#and we ended up finding feathers quite far away in the woods

[hedgehog-moss]

I lost one of my chickens :( she was caught and carried away by a fox... I’ve been growing complacent about my chickens’ safety I think because we’ve only had one other attack before, a goshawk that swooped in abruptly (unsuccessfully), but no fox sightings nearby so I’ve been assuming Pandolf was a great deterrent. Which he is, just not foolproof. I’ve talked to some people in town about this and they were pretty philosophical about foxes stealing chickens, like “it’s the tribute we pay to woodland animals, it’s just a few hens here and there.” I don’t begrudge the fox for being a fox, if anything I have a renewed respect for foxes because everyone I talked to proceeded to give me their best / worst fox stories, and most of them involved foxes outsmarting humans (learning people’s habits / timetables, opening latches, faking a limp...) Still I feel terrible for my hen, she was only three. RIP Cordy :( You’ll be remembered fondly... (except by the cats.) I feel bad for the other hen too, who just lost her pal!

When I said that last thing, one of my neighbours jumped on the opportunity to try and convince me again to accept a rooster from him. He had a rooster baby boom last summer and I’ve been telling him for months that I don’t need a rooster, I don’t want to raise chickens I just want eggs, and his new argument was that a rooster would protect my hen (or if it comes to that, would heroically sacrifice himself rather than let the hen be eaten—I’m sceptical...) I asked around for a young hen but there aren’t any to be had in this season, so my remaining one is going to be alone until the spring, and my neighbour said she’d get stressed and male company is better than no company. (I wish I could ask my hen what she wants! Maybe she’s penning A Coop Of One’s Own as we speak.) I said the rooster was more likely to stress her out and harass her and he said nah they’re free ranging all day, it’ll be fine, and he’s young so your adult hen will boss him around. I was like, but then will he be any good at protecting her? etc. etc. and after a while I caved in.

When I told her about this on the phone my mum sighed “you’re terrible at saying no”—excuse me, I said no so many times and the guy just kept ploughing on until he could foist a rooster upon me. I’m good at saying no, other people are terrible at hearing it! I reassured her that I had only agreed to take the rooster for a short probationary period, and if he bothers my hen too much I’ll drive him back to his native farm. My mum was like “Drive him back? look I’m sorry I raised you as a city kid but there’s no need to waste gas on driving a rooster around, I’ll have no qualms about wringing his neck for dinner if he’s more trouble than he’s worth.” The rooster’s fate is not sealed though, if he is anywhere from vaguely useful to not actively problematic I’ll keep him, so we’ll see...!

[angeart]

hunted hybrids au rambles

this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).

the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.

and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes. 

grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here. 

now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.

this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for  bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from. 

... did i mention this world is permadeath?

yeah.

so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them. 

maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.

maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.

maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.

and then they run.

and all they can do is keep on running.

(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)

i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.) 

scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears  him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)

long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.) 

please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)

the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:

1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)

2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore. 

grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—

and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)

//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3

------ @motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles

[wonderwomanfantasy]

creatures in the dark

Oh, a Harpy you say? how interesting, this will definitely be a first for me.

Harpy!Bakugou x Deaf!Reader

warnings: threats of violence, someone who wrote this has daddy issues, I think that's it.

Word count: 1,000 (about)

summary: you were supposed to kill monsters when they crossed your path, more than that you were supposed to go out of your way to find these creatures and end them. Yet you can't help but fall for the one who spared you.

The knife trembled in your hands. You had felt stupid even bringing a weapon with you, but now it was drawn. Could you even use it? The wooden handle felt all too large in your palm and you felt like you might drop it at any second. Could you kill? You’d never done it before, you gulped down the forest air and tried to steal your nerve. You could. If it was your life or theirs, and what had all that training been for if not to teach you how to kill. 

There was another whoosh of air right behind you, like something very fast dashing just behind you. Instinctively you whirled brandishing your blade but it connected with nothing but air. Frantically you looked around, and you finally saw your attacker. 

High above you in the trees stood a creature you’d only ever seen in the pages of books. He looked almost human, save for the large brown feathers that covered his arms giving him flight, and his clawed feet that extended up his legs in scales. 

You couldn’t read the expression on the Harpy’s face it almost looked like he was appraising you and your knife. You thought quickly about your options in this brief pause. You should wait for him to dive from the tree and then attack viciously. That’s what a Hunter would do, that’s what you were trained to do. 

Before you could blink, the knife slipped from your numb fingers, and whatever plan you’d been formulating had been lost. You dropped to your knees, throwing your hands up in the air to show you weren’t going for your weapon. 

You met his gaze in what you hoped was a pleading enough manner. 

“You really are the most pathetic hunter I’ve ever seen,” it was strange, the thought came to you as if it were your own, but you knew it was coming from him. 

“You’re… speaking in my mind?” you tried thinking the thought at him and you could see by the glint in his eyes he heard you.

“A weakling like you doesn’t deserve to hear my voice,” he spat, and you had to fight the urge to laugh. You’d be in a far worse place if he did try to speak to you the hearing way. 

Gracefully he let himself down from the tree branch, landing just a few feet away from you close enough for you to attack if you hadn’t lost your knife in the layer of leaves that covered the ground. 

“Tell me what you’re doing here, in my territory?” he asked. 

“Just passing through, I didn’t know there were monsters in these woods,” That much was true. Despite your upbringing as a hunter, someone who tracked and killed the monsters of this world, you really had no intention of hurting even a fly on this trip, you were just trying to visit your sick grandmother, a woman far more formidable than you could ever hope to be.  

“Just passing through with a hunter’s knife,”  you winced and pitifully dropped your gaze. 

“I wasn’t going to use it,” you whined back, even to yourself you sounded like a pathetic child. 

“I should kill you now, it would be a mercy,” he scoffed. You felt your stomach drop and your hands go clammy, you would die, and how disappointed your father would be.

“Please," you thought.

“Even if I let you go, there are other monsters in these woods, they would kill you the second you were free from me. You can’t navigate these woods, you can’t even hold your only weapon,” his voice was almost a purr in your head. He sounded almost convincing. 

“If I die I lose,” you thought pathetically, if you died it would prove your father right, that you weren't good enough to protect yourself. You looked up sadly and you saw a strange look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. 

“We could strike a deal-” he offered after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” you jumped at the offer immediately. 

“I'll spare your life and protect you through the woods, but on your way back, you’ll bring me pork,” he bargained. 

“Pork?” you asked confused. 

“I love wild boar, but they live too near to the village for me to go, there are actual hunters there you understand,” he said, his words stinging a little bit. 

“I’ll bring you pork,” you promised quickly getting to your feet. The Harpy smirked at you and plucked a feather from his wings handing it to you, the moment the feather touched your fingers a leather cord materialized at the shaft 

“Wear it,” he instructed, obediently you put the cord around your neck 

“Perfect," he purred then spread his impressive wings "I’ll see you when you bring me my meat,” he said and disappeared into the trees. You didn’t see how a feather could protect you, but he was the only other creature you saw as you ran to the village. 

Your grandmother was pleased to see you and even pointed you in the direction of a butcher who sold premium wild boar. 

“What an interesting necklace,” she signed reaching out a hand to touch the feather that hung from around your neck. You hadn’t been brave enough to take it off yet if it really did protect you. 

“It looks like a Harpy feather,” she said, you winced slightly, you had been hoping she wouldn't realize you should have known that she would catch you.

“Yes- I killed one on my way here, I took it as a trophy,” you lied. She nodded approvingly 

“Good, but don’t wear it on you, that's how Harpies mark their mates.”

“Their mates?” you asked.

“When a Harpy takes a human as their property they mark them with their feathers, to keep other monsters from hurting them,” she explained and you felt your stomach drop. He’d marked you as his mate, monsters didn’t do that lightly, most monsters mated for life. 

“What person would marry a monster,” you signed absently, You touched the feather and thought of the Harpies handsome face. He wasn’t human, you reminded yourself. Despite the reminder, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

[nobodieshero-main]

okay so i've finally finished the part where ahuru convinces keika to help atlas and stuff and i dont really know if it's like. paced right?? i wanted it to be a Struggle but i also didn't want to drag it out

His impromptu vow of silence splintered like thin ice, and he rounded on her, for lack of a better target. The container met the bench with a crack that might have broken the clay, had Keika not already reinforced his crockery with magic. 

“Why?”

Rather than flinching, Ahuru only rolled her eyes. His temper had never meant anything to her. 

“Because people only end up in this town when they’re desperate, but no one is ever desperate enough to come looking.” She reasoned, stepping forward. “I don’t know their reasons for wanting to get to those woods, but it has to be important right? They had to have travelled far to find us, and long enough to go following ghosts to a town that shouldn’t exist.” 

"Why don't you take them? Why does it have to be me?" He tried, suddenly aware of the way he was losing control of the conversation, his stubborn refusal smothered by his sisters steady logic. 

Despite a childhood of adventure and accidental trouble-making, Ahuru would never attempt to convince him of something unless she was sure it was worth it.

Keika just… he hated not knowing. The uncertainty about why Toa had sent them away, and whether she'd welcome either of them back, itched like dirt under his sleeves.

He wasn't sure he could trust his sister about this.

His sister who sniffed primly, and offered “Because I have a shop to run,” as her excuse.

Keika warbled in disbelief, eyebrows pulling down as Ahuru shrugged. 

“Well I have a library to run.” He challenged, aware that he’d lost the battle but not quite willing to stop fighting just yet. 

“The library can take care of itself.” 

She wasn’t wrong, unfortunately. 

“You only have to take them as far as the river.” She promised.

And Keika would keep saying no, would tell her to go to her own house and watch the travellers leave in the morning but… he remembered being 5 and sitting on wooden steps and feeling the not-so-gentle tugs of Ahuru braiding feathers into his hair. Remembered an 11 year old Ahuru stubbornly practising the common tongue so she could become the healer's apprentice because all she wanted to do was help people. 

Whatever these travellers wanted with the Mahina Woods wasn’t Keika’s problem, but Ahuru had made it hers and that… that kind of did make it Keika’s problem in a roundabout way. 

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” He asked again. “We don’t even know them.”

Ahuru tilted her head, looking out the window at the darkening streets. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I’ve got.”

Keika scoffed and finally began scooping tea leaves into two mugs, letting the steam from the kettle curl around his jaw and leave it damp and warm as he poured the hot water. 

“I’m not doing it.” He finally decided, ignoring the bristle of feathers in his periphery. 

After a long moment of silence, she sighed, wings drooping. "You're too stubborn for your own good," She said, tired. But she let the topic go, accepting her mug of tea with a quiet thank you before launching into a recount of her day.

Later, long after the sun had set and Ahuru had headed back to her roost, Keika found himself staring at the shadows of his ceiling, playing her words back in his head. 

You’re too stubborn, she had said, and she wasn’t wrong. It was, he could admit to himself, partially a matter of pride: he’d already said no, he couldn’t just take it back because Ahuru made a good argument. 

He just- he was an adult, he didn't have to do it just because his sister said.

He didn’t want to go.

