.” [Y/N] ’s boyfriend gave a small chuckle and kissed their hair. 

The rest of the evening was spent cuddling on the couch, which the two were grateful of. Dabi hadn’t been around for the last couple weeks because of a mission Shigaraki sent him on, and [Y/N]  was just glad to be off work, and to be in their boy’s arms. 

≿-----༺❀༻-----≾

I tried imagining me holding You like that last night, but he kept popping up in my mind. That guy with those blazing eyes, spiky black hair, and long black coat. Was this the type of man You went for? Some drab fellow? Why couldn’t it be me? These last few months of working with You, I tried being nice and being your friend. I brought You sweet snacks I thought You would enjoy, and hovered around You, always ready to lend a hand if You needed it. Punching the air right now. 

I sighed, rubbing the back of my hands over my eyes and got up to get dressed. It was Saturday. You always went to a park around lunch time. You would spend a good hour or so there, and later return to your apartment.

I would be there, of course, watching silently. When I got to your apartment, the lights were on. I saw You across the street, seemingly dancing to a song. I felt the ghost of a smile grace my face, until I saw Him waltz towards You. He held and hand out for You, and placed another on the small of your back. I seethed, watching the two of you sway.

Who even was this guy? I kicked a trash can and the lid clattered to the ground. I couldn’t bear to see You with someone. I fished my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through the thousands of photos I took of just You. My haggard breath calmed slightly. This was no biggie, I could get rid of him easily with my Quirk. He looks scrawny enough. 

A cough jolted me out of my reverie. Startled, I looked to your window, only to see the lights off. Had You left for the park already and I hadn’t noticed?

“Hey.”

I grunted. Who the hell is bothering me now?

“Look at me, motherfucker,” the voice commanded.

Slowly, I turned around.

The man before me was covered in scars and staples. Wasn’t there a villain that had those features?

“I said look at me.”

I saw his hand reach out, a blue flame hovering above his palm. Hesitantly, I looked up, what would a villain want with me, a normal civilian?

Blue cerulean eyes.

I would recognize them anywhere.

“It’s you. What are you? Some kind of clown?” I sneered. He raised an eyebrow.

“So. You’re Hidashi, huh?” Okay. Now a little fear.

“How..How do you know my name?”

“I’m sure you know mine, after all, I am a notorious villain,” he purred, stalking closer to me. 

“Dabi..”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, stooping down. “But you know who else I am?”

“[Y/N] ’s boy toy or something? I haven’t seen you around. What, they pick you off the street because they felt sorry for your ugly ass?”

I can’t believe my precious [Y/N]  decided to go for this asshole.

Wait, was he holding You hostage?

“We met a few months ago, you know? [Y/N]  found me lying on the cold hard ground. Patched me up. Now they can’t shake me,” he said. A few months? How did I not know about this? Why didn’t You tell me?

“They won’t have to worry about you anymore though.”

“They’ll never get rid of me. Ha! They don’t even know it’s me! You may be a villain but I know you can’t fight without your little buddies here to help you!”

“You’re right, they’ll never get rid of you themselves…” He sighed, almost contemplating. “Glad I'm here to do it for them.”

[ Y / N ] P O V

Today was a really nice day, [Y/N]  thought as they headed back home. It was nice to sit under the cedar tree and watch the clouds roll by. [Y/N]  had even gotten a ways through their book. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by your lonesome?” a man’s voice drawled behind you.

“Just walking home,” [Y/N]  replied awkwardly, turning around slightly to get a look at the guy. Once they realized who it was, they brightened up immensely. “Hey, you! I didn’t see you this morning. Thought you had to do another errand.” That’s what they called his work. [Y/N]  knew Dabi worked with the league, but he didn’t like going too much in detail, so [Y/N]  didn’t ask.

Dabi throws an arm around them. “Yeah, I had to take care of somethin’, but now I’m all yours, Sweetness.”

[Y/N]  giggled, “Thinkin’ you’re gonna get some tonight?”

“You know I will.”

“Mmm, maybe,” [Y/N]  teased.

As soon as the two got inside of [Y/N] ’s apartment, Dabi flopped on the couch, while you went in the kitchen to find some snacks. [Y/N]  heard the TV flicker on, and a news reporter appeared on screen.

“Reporting live! This is Max Lobo. I never do things like this, but I’ve been following the Paranormal Liberation Front for some time now. A BODY has been discovered. It’s singed and nearly unrecognizable. A man in his late 20’s, brown hair. 

“While this could be the work of a lesser criminal, these blue flames that linger are sure signs of the villain Dabi. We will continue investigating this as if our life depends on it. Was he just trying to blow off some steam? Or was he a rat that needed to be eliminated?

“Back to you at the studio.”

“Dabi?”

A grunt.

“Was that your little errand today?”

“So what if it was? He deserved to die. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“D’awww, you care about me or something?” [Y/N]  crooned, setting a plate of cookies on the coffee table. 

“Nah, I think that reporter was right. Just tryin’ to blow off some steam,” Dabi smirked.

“Glad I could lead you to just the guy then.”

“Yeah yeah, get your ass over here,” he said, rolling his eyes. Dabi pulled [Y/N]  onto his lap.

[Y/N]  liked when he would stare up at them with those content eyes and lazy smirk. They liked being taller than him, if only for a bit. Leaning down, [Y/N]  captures his lips in a kiss. They always start off slow and sweet, but Dabi’s patience wears thin and it turns steamy in a matter of seconds. He runs his hands over [Y/N] ’s sides, grasping at the thin shirt. 

“Stop hiding from me,” Dabi murmured, breaking the kiss and pulling it over their head. 

[Y/N] ran their fingers across his scars and staples in a light feathery fashion. 

PS!! requests are open, so drop me somethin if you’d like!