He didn’t want to go all the way back to those trees, to the comfort of that never-ending night, just to be turned away at the shoreline, left to crawl back to his burrow reeking of a poison named nostalgia. How cruel could Ahuru be, to send him home knowing that he may not be welcome?

But Ahuru is the furthest thing from cruel, a voice whispered. Another truth.

Keika sighed from the very depths of his lungs until it trailed off into a groan and then slammed his pillow over his face in an attempt to smother himself. Maybe if he lost enough brain cells from a lack of oxygen he’d forget about the travellers entirely.

He clicked his tongue against his back teeth. Fuck.

[seedsinmygarden]

Florence Seymour, the Captain

“Tommy, you are like a brother to me and I love you dearly, but we are not calling this play the ‘puff puff pass.’”

no images yet…

Basic Information

Identifying Gender/Species: Cisgender Human Female, she/her pronouns.

Birthdate: April 4th, 1874 (Aries)

Blood Status: Pureblood

Wand: Spiral design, Ash Brown color. Willow wood, phoenix feather core, 10”, fairly bendy flexibility.

Pets?: None. Her father considers pets a waste of time and space.

Appearance

Height and Body Type: Stands tall at 5’9 ( cm) with an athletic figure. Lots of muscles— and I mean a LOT. She is BUFF.

Hair: Short copper hair— brown with tinges of red in the strands.

Eyes: Deep blue, like the ocean.

Scars and Other Marks: Splash of freckles, tan skin, and various scars she got just from playing Quidditch or working out.

Clothing: Seeing as Flore was Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain, Flore was most often wearing her Quidditch sweater instead of her uniform one. When it was warmer, however, she would just shed it and wear only the buttonup and the Hufflepuff tie but wouldn’t roll up her sleeves. Always pants, too— never wears a skirt or even pantaloons.

Personality

The best way I can describe Flore is “solid.” She is an unmoving wall mentally— she’d had to learn how to hold her own since young.

That aside, she’s always a cheerful person! She’s one of the kindest Hufflepuffs, and

She’s quite the heartthrob too for the ladies if there were any that would be into her. Often flirts, but she doesn’t let it go far as her father doesn’t approve.

Home Life

Birthplace: St. Mungos

Birth Parents: Florian and Katherine Seymour

Adopted?: Nope!

Adoptive Parents: N/A

Siblings?: None!

Other Guardian Figures: Nope.

Places of Residence: Born in St. Mungo’s, Flore was raised in a far-off wizarding town in the fields of Ireland for people who were high-class and important. (Think one of those gated communities that rich people live in, you know what I mean?) She later finds more at ease at Hogwarts, away from her father’s watchful eyes.

Hogwarts Life

House: Hufflepuff

Quidditch?: Yes! She’s the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain and one of the team’s three chasers.

Clubs: Technically, she’s not allowed to. But she’s always found at Tommy’s Game Club meetings, even occassionally ending Quidditch practice early just so Tommy can go set up and they could all make it. It’s how the Hufflepuff team became closer, and Flore encourages the team to come. Also visits the Reyes’ Racing Club from time to time.

Other Activites: When she’s not flying or working out, she’s making plays, studying, or hanging out with friends.

Romance?: Had a brief run with Cressida Blume in 4th year, but they figured they were better off as friends. Has no one in mind right now, but Flore would love to have her happily ever after someday.

Patronus: To be learned.

Animagus: To be learned.

Boggart: To be learned.

Amortentia: To be learned.

Trivia

Because of her body type and her muscles, not many women’s clothing fit Florence. They would have to pay more to get it tailored to fit her. The costs piled up the more Florence grew, and it came to a point where her mother suggested that she wear mens clothes, but only hemmed to fit her lengths.

These clothes left a little space so they did look a little baggy, but they fit! And that was what they did as it was the much cheaper alternative— buy mens clothes and hem them to her lengths.

Flore didn’t mind this— if anything, she welcomed it.

Katherine, Flore’s mother, nearly lost her life in giving birth to Flore. Katherine and Florian wanted more kids, but decided that Katherine’s life was not worth it and stopped trying after Flore.

Both Florian and Katherine were famous Quidditch players! They both played for the Hollyhead Harpies.

Florian led the Harpies to victory as their team captain and one of their chasers. He won multiple championships and MVP trophies and solidified his name into history with an induction into the World Quidditch Hall of Fame. He was nicknamed “The Windslicer” for how fast he went on his broom.

Katherine also played for the Harpies, the very same team, but as a seeker! She was brilliant, in the incredibly intelligent way. In fact, it was she that made the plays for Florian, but she didn’t get nearly enough recognition as she should have for it. (Not that Florian took all the credit on purpose! Many people just assumed, seeing as he was the captain.)

While Flore is named after Florian, she takes on her mother’s appearance!

Florian has dark-brown hair and brown eyes, while Katherine has lighter copper-brown hair and blue eyes. Flore is a carbon copy of her mother when it comes to looks, but she certainly got her father’s athleticism and athlete build.

[thesilkentheater]

gentle haze

Some days, all you need is a field of soft grass and flowers and the endless twilight sky.

In these lands it's plentiful, a dime a dozen, nearly every island you to go will have a sea of flowers and gentle soft greenery to lay down in and enjoy the orange-pink hues of the sky. It wraps around you like a blanket, far away enough that it doesn't smother but close enough to matter.

Maybe that's why this is the last peaceful place they know of. You can't be mad here, not for too long; the permanent daydream of it all is too heavy. Smothering everything that's too much, refusing to let emotions someone can't rein in become the problem that causes their downfall.

It's never advanced much, either. Not much of a reason to, what with the plentiful resources and fertile land. A few public gardens is enough to keep the population fed, and there's nothing that would force everyone to need a home, so those who don't simply keep a small airship to travel and their favorite things.

He keeps his beloved feather hat, journal, and favorite pen all in the safely locked compartment on the front of the ship. It's in the perfect spot to open, pull out his journal and pen, and start writing, seated in the corner of the wood with a cushion or three propped up.

Sometimes he sketches. Sometimes he writes. Sometimes he just sits there, hugging both things close to his chest, and smiles.

Chi-chi usually finds him when he's like this, watching the sunset.

"Chi-chi found you."

"That you did."

He smiles placidly, closing his eyes. The haze lets him enjoy this time while the young girl climbs onto his boat, knowing what's about to come. If it weren't there he might feel the force of her eyes drilling holes through his spine, but as it stands everything is perfectly serene. "Chi-chi wants to know something."

"Go on, then."

"Why did Feather come here?"

"I thought it looked nice. Gentle, peaceful, nice place to nap."

"That is stupid. Everywhere is like that."

"I suppose. This one in particular caught my eye."

The girl must end up sitting on something nearby, because she pauses for quite a while and when she speaks the source of the sound is slightly different. "Chi-chi doesn't understand that."

"Do you ever have those inexplicable feelings? The kind of thing your subconscious picks up on and goes 'oh, yeah, we should go there because I vaguely recognize this tree' or something, and you go there because you just feel like it?"

"Chi-chi has never had that kind of feeling."

"Well, I can't explain it otherwise, so."

"Chi-chi and Feather are at an impasse."

"It appears that way."

If he were to open his eyes, he'd see the swirling shadows around the girl. How her very presence swirls and consumes the magic that keeps this place gentle and soft. How her very existence threatens the end for this peaceful little realm.

"Chi-chi knows you are lying."

"I know."

"Does Feather know he is lying?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

As usual, she's too astute. Everyone else is blinded by clouds and the evening sun, but she sees through it all. Because surely somewhere deep he did know why he came here, even if he forgot that reason after a while. Memories are easy to surface once they've been drilled into your skull a thousand times.

Maybe he could've forgotten. But his own mind won't let him forget, drilling it over and over and over again into its place on the wall, never letting the picture get crooked or distorted or even framing it.

Blood covers his hands. He's drowning in the sensation. Two eyeballs look up at him, no longer in their sockets. A knife is somewhere, discarded long ago. So is a gun.

So are his lungs.

"Chi-chi thinks Feather is being very silly about all this."

"Am I now?"

She gets up, dusting off her skirt. "This place has always been cloaked in shadow. You just can't see it."

And just like that, she leaves, wandering off again. He'd ask if she's going to harass anyone else, but he knows it's just going to be him.

He'd ask if she knows anyplace nearby for good food, but he knows it's just him and Chi-chi in here.

[lys1]

Congratulations! You waited so patiently <3 This is another Asra x fem!reader for you. NSFW. 5218 words. 

Playing With Potions

—————

The late spring morning air was warming up to be a balmy 75 degrees. You had your skirt pulled down and up, tucked in the back of the waistband, forming makeshift shorts. The shop was somewhat quiet, yet the din from the streets made its nimble way through the open windows.

You descend the ladder to the box of ingredients you were unpacking. They had come in the previous evening and Asra had promptly asked you to “organize them later”. Of course you said yes, the two of you shared this shop after all, and the work that came with it.

Asra himself was bustling behind the counter, sweeping the wooden floors free of the dust and fallen ingredients. He stops momentarily to pick up his cup of tea and take a long sip. The jasmine tea's steam billows into his face as he sighs with content pleasure.

The floorboards creak as you step down and Asra looks over at you, gaze soft. "How's the supplies look, dear?" He asks curiously, returning the cup to it’s coaster.

"Ah," you muse, counting the small containers in your hands. "Looks like we will be all set on lizard toes for a while, I think our supply captain read 1000 instead of 100." You can't help but chuckle, it couldn't be helped, at least you wouldn’t have to order more for a while.

Asra's eyes open a little wider, "oh my." He laughs, "I suppose we won’t". He sets his broom to rest against the counter and bare feet pad over to you, his deep-purple eyes examining the products.

You feel his hand settle on your waist subconsciously; a side effect of being close to one another. You breathe in lightly, smelling the sweet scent of coconut and honied biscuits wash over you. Asra's breakfast choice was apparent.

"Mm," you say, turning so the two of you were face to face. "You smell delicious."

Asra smiles, box in his hand now a little less important. "Care for a taste?" He teases, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sets his lizard toes aside and joins his other hand at your waist. You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod.

He is a mere millimeter from sealing the gap between you when the bell of the shop jingles merrily.

"Ah jeez," you huff good in good nature. "I forgot we have jobs and responsibilities."

Asra laughs at your obvious disappointment and steals a small peck. "Unfortunately, we have to eat somehow." He then turns away and walks back to the counter to greet the customer.

The man is short and has a little round face. He looks extraordinarily nervous, and this catches your attention. Yours and Asra's shop is well known in the city and the townsfolk trust their magicians. You hadn't seen anyone come in here looking so nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Asra asks charmingly, resuming his position behind the counter. Briefly you let yourself admire how nice he looks, comfortable in his shop and expertise, before turning back to the box you were supposed to be dealing with. Not, however, letting your ears miss the conversation.

"I," the man starts, already fumbling with his words. "I, well look. I need help." He finishes plainly, nervously clutching his shirt between his pudgy hands.

Asra smiles kindly, "many do." He says, tilting his head and examining his new client. "Are you here for a card reading? Need to get some answers?"

The man groans as though he is already exhausted with the conversation. "No, I already know what I need. I have the answers. I've heard about this place. The ways you can help people. I live an hour out of the market and I made this trip just to see you."

"We're flattered, for sure." Asra says calmly, you can hear slight annoyance in his tone from all the ambiguity. The visitor is none the wiser though. "To help you though," Asra continues. "I'll need to know what you need."

"Alright I need a potion," the man finally reveals. "One that will help me... with performance." His cheeks are redder than a bell pepper in the sun.

Asra raises a white eyebrow, "performance? Are you an actor?"

"No!" The man's voice came out in a strangled whisper, obviously trying to keep it down. You roll your eyes, chancing a glance over your shoulder. The shop floor wasn't that big, of course you were going to hear everything.

"No," he said again, this time a little more composed. "What I mean is... my sex life performance." The truth comes out. Your visitor wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from his pocket. "My wife and I well.. we've hit a slump," he explains. "And I've heard of potions that can help with that kind of thing. Stuff that will completely change the game." His eyes are shining now, imaging life post-performance potion.

Asra looks uncertain at best. "I see," he starts, shooting you a glance. "That.. does exists. But it takes awhile to make. And the price isn't cheap either."

You shove the last of the crow feathers into their designated drawer while listening. You have never heard of such a potion, but you were also still learning. Asra sounds a little unsure though.

"Price isn't an issue," the man sounds desperate. "I'll pay anything."

Asra sighs, he feels bad for the man wringing his hands before him, practically crying for a cure. "Alright," he finally concedes. "I'll make it, but you'll have to come back in the morning. This kind of thing takes all evening to brew."

Your customer nods vigorously, "I can wait." He says. "Tomorrow morning, yes! I'll be here!" His excitement apparent, he bows a few times while backing out of the door, tripping over his own feet.

The door closes with a sharp bang and the bell rings furiously. Asra blows air out of his mouth so that itf ruffles the curls between his eyes.

"Well," he says after a moment. "A sex performance enhancing potion was not what I was expecting to make today." He rubs his temples, eyes closed and looking thoughtful.

You grin at him from the shelf as you pick up the empty shipping box and rest it on your hip. "That's quite the name, I've never heard of a potion like that."

Asra laughs and opens his beautiful eyes to look at you. "Yes, you'll have to forgive me for not teaching you that kind of magic, it's not the.. safest." He ends uncertainly. "I don't even know how this guy found out about it. It's not talked about much amongst us magicians.. and it's certainly not a common one."

Immediately more questions than your mouth can keep up with flood your brain. "So how did you find out about it? And why isn't it safe?" You ask the two more important ones, eyes following Asra as he finds a piece of paper and quill to use.

He dips his quill in the register's ink well and starts scratching down what you presumed to be ingredients. "I've been studying magic for years, my love." He says simply, "and before you ask, no I haven't used it on myself." He looks up at you, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. "I'd like to think my sex game is up to par." He adds innocently, licking his lips seductively when your ears tinge pink.

You brush imaginary dirt off your shirt sleeves and huff. "I suppose it's pretty good." You mumble. It almost feels like a lie to just describe it as "pretty good" but Asra doesn't need you to stroke his ego right now. You do that enough falling to pieces beneath him every night.

Asra is well aware of your attempt to keep him humble and laughs lightly. "And to answer your other question," he says, turning back to his ingredient list, "messing with ones body like this can be dangerous. You have to be very precise."

You nod as he explains, it makes sense.

Potions are always brewed in pots over a magic fire so you put yourself to work, removing a medium sized iron pot from a hook on the wall and carrying it to a fire stand. Asra is busy himself, opening various drawers and adding seemingly random ingredients to a basket he has looped over his arm. Iris petals, newt eyeball, and some shimmering gold flakes. You smile watching him, your gorgeous magician; smart and able.

In no time at all Asra has a bubbling pot of sweet smelling liquid stirring before him. You stand beside him, observing curiously.

"Why are you wearing gloves?" You ask, taking note of the large leather gloves that clad all the way up your lover's forearm.

Asra continues to stir and looks over at you, happy to hear your eagerness to learn. "I can't risk even a drop of this touching my skin. It's so strong, and will immediately absorb into anyone's skin, leaving them..." He shakes his head and trails off, amused. "That's why it has to brew so long, to burn off some of the potency."

Your mouth opens in amazement, taken aback by the idea. This is the real deal you decide, stepping back a couple inches in precaution. After watching the potion bubble for a couple more minutes you stretch and grab the watering can sitting by the floor of the door.

"I'm going to water the plants," you inform Asra, waving your hand briefly until the can is full of cool, crisp water. Gods knows there are at least three dozen inside and outside of the shop.

Asra is humming in confirmation that he heard you as you open the shop door to the plants hanging outside. You don't get very far before you're blindsided by a streak of purple darting through your legs.

Escape!

"Faust?!" You yelp, dancing around the squirming snake as she winds her way under and into the open shop. A loud, booming bark makes you jump again. This time a large hound dog is rounding the tight corner from the side street and barreling full speed towards you.

All hell breaks loose. The water can is up in the air, crashing wildly into the side of the building. You are thrown back onto the dusty floor and a mass of fur and teeth race past you, paying no mind to your yelling.

Help!

Faust is racing around the floor, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the angry dog she seemed to have aggravated. There's a large crash from inside and you cringe, hearing bottles break and wood crunch. You look back, scared at what you might find.

The shop is a disaster, papers strewn, vials broken, and potion pot toppled. Asra is groaning on the floor, obviously doing no better than the rest. You glance at him worriedly, taking quick notice of the potion he had been making spilled everywhere, even on him.

You snap your fingers and the dog's growl, who was cornering Faust by the bookshelf, turns into a whimper as you lift him up with your magic. "I'm sorry pooch," you sigh, "but we can't have you eating our friend." With a wave of your wrist the hound is out the door and down the street in an instant. The hinges creak and bell rings as the door is once again closed to outside.

Thank you!

Faust wriggles happily, red eyes glowing in relief. You guess she got up to some trouble with the local fauna. She slithers up the stairs quickly, leaving you to look around at the ruined shop.

"Ah, fuck," Asra's words cut through your thoughts like a knife. He's laying flat on the floor, chest heaving as though he just ran a marathon. Sweat glistens on his tan skin, covering him from head to toe.

You step over the broken bottles and kneel at his side. "My love?" You ask, unsure of what to do. It was obvious what had happened, it didn't take an expert. The potion that was supposed to be for your customer was now soaked into Asra's glowing skin.

Asra opens his eyes and you swallow hard. You know that look, and it nearly makes you start trembling where you sit. Lust is prevalent, clouding Asra's eyes until they're a dark amethyst color.

"You-" you start to speak but are cut off by Asra sitting up abruptly. His face is close to yours and his breath washes over your lips, hot and wanton. He looks positively desperate, just the sight of you sitting before him doing wonders.

"Please," Asra's voice comes out low and husky, he watches your chest rise and fall quickly as a result. "Can I please have you, right now."

You could almost call him asking like that soft and innocent, if it wasn't for the raw, hungry look he was giving you. His eyes were traveling everywhere across your body, leaving an invisible line that you could almost feel burning into your skin. Your lips parted and you let out a soft gasp, the power that kind of look had over you was astonishing. You shifted your legs under you subtly, feeling the result of the hot atmosphere low in your stomach.

"Tsk, tsk," you had to tease for a moment. "Closing the shop at midday for some fucking?" You reach up and cup Asra's cheek, feigning uncertainty. His skin on your fingertips burns white hot and you have to hide your amazement.

Asra's eyes narrow, he knew you too well. With a quick flick of his wrist you hear the deadbolt on the door slide into place. It's only a second later and both of his hands have found a place on either side of your hips.

"Why do you torment me?" he asks, pulling you close so your legs straddle him. "Can't you see I'm getting enough of that from this damn mistake of a potion?" His words are almost shaky, as though he can barely speak anymore. He presses his hips up to meet yours, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he finally gets a little friction.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and gasp, the feeling of Asra so obviously in need is enough to make anyone go wild.

You can't resist grinding down lightly and Asra's eyes practically roll back at the sensation. "How can I say no to such a pretty face," you whisper, completely in love with his reaction.

That was enough for Asra and without added words he gathers you up in his strong arms and lifts you both. Your head falls back pleasurably when his lips find your neck. It only takes a few quick steps on his part to bring the two of you into the plush back room.

The purple cushions lining the cozy futon sink in gently as your back hits the mattress. The room has a slight pleasing haze as sandalwood incense burns at the table. The smell washes over your senses and a new wave of sensuality comes over the room.

Asra's hands hold you firmly as his lips continue to press lovingly into your skin. He hovers over you, one leg pressed between your legs, causing your hips to involuntarily move along his thigh.

"I need you out of these clothes," Asra groans, lips being stopped at your chest where your shirt has suddenly become a hindrance. He's already tugging at the hem, untucking the loose fabric from your waistband. You raise yourself to your elbows and help him pull the shirt over your head. At once it is thrown over Asra's shoulder and his eyes are set on your bare skin, drinking in the sight of his lover.

You smile at his admiration and lay back again, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back. You feel his hands on your stomach, traveling up to rest on your breasts. Your skin prickles with desire, flesh lighting on fire from his ministrations.

"How did I get so lucky," he breathes out, looking down at you with a look filled with love and passion. He rests the tips of his fingers on your nipples and swirls them lightly, leaving you to twist in torturous pleasure beneath his touch. "Everything about you is beautiful." Asra continues to flatter, lowering his head so his curls tickle your stomach. He licks a long line from the dip of your hip up to the valley between your breasts.

After a few moments of tasting your supple skin he moves his hands to the top of your skirt and tugs. You lift your hips in compliance and the fabric slides down your legs easily. Asra licks his lips as your body is finally fully presented to him.

"I could feast on you," he announces, voice lowered with need. "And I wouldn't go hungry in a lifetime." These words he whispers into your inner thigh, they tickle your skin softly.

You watch with bated breath as the man before you adores his lover. It's hard to keep your moans controlled as you feel his sinfully good tongue lick you in a way that can only be described as ecstasy.

Asra shifts into a more comfortable position, lying on his stomach and he brings your legs to lay comfortably over his shoulders. You shudder as you feel his hot breath flutter over your dripping slit. He doesn't waste anymore time and lowers his face to enjoy you.

Your thighs squeeze his head lightly as your body arches in response. Asra is devouring you as though you were a feast and it was the only meal he is to have in a lifetime. He grips your legs tightly to keep you from moving and covers your slit with his mouth, sucking for a moment on the tight nub at the top. He groans happily into your skin before moving down to lick your hole.

"Oh please, yes," you run your trembling hand through his hair and raise your hips up to meet his greedy mouth. He laps short, quick strokes first, stimulating you into madness.

After a moment he slows his tongue down to swirl languidly, looking up at you. You make eye contact and groan at the erotic scene of him eating you out. "That mouth of yours is too skilled for its own good," you whisper, fingers digging into his scalp, trying desperately to savor every swipe of his tongue.

Asra smiles against your folds. "I live to make you feel good, my dear." He says, pausing a moment. "You intoxicate me. Your smell, your taste. I couldn't get enough even if I had all the time in the world." He presses his lips on each one of your thighs with hot, open mouth kisses.

You blush at his words, feeling amazing under his praise. "Come here," you command softly, pulling on Asra's hair lightly to guide him back up your body. He kisses every inch of skin he passes before finally reaching your lips.

"Mm," he hums, taking your face in his hands. "But these lips, are like the finest honey in Vesuvia." He lifts your head so your mouths meet. It's a hot and feverish kiss, full of staggering amounts of love.

You press your body into his and relish in the feeling of kissing Asra. Your mouths are opened to one another and your tongues meet in fiery unison. While you enjoy the kiss you allow your hands to roam. Your fingers find his shirt buttons and you start to undo them as best you can, only a little distracted. It takes just a minute and you sigh happily into his mouth when you finally remove the annoying clothing.

You part a moment to admire the divinity of his body; prostrated before you. He was calling himself the lucky one, but you could probably make a pretty good argument for it being the other way around. He looked absolutely glorious in the hazy glow of the room.

As you reach for the waistband of his pants and rest your fingers playfully on the skin above it Asra breaks out in goosebumps at the fluttering feel of your touch.

"Ah," he breaths out, raising himself to his knees and closing his eyes. Clearly, he's enjoying the attention finally being on him.

"You are the one with the potion affecting them." You say, drawing a line from one hip to another. "It'd almost be criminal to ignore you for any longer." Your eyes fall to the bulge straining under Asra's pants, just begging to be free. A smile plays across your lips as his breaths quickens significantly.

"I.. wouldn't complain." He finally manages to say in a strained tone.

You smile, maybe a little too satisfied, and hook your fingers under the band. "I know." You chuckle, pulling. The trousers catch a moment on Asra's hardened length before slipping down to his knees. You take time to admire the sight before you, licking your lips. Asra is panting slightly, looking down at you lustfully as your eyes graze over him.

He grabs your head on either side and looks into your eyes. "Please," is all he can croak out.

You swallow thickly and you feel yourself dampen even more at his begging words. “I’d like nothing more" you say; need dripping heavily from your words. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his leaking slit lightly. Asra's body shivers with pleasure when your soft lips meet his aching shaft.

You take a breath before closing your mouth around his tip. Your cheeks hollow and you suck in deeply, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure emitting from Asra's lips. He groans even deeper as you finally swallow down his whole length, tip sliding down the back of your throat.

"Ah fuck, baby," he stutters through gritted teeth, fingers threading through your hair. He thrusts into your mouth without hesitation, reveling in the way you feel around him. The pace is fast and vicious, leaving no time for extra room for breathing.

You choke back your gasps and feel the involuntary tears prick at the corners or your eyes. Your hands fall to your sides as you let Asra use your mouth how he pleased. Licentious noises ring around the room as he sinks his member into your mouth relentlessly, moaning at each stroke and the salacious feelings that come over him.

His grip tightens in your hair as he pounds into your face. You open your mouth as widely as you can and take him in, ignoring the slight pain of labored breathing. The feeling of being used so mercilessly is intoxicating, and you close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure that overtakes you.

With a loud pop he pulls out of your drooling mouth, leaving you to be the one groaning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry love," he huffs dazedly, need heavy on his features. "But if I don't stop this now I'm cumming in your mouth."

"That doesn't sound so bad," you complain, sticking your tongue out so Asra can view how much you want it. His eyes darken considerably and he looks ready to break.

He takes a breath in sharply, steadying himself before holding your face gently in his hand. "As much as I want you fuck your face, that pussy of yours I know is dripping for me and I have to comply." He chuckles, running his thumb along your lip.

You whimper at his words, practically climaxing at the suggestion. You meet his eyes in a needy manner and nod. "Oh, Asra," you start, already seeing excitement flit across his face at the mention of his name. "I want you more than I can even describe to you."

To this Asra inhales sharply, thumb still hooked in your mouth. "Tell me how you want me," he says, barely able to contain his own desire.

"I want you to fuck me from behind," you begin, knowing exactly how to please his ears. "I'm going to cry and moan, and beg you for relief but you will know better." His eyes widen in ecstasy but you continue anyway. "I want you to give everything you can to me, without holding back."

Asra seems to snap right in front of you. His features immediately seem to plead for consolation. "You'll get what you ask for." He growls, fingers tightening in your mouth. You lick his thumb seductively and the action throws him over the edge.

Asra's hands fly to your waist and hold you firmly, you're flipped over; ass to the heavens greeting him. He swallows at the sight and digs both palms into the flesh, enjoying the feeling immensely. "So needy and ready for me," he groans, finger finding your entrance and slipping in easily. You gulp at the warmth of having fingers enter you. Asra is unrelenting and curls them cruelly against your walls.

"Just fuck me already!" You cry, unable to hide your desires anymore. You hear Asra laugh behind you, yet despite this you know he is dying to sink himself into you.

"Alright, alright." He concedes, taking your hips in his hands. "If you insist."

You feel his tip slide against your slit and shudder, craving the feeling of him inside you. It doesn't take more than a moment before you feel him start to enter you. You lay your head down, turning your face so you can watch Asra take you from behind.

His lips are parted in a silent moan as he relishes in the feeling of your walls around him. You sigh softly as he fully sheaths himself in you, a small tremor passing over your body from the pleasure. One moment, two moments pass as you both bask in the feeling of being connected.

"Give me your hands," he commands, slowly sliding in and out of you, giving no care to his agonizingly slow pace. Soft gasps are falling from your lips as you try to register his request.

Carefully, you cross your arms behind your back. It's no use to keep the blush at bay as you take in the dirty scene. Your face is pressed to the pillows, unable to move much as Asra takes your wrists and pins them to your back. Your ass is raised in the air to meet his rhythmic thrusting.

Asra grips one of your thighs with a free hand and quickens the pace a little. Your eyes shut tightly as your body responds. You can feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. It's unrelenting and you have to catch yourself from begging for more.

You feel the fingers around your wrist tighten a bit as Asra's breathing speeds up behind you. You know that he's set on giving you as much painfully slow torture as he can manage himself, but you also know that potion is working against him. There's nothing he wants more than to let go and pound you into the mattress.

"Baby," you choke out, words bouncing along with your bodies. "I know you want to fuck me so good right now." Your voice is deep with seduction. "Please just fill me up like I know you want to." You finish your plea, watching his face with satisfaction. His eyes are darkened with desire. He takes just a few more strokes before slowly to a stop inside you.

"You asked for it," he warns. He only takes a moment to let go of your wrists and flips your body so you're facing him. He cages you in on either side and licks his lips as he stares into your eyes. His hungry mouth meets yours in a kiss full of fire. You can melt into it for only a second before you feel him grab your hips and pull you flush against him; Your cries drowned by his lips as he sets an erratic pace, skin meeting with loud slaps.

"Fucking hell," he groans, still kissing you between words. "You feel like heaven on earth. You're so hot, and I can feel your insides squeezing me." He explains, hot breath falling over your face. Your cheeks burn at his descriptions.

You loop your arms around his neck and press your chest into his. Your skin meets, shining with sweat and burning from love. Asra presses back, savoring the feeling of your nipples brushing against his.

You start to feel that familiar blossom of unreleased pleasure pool in your lower stomach. Asra's shaft is hitting you just right, sending jolts of satisfaction right to your core.

"Oh-" you stop and whine pleasantly when he shifts angles. "Fuck. Please yes, don't stop!" Your arms drop and nails dip into his biceps and you grit your teeth from the hot delight searing through your body.

"I couldn't even If i wanted to," Asra answers, words strained as his grasp on himself starts to crumble. His breath is leaving his lips in short pants now and you can almost see the resolve to hold on slip away before your eyes.

He falls into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts into you with all of the strength he can muster. You bury your face in his neck and take hold of his hair. You can feel Asra's body shuddering to not let go.

You bring your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. "Won't you come for me sweetheart? Please empty yourself in me." You whisper.

Asra takes in a sharp breath and you hear him choke at your words. They were enough to push him over the edge and he rams into you with a low, strangled cry.

Your head falls back and your mouth opens in a silent scream as Asra lets himself go in you. Your legs shake violently of their own accord as you feel your orgasm wash over you, leaving your body in euphoric fire.

Asra's lips immediately find yours as you ride out your orgasms together. You kiss him passionately, all of your senses in overdrive. His kisses are soft, and sweet, a clear declaration of his love. Happiness rushes in like a flood as you enjoy the afterglow. After a minute Asra removes himself from you and joins you in laying down, sides still heaving from the activities.

"My dear, how I love you." He says with a smile, running his fingers in slow, soft circles on your stomach.

You turn on your side and look into his eyes. He looked content, and his cheeks were dimpled from his growing grin.

"I love you too," you return, hand falling into his. His skin was still warm. The two of you lay there for a while, out of breath and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Eventually, Asra sits up and looks down at you with humor in his eyes. "Well, I think I can tell our buyer that we did an extensive review of his product and it does, in fact, work."

Your face breaks into a smile and you laugh at Asra's words. "Oh goodie, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear all about it."

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Magic is legal, Arthur knows The Truth and Merlin is... shit at explaining things:

Arthur demands a trip to visit the Druids, who are far more qualified than Merlin, so they can explain this whole... destiny thing.

I’ve written a lot of angst and Hurt!Merlin recently, so I just wanted to write something short and sweet and fluffy :)

SO.

Magic has been legalised, Merlin is Court Sorcerer, all the knights are alive and happy, Morgana is good, and the only thing Arthur has to worry about right now is what the hell to do about the rapidly growing crush he has on his BestFriend™.

After the dust had settled, Merlin had tried to sit Arthur down and tell him the whole story; all about Emrys, and the prophecies, and destiny. The King already knew about Merlin’s magic, and roughly how powerful he is, but that’s it.

But Merlin went so long barely mentioning it at all, not even to Gaius or Morgana or Lancelot, that he’s still not entirely sure what to say. Years of hiding and lying and trying desperately not to think about it, mean his brain now blanks when he tries to explain it.

After far too long of Arthur looking on confusedly whilst Merlin rambled on about dragons and coins and mental links and names, The Court Sorcerer gave up, and decided to just not bother.

Arthur, of course, decided that giving up was stupid, and made the executive decision that they would just go to the Druids, and someone who actual knew what they were talking about could explain it thoroughly. Maybe even allow Arthur to read the original prophecies.

Plus, it turned out that Initiating a Golden Age took quite a lot of work, so neither of them had had a chance to leave the city for weeks. They could do with the fresh air. And if Arthur saw it as a good chance to be properly alone with Merlin for more than half a candle mark? No one else needed to know, least of all Merlin.

~

It was a pleasant journey through the woods. The silences comfortable, and the conversations easy and filled with smiles.

Magic had only been legalised for about a fortnight, and after over twenty years of fear, magic users were still understandably cautious, meaning the closest Druid camp was still a two days ride away.

But that wasn’t a problem. With Merlin now able to use his magic openly, and therefor more able to defend his King, he found he was far less anxious about the trip outside the city than he would’ve been before. And if his good mood bled into the environment around them? Well... it was spring... surely no one would notice the extra flowers and abundance of butterflies?

(Arthur definitely noticed. But Merlin was still... wary, of performing sorcery openly, in fear of scaring the people who had been sucked in by two decades of propaganda and fear-mongering. Meaning Arthur sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped.)

It was around noon, and the sun was shining down on them when Merlin pulled his horse to a stop. He dismounts effortlessly, and hands a confused Arthur his reins. At Arthur’s raised eyebrow, Merlin sighs and speaks quietly:

“The camp is about two minutes further on but... the change in the law was only recent, and...-”

He bites his lip and looks away, worrying Arthur slightly, before continuing:

“-well, chainmail and red capes still make them a little nervous. I’ve already warned their leader that we’re coming-”

He taps his temple briefly:

“-but I should go ahead and explain properly.”

Arthur nods in understanding, and gives Merlin a comforting smile:

“I completely understand, Merlin. How long do you want me to wait, or will you come back to get me?”

Merlin returns his smile, before saying:

“Just wait ten minutes then follow me, straight down the path. Bring the horses, there’ll be somewhere to tie them there. You shouldn’t run into any trouble this close to a camp, but you do have a track-record so-”

Merlin laughs at Arthur’s indignant expression, but continues before he can interrupt him:

“-if you do, just yell. We won’t be too far away, we’ll hear you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and shoos Merlin away. The Warlock laughs as he turns and continues down the path on foot. Just before he disappears behind a large bush, he turns around again, a slightly concerned expression on his face:

“I might look a bit... different? But don’t mention it, they’re quite fond of me... uh... dressing the part.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh before saying:

“I’m sure I won’t forget what you look like in ten minutes, Merlin. Go.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully, and turns back around, disappearing into the trees and leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

After a few moments, he removes his cloak, tucking it into a saddlebag. He also, after only a little hesitation, removes his sword, strapping it to his saddle. It was still visible and easily within reach, but not so threateningly on display at his hip.

He was entering these people’s home, after personally wielding the sharp edge of their persecution for almost a decade; the least he could do was make them as comfortable as possible.

He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Merlin, but he had a feeling that this meet was going to end up being about more than the prophecies. Peace had been harboured, magic had been legalised, but like Merlin had pointed out, things were still a little tense. This meeting was a way to show the Druids that Arthur meant it, that his whole heart was behind this change. The he was not his father.

Arthur was a little nervous (not that he’d ever admit that), this was important. Not just to him and the kingdom, but to Merlin personally. He had to get this right. One of the only things that Arthur had managed to get out of Merlin, to do with the whole destiny thing, was that it was finished. It was done.

If Arthur messes this up, not only will it ruin the peace they had been working so hard for... then Merlin might leave. He has no reason to stay after-all, he’s done his job. So Arthur has to get this right, has to impress everyone, now more than ever, because if he fails and the Druids all leave Camelot, then Merlin would leave with them.

And that thought was... unbearable.

He counts down the minutes, getting more and more tense. He tried to distract himself by thinking about what Merlin had said, “dressing the part” what does that even mean?

But it doesn’t work. Soon enough his brain is throwing thought after paranoid thought at him, about all the possible ways Merlin could tell Arthur he hated him, and leave forever and ever.

Arthur rubbed his eyes harshly, muttering to himself about how he really should’ve accepted the “relaxing tea” Gaius had offered him before they left. Other than Merlin, the old physician is the only one who ever seems to know what he needs in the moment, Arthur should definitely learn to listen to him more.

He finally reaches zero in his mental countdown, and sighs before standing from where he’d sat on a fallen log. He’d allowed the horses to wander a bit but they were trained to stay close by, so he has no problem gathering their reins again and leading them slowly down the path Merlin had followed.

All Druid camps were different. Some moved around constantly, some stayed fairly still. Some were huge, acres large with hundreds of people, others were small, only ten people or so. Some were occupied by mostly the sick and elderly, others were full of the young and adventurous, and others were family orientated.

And of course it was rare, according to Gaius, that someone would stay in the same camp their whole life. The Druids were a nomadic people, always shifting, drifting, wandering. Following a constantly tugging thread in their hearts, going where nature beckoned them.

According to Merlin, this specific camp was pretty small (around twenty adults) but it was also a fairly familial group, meaning lots of children. And if that didn’t make Arthur nervous (it definitely did) then nothing would.

Arthur didn’t have much experience with children, and definitely had no concept of how to act around them, especially Druid children.

After about a minute of walking, Arthur could hear loud laughter and quiet conversations floating through the trees. He slowed his pace; trying to appear unthreatening and friendly, or to delay the inevitable, he’s not quite sure.

He finally breaks through the treeline to see that... no one is even looking in his direction.

It was the middle of the day, so the camp was busy, people milling about everywhere, most of the tents open, various jobs getting done throughout the clearing.

But what immediately drew Arthur’s eye, was the source of the laughter.

The King looked across the clearing to see Merlin, in a whole new wardrobe, and a whole new light.

The man had changed from his simple travellers clothes (basically the clothes he’d worn as a manservant, just a bit newer and cleaner.) into a loose, white, lace up shirt (sleeves rolled up, which Arthur absolutely did NOT find himself staring at, thank you very much.) paired with slim black trousers.

But what was most striking, was the deep blue cloak billowing behind him, and the silver crown on his head. It was delicate, as if forged with vines and leaves and feathers, but it was oh so Merlin.

Arthur stayed at the edge of the clearing, glad that no one had noticed him; allowing him to stare in reverence at his best friend.

He was surrounded by young children, all laughing joyously as his eyes glowed golden and he waved his hands around. He needn’t mutter spells as he smiled widely, willing butterflies and bees to manifest in the air around him.

One of the younger children held his arms in the air and made grabbing motions with his hands. Merlin bent over and pulled him up into the air without a moment of hesitation, spinning him around on the spot (much to the kid’s enjoyment, who giggled outrageously), before settling him on his hip.

He used one hand to support the kid’s weight (when did Merlin get so strong??), and used the other to summon flowers around the feet of the rest of the children.

A fond smile spread across Arthur’s face as he saw them run around exuberantly, gathering the flowers in chubby hands to present to parents and siblings and friends.

Arthur laughed softly as he saw Merlin reply enthusiastically to something that the boy on his hip had said, and a second later, the child had a butterfly perched on the end of his nose. 

Arthur is broken from his concentration, jumping a foot in the air when a soft hand lands on his shoulder from behind.

He whips his head around, just about managing to stop himself from yelping and reaching for where his sword usually is at his hip.

He calms his breathing as his eyes find the friendly face of a Druid, an amused smile on his face. Arthur returns his smile, a tad shakily, suddenly feeling the nerves again, and nods his head respectfully.

The man keeps his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but looks towards Merlin in the clearing, before softly saying:

“He’s quite something, your Emrys, isn’t he?”

Arthur gulps, also looking back at Merlin as he replies with a chuckle that was only slightly forced:

“He’s more yours than mine, especially like this, but yes, he is something special.”

The Druid laughs disbelievingly, and Arthur turns to look, a confused expression on his face as he listens to his reply:

“Definitely not. He’s always belonged to you more than he’s belonged to us-”

He stops laughing to look at Arthur, eyes sparkling with friendly mirth as he continues:

“-prophecy or no, he had a... well... a pre-carved place among the Druids, but he still chose to carve his own space by your side. I think that speaks volumes about where he truly belongs, or at least where he wants to belong, don’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t really have a response to that as he stares at the man with barely concealed bafflement, but luckily, before the silence stretches too long, the Druid gestures to the clearing:

“Come. Everyone is excited to meet you, though I warn you, the children in this camp can be rather energetic, as you’ve already seen.”

Arthur gulps and nods, following him into the centre of the camp.

Everyone’s attention is quickly caught by The King’s presence, and someone comes over to wordlessly take the horse’s reins from him.

The adults bow their heads slightly in respect, giving him soft smiles, and the children fidget on the spot, wide grins on their faces as they whisper conspiratorially to each other.

The boy in Merlin’s arms wiggles, and he gets put down. He rushes over to Arthur, grabbing his hand with a toothy grin and dragging him over to Merlin and the other children.

Merlin hides a laugh behind his hand as Arthur’s eyes widen, and his face goes pale. He thought this was going to be meetings and serious discussions and apologies, not playing with children!! What do children even like?! Swords?? Can he talk to them about swords??! Druids are pacifists right? So probably not??

He gets pulled down to crouch, and the children crowd him, all babbling at once, wildly showing him flowers and butterflies.

Merlin laughs at his bewildered fear for a few moments, before he crouches next to Arthur and holds his hands up, saying loudly:

“Alright, alright, you lot. Remember what I said?”

The children still, and a chorus of “Yes Lord Emrys” resounds from the group. With that, they stay silent, but still grin widely and bounce on the spot in excitement.

Arthur gives Merlin a stressed, but grateful smile, before looking back to the children. He takes a deep breath, before smiling at them, and saying:

“My name’s Arthur. Thank you for having me, I appreciate your hospitality.”

Merlin snorts at his overly formal tone, and has to stop himself laughing at the shock and fear on Arthur’s face when one of the younger ones loudly asks:

“What’s hosp-ee-tal-it-ee?”

Arthur furrows his brows, but luckily one of the teenagers steps in, quietly saying:

“It’s when someone comes into your home, and you’re nice to them.”

Arthur smiles and nods, and Merlin chuckles in amusement.

Thankfully (for Arthur) Merlin then stands and announces to the children that it’s lunch time, and to get washed up. They all rush off, and Arthur lets out a breath as he stands.

Merlin holds in yet another laugh, but tilts his head in confusion as Arthur’s gaze is once again drawn to the crown that rests on Merlin’s unruly hair.

Merlin flushes slightly when he realises what Arthur is looking at, looking to the floor and mumbling:

“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to just call me Merlin, but then they presented me with this a few months ago and I could hardly say no, could I?”

Arthur nods as Merlin looks up again, meeting his gaze. There’s a soft smile on his face, one that Merlin isn’t quite sure what to make of as he quietly replies:

“Hmm. Looks good on you.”

Merlin makes a surprised noise and his eyes go wide, the flush on his cheeks deepening as Arthur laughs gently at him.

Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against the skin of his neck in a way that was slightly more than friendly, but Merlin doesn’t pull away, so Arthur leaves his hand there as he looks around the bustling camp.

His smile falls into something more sad, and Merlin frowns at him curiously:

“Arthur? What is it?”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, not looking back at Merlin as he replies, almost whispering:

“Nothing. It’s just, last time I was this far into a Druid camp... I did terrible things. Look at this place, how could I ever have believed that magic was evil? It’s beautiful here.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, but before he can reply, a small hand tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, and the two of them look down suddenly to see one of the boys from before. He wore a confused expression, and whispered, as if he knew this was meant to be a secret conversation:

“What terrible things did you do, Mr King Sir?”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp and widens his eyes, but before he can tell him off or lie, Arthur squeezes his shoulder, and crouches down in front of the child.

Arthur gives the boy a smile, and takes his hands, quietly saying:

“Well. When I was young, I was taught some things that are wrong, I didn’t question them, and because of that I did some really bad things. I thought I was being a good person, but actually I was being a bad person because I didn’t do my own research, and I didn’t know any better. But then I started learning how to be better, and now I do everything in my power to be an actual good person.-”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a small smile on his face, before looking back down to the boy, who is hanging on to his every word:

“-Your Emrys is helping me with that. You see, he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he’s helping me be more like him.”

Arthur resists the urge to look back at Merlin as he feels a firm, but shaky hand on his back, and instead looks at the child as he thinks over Arthur’s words. His face breaks into a grin, and Arthur returns the smile as the boy says:

“He’s the best isn’t he? I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

Arthur ruffles his hair, and replies quietly:

“Yeah kid, me too.”

The boy gives him a toothy grin, before running off once again, and Arthur lets out yet another breath he had been holding before standing up.

Merlin’s hand remains on his shoulder, and Arthur regrets meeting his gaze the moment he turns his head. But he also can’t rip his eyes away from the teary expression of awe and bewildered happiness on his face.

Merlin lets out a gentle laugh at Arthur’s apprehensive face before shaking his head, and looking back at him once again, this time amusement on his face:

“The best person you’ve ever met, huh?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and blushes deeply, pushing Merlin’s hand off his shoulder as he mumbles a flustered:

“Shut up, Merlin. I could hardly tell him the truth, could I?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully and replies with laughter in his voice:

“Hmm. That makes more sense, of course.”

Without waiting for Arthur’s reply, he grabs the King’s wrist and drags him towards a large tent in the corner of the clearing. Inside were two tables, one large, and one smaller and lower, both surrounded by benches.

Merlin directed them to bowls in the corner so they could wash their hands, before they sit at the larger of the two tables. Everyone over the ages of about fourteen joins them, the younger ones going to the smaller table.

Food appears, covering the surface, summoned from the cooking pots outside and the various food stores around the camp. Arthur tries to keep the wonderment off his face, but knows he failed miserably when he hears Merlin chuckle beside him. He punches Merlin’s leg under the table playfully, but that only makes him laugh harder.

He quietens when the man sat opposite Arthur stands:

“Today we have two honoured guests, our Lord Emrys, and the Once and Future King Arthur. We share our home, our food, and our welcome, for as long as they wish to stay. We raise our goblets to you, My Lords.”

At that, he raises his cup in the air, everyone else in the tent following him. Merlin smiles and nods at him, raising his own cup, and Arthur nervously copies his movements, comforted by Merlin’s reassuring hand on his knee.

With that, the Druid sits down, and conversation breaks out around the tent as everyone begins to eat.

Merlin handles most of the discussions, talking to everyone as if they were life long friends. Arthur is grateful for that, he answers any questions sent his way, asking a few polite ones in return, but Druid culture is so different to life in the city and Arthur doesn’t really know what he should be talking about.

Thankfully, the meal passes quickly, and after another announcement from the man Arthur now presumed was the leader here, the crowd dispersed, everything being cleared away with magic.

Not every Druid practiced sorcery, but they were clearly in a magic-heavy camp; Arthur could see it plain as day, everywhere he looked.

Merlin once again took Arthur’s wrist, leading him out into the sun. Usually, Arthur hated being led places, especially by the hand, but he found he didn’t quite mind it today. Whether it was because they were in Merlin’s domain, and Merlin was King here, or because of how nervous he was, or because of some other reason entirely, Arthur wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t want to think too deeply about it.

This time, Merlin led them to another, smaller tent.

It had several comfortable looking chairs around a smallish circular table, which was covered in scrolls and parchments and old-looking books.

A few seconds later, they were joined by the Druid leader; he smiled softly at them and gestured for them to sit at the table. Merlin and Arthur sat next to each other, and the Druid kindly pretended not to notice them shuffling the chairs closer together.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, Arthur having lost his nerves fairly early in the conversation. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that official meetings were his specialty, or maybe it was because Merlin’s hand once again found his knee, but stayed there this time. Who knows.

The Druid had introduced himself, and once more welcomed Arthur to the camp, before launching into explanations of the prophecies and destinies, and everyone’s roles in them.

Merlin knew most if it, and looked especially proud of himself when the Druid described in wonder how Merlin had changed the very fates of the Lady Morgana, Sir Mordred, and Arthur himself.

Arthur was definitely taken aback at that. Whilst Merlin had prattled on, making no sense, about his and Arthur’s destinies, he had never mentioned anyone else, and Arthur becomes increasingly glad he came here to sort it all out.

There were some bits that not even Merlin knew though. He wasn’t aware that the other knights, Guinevere, and Gaius featured in a few of the newer prophecies, and the Druid had an amused smile on his face when he admitted that he’d thought Merlin would have figured that out.

Arthur did laugh at him at that, and Merlin flushed before telling him:

“Shut up, or I’ll tell the others you said I was the best person you’ve ever met, and they’ll never let you live it down.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, and the Druid continues look at them in amusement as they bicker.

The meeting comes to an end just before dark, and Arthur thanks the Druid profusely, for welcoming him, and taking the time to go through everything thoroughly.

Another meal is had in the large tent, but when they leave this time, the clearing has been completely emptied. A large bonfire roars in the middle, and logs surround it, providing seating for everyone.

The evening is full of stories and music and magic, and Arthur once again finds himself wondering just how he thought any of this could be evil.

Even Merlin stands to lead a song. He moves around the clearing with yet another child sat sat on his hip, giggling as Merlin spins her around.

Arthur is surprised to learn that Merlin has a good voice, and stares in wonderment as he leads the melody as if it was what he was born to do. The rest of the Druids clap along, joining in loudly and harmonising and playing instruments in time with the tune.

When the song comes to a close, the crowd burst into cheers as Merlin looks back to Arthur, breathing deeply and cheeks flushed. The Warlock smiles widely as he settles the child back in her mother’s lap before walking back over to his seat, next to Arthur.

Arthur returns his wide grin with a soft smile of his own, and as the music continues around them, Merlin tilts his face in happy confusion:

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Arthur just shakes his head slightly, smiling slightly wider as he responds without missing a beat:

“You’re beautiful like this. And you have an exceptional voice.”

Merlin flushes in surprise and looks to his lap, quietly muttering:

“I wouldn’t know about that...”

Arthur doesn’t look away, huffing out a laugh before replying:

“I mean it, Merlin. You just look... happy. Like you belong here.-”

He does look away here, staring into the fire with a thoughtful, but slightly mournful look on his face as Merlin peers up at him, curious. Arthur continues, even quieter, before Merlin can question him:

“-You know, I wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to stay. Here, I mean. I know magic is legal in Camelot now, but you belong somewhere like this. I would never begrudge you a home like this Merlin.”

Merlin laughs quietly, and takes Arthur’s hand, holding it in his lap like it’s something precious (it is, at least it is to Merlin). Arthur looks back at him in surprise, but doesn’t pull away as Merlin replies, still smiling:

“Home isn’t a place, Arthur, and the Druids know that better than anyone. Home is... home is wherever the people you love are. You are my people, Arthur, you and the knights and Gwen and Morgana and Gaius. My home is wherever you are. No matter my magic or title or destiny; my home will always be where you are.”

Arthur doesn’t let the tears in his eyes fall, but he does squeeze Merlin’s hand, giving him a tender smile that's returned without hesitation.

With the exchanging of smiles that any onlooker would describe as loving, the conversation comes to an easy close, and they spend the rest of the evening hand in hand, smiling fondly at the antics around them.

It’s late when the festivities come to an end, and Arthur and Merlin are exhausted, struggling to hold back yawns as they’re shown to a tent that had been set up for them.

Their bags had been removed from the horses and left in there, and the floor was covered in various blankets and pillows. There was a small trunk, for them to store anything they wished to unpack, and a few candles were lit, filling the room with a soft golden light and pleasant smells.

Merlin charms the tent to be soundproof so they don’t have to worry about noise (he may be openly able to use magic, but the idiot was still rather clumsy, and prone to accidental bangs and crashes), before removing his crown carefully. His cloak and boots follow shortly, and they all go neatly into the trunk, before he starts organising a spot to sleep.

After a few minutes, he realises that Arthur hasn’t moved from his space by the entrance, and Merlin turns around to look at him questioningly. Arthur’s eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks deep in thought as he stares at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

Merlin walks over, concerned, and takes one of Arthur’s hands into his own. Arthur looks up at him suddenly, broken free of his thoughts, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him as he strokes his thumb across The King’s knuckles:

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur looks into Merlin’s eyes searchingly, but seems to find what he’s looking for after only a moment, and smiles. Merlin tilts his head to prompt him, and Arthur takes his other hand, before softly speaking:

“You know, I used to find the idea of falling in love frightening.-”

Merlin takes in a subtle deep breath, but Arthur doesn’t notice as he shakes his head, huffing out a gentle laugh before continuing, looking somewhere over Merlin’s shoulder:

“-The possibility that someone could have that much control over me; that I would willingly give another person dominion over my heart, my soul, my... everything, was terrifying to me. But I find I’m not scared anymore.-”

He looks back at Merlin’s shocked face. Arthur looks an odd mix of disbelieving, and happy beyond words as he continues, confident that what he’s saying is right, for the first time in a long time:

“-Because it’s you, Merlin. It’s always been you. And how could I possibly find falling in love with you anything other than beautiful?”

Merlin gulps, seemingly searching Arthur’s face for any hint of a lie. When he finds nothing but sincerity, he launches himself forward, almost knocking Arthur to the floor.

He wraps his arms around the blonde’s shoulders tightly, burying a hand in his hair, and his face in the crook of his neck. Arthur huffs out a laugh as he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, running a soft hand up and down his back.

At Merlin’s muttered:

“I love you, Arthur, more than anything is this world. My magic, my everything, belongs to you.”

Arthur pulls back, smiling. He leans forward pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, and cups his cheek softly with his hand. They stare into the blue of each other’s eyes for a moment, not in any hurry to move the moment along, Arthur running his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, and Merlin carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur takes a deep breath, before whispering, so quietly it’s a miracle Merlin hears him:

“Can I kiss you?”

Merlin nods infinitesimally, and the two of them lean forward, meeting in the middle in a soft kiss that could only be described as tender, and full of love.

If the stars shine brighter, and the wind blows warmer, and the animals of the dark seem happier that night... well... it was spring... surely no one would notice (Arthur definitely noticed, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped).

~

THE END!!

This is the first one I’ve written in aaaaages that didn’t involve a dizzy/exhausted/sick Merlin so... yay me?

I just really wanted to write something fluffy, where there were no high stakes. No huge battles, or angsty confessions or anything like that, just a soft love story.

I genuinely got no clue what I’ll write next. I do have a few drafts and ideas floating around, but let me know if you’re after anything specific, I live to please :)

Like always, you wanna write this up properly with paragraphs and fleshed out stuff, go for it, credit and tag me :)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Turns of Phrase

Prompt: I'd like you to consider: all the sides in the mindscape have the "way too literal" problem, like for example, Virgil actually grows taller when his anxiety is heightened, Patton actually grows wings when Thomas has a 'heart aflutter', e.c.t. But Roman just has a huge stack of negative ones. Creative block, bruised ego, shackled creativity, e.c.t. And then there's h/c when somebody (Logan) sees 👀👀

Thanks for the prompt babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, Roman whump

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count:  5722

 This is Roman’s fault. Really. It is. He’s the one who works the closest with the Imagination, which means he’s got control over how Thomas interacts with his own imagination, which means that he’s got control over how Thomas sees the Sides.

 So yeah. This is his fault.

‘Heart all aflutter.’ ‘Heightened anxiety.’ ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ All the little innocuous phrases that are just turns of phrase, not supposed to be literal, well…they got into Thomas’s head when he was younger, and since, the Imagination has never quite gotten rid of them. Shouldn’t be too bad, right, this should be something they can deal with.

 And for the most part, they do.

Patton wears the hoodie tied around his shoulders to block the chill from the slits sewn in the back of all of his shirts in case the wings decide to pop out again. When they do, everyone crowds around to make sure he doesn’t fly off into the sky or accidentally twist one. The feathers are the softest things you can imagine and work great for stuffing pillows or plushies.

 Virgil’s clothes are made of stretchy, baggy material and the doorways are much, much higher than they need to be. There’s a special cupboard tucked high up in the pantry that just has Virgil’s comfort foods in them so he can reach comfortably when he’s tall.

 And, well…there’s a reason Janus wears such a long cloak.

 For the most part, these are just minor inconveniences. Listen, when you live in a completely imaginary world where you can summon anything you need and change anything you don’t like with a snap of your fingers, things like new clothes or snacks are easy.

 Then there’s Roman.

 Roman, who is tied most closely to the Imagination.

 Roman, who represents not just Creativity, but romance, motivation, desire.

 Roman. The Ego.

 The problem with throwing around these types of phrases is how easy it becomes to dismiss them. And for Thomas, who has a creative profession, that’s good. For Thomas.

 Not so good for Roman.

 “Hey, you’ve been having some trouble getting ideas out lately, you doing okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m just going through a bit of a creative block at the moment.”

 Roman’s fists ache as he pounds on the door, heaving sobs trailing off into hitched gasps as he slumps against the unyielding wood. As a desperate last resort, he throws himself at the door, barely making it shudder in its frame. It’s as if he weighs nothing, not an ounce, unable to make so much as a goddamn dent in the world around him.

 “Let me—let me out, please, let me out, I gotta—I want out,” he sobs, over and over, as his room grows smaller and smaller, the walls pressing in around him, blank, sterile, cold, “I wanna—out, let me out, let me out, let me out please—“

 He’s not even in his room anymore. He’s in a pure white cage, on the wrong side of a door that will not open.

 “Dude, like…reign it in a little bit.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah. That’s…like, way too much.”

 “I dunno, I think it feels weird if we weren’t doing this.”

 “C’mon, it won’t kill you to shackle your creativity a little.”

 Roman wakes up to the quiet clinking of metal against metal. He goes to wipe his face and a bolt of pain shoots through his arm. The shackles spread him so far his chest aches, wincing as he tries to turn just a little to avoid the rush of agony that would come from having his arm trapped in the wrong position. At least he was lying down this time, and he’s on his bed. He isn’t being forced to stand the whole time, strung up on the ceiling.

 They’re so cold.

 The shackles sap the warmth from his body bit by bit, draining it until the weight of the cold pressing down onto his chest is enough to make him gasp. On instinct, he pulls, trying to get a little more of himself wrapped up, warm, safe, but the chains barely make a groan as they wrench him back apart. He grits his teeth and holds still.

 He learned not to try and break these. He used to rage and slam against them like a brute, trying to pull their fastenings out of some mystical holder, embodied in his wall, only to come away with bleeding and scraped wrists from his pains, rubbed raw and chafed horribly by the cruel shackles.

 For the most part, he’s able to keep the others from noticing. They can’t hear a thing when he’s trapped in the creative block. He’s careful to always wear long sleeves to hide the scrapes and burns from the shackles. They don’t know the true extent of what happens to him when Thomas decides he doesn’t want his creativity.

 But he can’t hide all of them.

 ‘Bruised ego.’

 Patton knows. Patton somehow always figures things out and doesn’t tell anyone, least of all Roman. But sure enough, after the audition, Patton showed up outside of Roman’s door and knocked, quietly asking to be let in.

 Roman had let him, splattered as he was with blues and purples and greens and yellows, all the colors that didn’t belong to him, and yet here they were, painted on him. He’d kept his undershirt on, letting Patton feed him the soup that was sure to end with Roman lying on his back in the bathroom, panting, until the bowl had run dry and Roman’s smile had come back.

 After Patton had gone, the smile had slid off, the paint cracked and chipped. Roman had stood, leaning against the bed for stability, and made his way slowly, oh, so, slowly, to the bathroom.

 Getting his shirt off had been agony. Every time he moved skin had stretched, bruises had protested, even his muscles cried out. The undershirt was soaked in sweat and a light sheen had clung to Roman’s body as he stood there, panting, wincing in the mirror. He couldn’t look.

 That had been the last time it had gotten very bad. Very bad.

 They only ever seemed to notice when it was very bad.

 His prince costume hides the shackle marks. His undershirt hid the bruises. No one cared to look for him when he was trapped in the creative block. No one could see. No one wanted to see.

 No one knew.

 Roman’s been lucky lately.

 They’ve all been happening one at a time. The block never has shackles strapped to the wall. The shackles are never clasped around bruises spilling beneath his skin. The bruises are never from both beating on a door and from the outside world. He can deal with them if they’re like this. One at a time.

 He’s had a few close calls, though. He almost missed a meeting with Logan because the block had him trapped. It squeezed him so tight it felt as if he hadn’t any room to breathe, not until the door and opened a crack and he’d hurled himself out, panting harshly, rushing to Logan’s. He was caught at his desk recently too. The shackles had formed and dragged him over to the corner where he’d bitten his lip to try and stay quiet as he desperately tried to draw himself away. He’d accidentally made too grand a gesture and his sleeve had ridden up, exposing the edge of a mark or bruise and he’d have to pull it back down quick enough so that no one would notice. And so far, it’s worked.

 No one has noticed.

 And what would he say? That this is just some dumb stupid thing he has to deal with? The others know about this whole ‘taking things too literally problem,’ look at Patton, look at Virgil, look at Janus. They all understand and they receive the same amount of attention Roman does. Honestly, they’ve been receiving what they’re entitled to. Their stuff actually runs the risk of harming Thomas. Fire, wings, banging your head, sure, that’s fine, but they—look.

 Having your heart flutter signifies great emotions, the potential for love, you should pay attention to your emotions!

 Heightened anxiety? It’s not great! It means we should be listening to Virgil and what’s going on, what’s upsetting Thomas, how to help.

 And everyone should always be worried about spontaneously combusting pants.

And even if they did find out, what is Roman supposed to say? That it’s his fault they all have these issues? That Thomas’s psyche takes certain liberties with the hard-and-fast rules of what happens to metaphysical people? It’s his fault, after all, he’s the conduit. It’s fine. He can handle this stuff. It’s all fine.

 He should’ve known his luck would run out.

 Roman blinks awake to feel the walls pressing in on him, tighter, tighter, tighter. His breath catches in his throat.

 No.

 No, no, no, he’d been doing so well, so well, they’d just had a conversation about how he’d been so good, the ideas had been good, he’d had—he’d had so many he was ready to work on, he just needed to—

 Roman squeezes his eyes shut, racking his brain. He knows he has ideas. He had them a little while ago. It wasn’t that long. They can’t have vanished so quickly. Wait, what time is it? How did they—how long has he been here? What is—how long has it been? Have the others realized he’s here yet?

 What if they look for him and they think he won’t come out? What if they start to hate him because they can’t find him? What if he can never get out again? What if they realized they never needed him in the first place?

 He—he’s not wrong, he can’t be wrong, he has to be right, he has to—he has to find a way out of here.

 Quickly, Roman squeezes his eyes even tighter, mouth making random shapes as he tries to think. If he can just think of a really good idea, he’ll get out. If he just thinks, if he just does his job, if he’s really good he’ll get out. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can—

  Clink, clink, clink.

 No.

 No!

 Roman snarls as the shackles encase his wrists, forcing to his knees, still crouched in this room that is too small, too pale, too awful. He lunges for the door as he hears the chains slowly start to tighten, their long lengths slipping over and over each other in coils.

 The chains pull taut and he’s suspended there, in the dank air, snarling like a mad dog at a door that is just out of his reach.

 For the first time in a long time, he slams against the chains, raging and bloody as he thrashes back and forth trying to just get to the door—

  Roman, you’re on thin fucking ice.

  Look I don’t wanna just hate a side but roman you royally fucked up bud

  Yeah I’m definitely mad at Roman

 Roman barely suppresses a whine when he realizes where the comments are coming from.

 His nose breaks open and blood pours down his face. His eyes swell and darken until he can only squint through it. One of his fingers breaks and the shackle pinches.

  Roman I have revoked your rights.

  Roman shut the FUCK UP challenge please

  After one line making fun of janus is enough to be cancelled, Roman

 Even without looking down, he knows red and purple are blooming across his ribs. Roman winces pain as he howls again, trying frantically to get to the door, he’ll wrench his arms out of their sockets if he needs to—

  I just hate roman!!! i don’t need a deep reason to hate roman, or anyone else

  oh boi did Princey drop to least favorite side REAL FUCKING QUICK

  It’s not that I don’t despise Roman he’s just never been my favourite. He’s too prideful, rude and while he does have his insecurities the way he hides them makes me uncomfortable since it’s at the expense of other characters. His treatment of the other sides is so awful.

 …is he really that awful? Is…does he…is this…

 Is this how it’s supposed to be?

  I'm gonna spread my anti-roman doctrine. Fuck Roman. Hate that man

  I genuinely hate Roman so. Fucking. Much. Like, can't stand him. Fuck him, I hate him

  It’s always roman-hating hours.

 A dry sob chokes its way out of Roman’s throat as he curls in on himself, another bruise leaving him gasping on the floor like a gutted fish. The chains let him fall to his knees, chest bared to the merciless door. He coughs. Blood flies out of his mouth and spittle drips down his chin. He coughs again. And again. And again. It hurts. Everything hurts.

 He coughs.

 The room presses in on him.

 The shackles trap him.

 Bruises bloom over his body.

 He coughs.

 This is all his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one in charge of the Imagination. He’s the one who makes sure the sides exist and can interact with Thomas. He’s the one who controls how they respond to turns of phrase.

 He’s the one who’s awful to the others. He’s the one who didn’t tell them the truth. He’s the one stuck in this room, in these chains, taking a beating from words and thoughts that he can’t see.

 This is his fault.

 And he doesn’t know if he can fix it.

 Roman gives up.

———————————————————

“Has anyone seen Roman?”

 Patton looks up from the floor as Virgil rolls over. “No, I haven’t. Virgil?”

 Virgil sniffs and shakes his head. “You asked Remus?”

 Logan frowns. “I can’t find them anywhere. Do you know if—“

 “Where the fuck is my brother?”

 “Nevermind, I found him,” Logan mumbles as he turns just fast enough to avoid Remus barreling into him. “I was just coming to ask you.”

 “He was supposed to meet me by the Imagination,” Remus says, bouncing up and down, “we were gonna go exploring. He hasn’t been by all day. Where are you hiding him?”

 “I’m not hiding him,” Virgil yawns, “and neither’s Pat.”

 “Nope! No princes here!”

 “Pocket Protector?”

 “No, I need to ask him about tomorrow.”

 “Ugh.” Remus throws himself down on the couch. “Where’s Snakey? Maybe he knows.”

 “What do I know?”

 “Ah.” Logan turns to see Janus striding out from the shadows near the staircase. “We seem to be unable to locate Roman.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow and flicks a speck of dust from his gloves. “What an unfortunate situation. My deepest apologies.”

 “So you don’t know where he is.”

 “Of course I don’t, why would I?” Janus rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve checked everywhere for him.”

 Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Janus…please.”

 “Have any of you even tried his room?”

 “Of course we have, that’s where I looked first.”

 Janus shrugs. “Then I guess our little prince has wandered away. What a shame.”

 Virgil rolls his eyes. “Maybe he just stepped out for a minute. Why don’t you go look again, L, we’ll check down here.”

 “Oh, will we?”

 “J, I swear—“

 Logan quickly heads back up the stairs as Virgil and Janus start bickering. He turns the corner and is soon faced with Roman’s big red door. He reaches out to knock.

 “Roman? Are you in here?”

 Silence. Logan sighs and goes to turn away when he hears it.

 He stops.

 Goes back.

 “Roman?”

 He puts his ear to the door.

 A soft gasp.

“Roman, can you open the door please?”

 “L-L—Lo—“

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman, I’m coming inside.”

 “L-Logan…”

 Logan pushes open the door.

 He can feel his face go sickly pale.

 Roman is lying on the ground, collapsed in a pool of what looks like blood. His face is swollen, his nose broken, his mouth barely forming the shapes to say Logan’s name. His prince costume is mangled. His wrists are rubbed raw. Even from this far away Logan can see the bruises forming all over his body.

 “Roman!”

 There are shouts from downstairs. The others are worried. Good. Logan’s going to need all the help he can get. He just has to move first.

 Oh, Roman…

 “L? L, what’s going on up there?”

 “First aid,” Logan gasps, then clears his throat, “we need the first aid kit! Roman’s hurt!”

 “What? How’d he—he hasn’t even been in the Imagination yet today!”

 “We can figure that out when we’re up there, Remus, go go go!”

 By the time the others are already rushing up the stairs, Logan has already crouched down next to Roman’s head, trying to figure out the best way to get him up, off the floor, or at the very least figure out what happened.

 “Stay with me, Roman,” he murmurs, petting Roman’s head as his other hand starts to carefully test where it might be hurting, “stay with me, come on…”

 “Lo? Lo, are you in here?”

 “No, wait, don’t—“

 Patton’s cry of dismay quickly followed by Virgil’s curse means he’s too late to warn them. Logan looks up to see their faces drop in absolute shock.

 “Where are the others?”

 “Uh…” Virgil tears his gaze away from Roman’s crumpled figure. “Remus said he…he has some stuff that would help.”

 “And I am of course more than eager to see what our favorite little prince has gotten himself into this time,” Janus drawls, still out of sight, “I’m positively brimming with anticipation.”

 Patton still hasn’t recovered. Virgil carefully takes the first aid kit from his hands and rushes it to Logan. An instant later, Janus appears in the doorway.

 “My, my, Patton, you look so startled, what could possibly…”

 Janus trails off as he finally spots Roman. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruises, the blood, the marks of what look like prison cuffs?

 “Oh, god…” Logan blinks and Janus is crouched beside them, his hands hovering over Roman’s broken form as he starts crooning to the prince.

 “Oh, honey, what happened to you,” he murmurs, his hands starting to pull away the fabric cutting into Roman’s throat, “you poor, poor thing…”

 “Got it.”

 Remus appears in a flash, crouching down as well as Janus and Logan start to help Roman unwind from the bloody mess he’s in. Logan glances over; it’s a kit that has more medical supplies than the first aid kit. Bandages, he can see antiseptic, surgical towels…

 He catches Remus’s eye and they exchange a nod.

 “Where does he need to go,” Janus asks as they start to get Roman upright, “you want him downstairs?”

 “Let’s get him to our bathroom, J,” Virgil suggests, carefully getting his arms around the prince’s shoulders.

 “Do you think it’s safe to sink with him?”

 “Presumably he had to sink out to get back to his room, but I’m not sure it would be wise.”

 “So we’ll carry him,” Virgil says firmly, “all of us.”

 As it turns out, Remus and Janus can help Virgil just fine. Logan snatches up Remus’s kit as Patton grabs the first aid kit, hustling down the corridor to keep up with the others.

 “Lo, what happened?”

 “I don’t know,” Logan mutters back, “but I…I don’t think it was…the Imagination’s been closed all day, hasn’t it?”

 “That’s what I thought too. You don’t think—“

 “I don’t know, Patton, I…”

 Patton’s firm grip on his arm speaks volumes as they finally get to the bathroom.

 The tile is already warm as the others carefully lay Roman down in the big place near the edge of the shower. Logan takes a moment to check what they might need.

 The bathroom is one big open space with a tub in one corner, a large walk-in shower area at the other, and two sinks with a wide counter. Patton and Remus have already started setting up the first aid kit as Janus pulls on a different pair of gloves. Virgil still has Roman’s head in his hands, murmuring softly to him.

 “Is he awake?”

 Virgil shakes his head as Logan sits down. “I can’t tell. He’s looking around but I—he’s not saying anything.”

 “That is not completely unexpected,” Logan murmurs, “we have to get him out of his clothes. They’re making it harder for him to breathe.”

 “Someone needs to stay by his head,” Remus calls, “in case he wakes up and starts freaking out.”

 “I’ve got him.” Sure enough, Janus slips two of his hands gently under Roman’s head as he unclips the back of his collar. “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie, you’re safe now.”

 Virgil scoots back and starts tugging on his hoodie strings. Patton, still hovering by the medical supplies, catches it.

 “Hey, Virge,” he says, shooting a quick nod at Logan, “why don’t we go make something to eat? Something small, and something to drink.”

 “Yeah…yeah that’s a good idea.”

 As the two of them leave, Remus kneels by Roman’s feet and curses. “We’re gonna have to cut them off.”

 “You mean cut the rest of them off,” Janus mutters, “what happened?”

 “You think I’m not beating myself up asking that same thing?”

 “We have to get Roman stable,” Logan says quickly, “and that means we have to see what—“

 “The damage is,” Remus growls.

 “Quite.”

 “Alright. Be careful by his wrists.”

 “We will.”

 “Jan if you drop his head I swear to—“

 “I won’t, I promise.”

 “…I know.”

 “You’re worried about your brother,” Logan whispers as they start peeling the clothes away, “we understand.”

 Janus keeps his promise, cradling Roman’s head as the work to get the rest of his prince costume off. Under any other circumstance, Logan admits this might actually be read as amusing. Peeling Roman out of his clothes, however, has never been less devastating.

 Every inch they pull back reveals more bruises. Roman’s torso is warm, throbbing, carpeted with horrible wounds. Every so often a piece will stick and Roman winces, prompting Janus to stroke his face carefully, murmuring reassurances that they’re here, everything’s okay, Roman’s safe now.

 Remus chucks bruise cream at Logan and they start, methodically applying the cream and bandages. Janus gives them an extra hand where they need it, while keeping up the constant litany of reassurances. Logan comes away confident that nothing is broken, just very badly bruised.

 “So what now?”

 “He has to rest.” Logan pulls off the gloves, running his hand over the ground to make sure they haven’t spilled anything. “I…I don’t know how long that will be.”

 “I don’t want to leave him.”

 They look around, eyes wide at the strangled whisper coming out of Remus. Remus stares down at Roman’s bruised form, thankfully clear of blood now, his hands trembling as they rest on his knees. Remus looks up at them, his eyes glistening.

 “The last time I left him like this it was bad.” He swallows and looks back down. “I’m not leaving my brother.”

 Logan looks at Roman. Brave, strong, sweet, kind Roman. Bruised, scared, exhausted, broken Roman. His hand tightens and without thinking he tucks a stray hair behind Roman’s ear.

 “He hates it when his hair is out of place,” he murmurs as Janus raises an eyebrow at him.

 “We’re not leaving our prince,” Janus says firmly, glancing back at Remus. “Would you like to come sit up here with us?”

 Remus shakes his head. “If something comes through that door trying to get him,” he says in a low voice that Logan has never heard before, “it’s going to have to get through me first.”

 Logan nods. They take up their watch. Remus’s hands twitch every so often, and Logan sees him lay his hand on an unbruised part of Roman’s ankle when they do with a tenderness that takes him a little aback. Janus can’t seem to stop running his hands through Roman’s hair, making comforting noises every time Roman winces as he breathes.

 Logan, well…Logan is trying desperately to figure out what happened.

  Roman hasn’t been in the Imagination today. Remus was waiting and he hadn’t seen him.

Roman hasn’t been seen by anyone else all day.

The last place Roman was seen was in his room.

No one else has been in Roman’s room today.

 “Logan,” Janus calls softly, “Logan, you’re shaking.”

 Logan looks down. Oh. So he is. He takes a deep breath and takes Janus’s offered hand. “I’m…thinking.”

 “About…?” Janus indicates Roman.

 He nods sharply. “I’m having trouble coming to anything but a most troubling conclusion.”

 “What?”

 Logan explains. Janus goes pale.

 “You don’t think…”

 “I don’t want to think that, no.”

 “R-ro-Bro,” Remus whispers, “oh, Ro-Bro, you gotta tell us something when you wake up.”

 He sniffles.

 “Please wake up, Ro-Bro. I gotta…I gotta kick your ass for blowing me off and getting into a fight without me, I gotta—you gotta tell me what kicked your ass so I can go put it in the fucking ground…” He sniffs again, his whole body tense, even as his hand remains gently on Roman. “You just gotta wake up, Ro.”

 After a little while longer, Virgil and Patton return carrying snacks and drinks. Remus doesn’t even look as Virgil sets his octopus water bottle at his elbow. Janus murmurs a thanks and eats a little. Logan eats and drains about half of his bottle. Virgil sits at Remus’s side, Patton at his other.

 “Has he woken up yet?”

 Remus shakes his head.

 “He’s probably just sleeping, Remus, he needs to rest.”

 “I know.”

 “Do we know what happened,” Virgil asks quietly, “at all?”

 Logan winces. “Well…”

 “…don’t like the way you said that.” Judging by Virgil’s expression, he likes it even less after Logan’s finished explaining.

 “Oh, shit.”

 Everyone’s gaze instantly snaps to Patton. Listen. Patton doesn’t curse. It’s a thing. When Patton curses it’s bad.

 “Patton?”

 “Roman…Roman has a thing,” Patton explains, “you know like…like my wings? Or how Virgil gets taller?”

 Virgil nods. “Yeah, okay, but those don’t…hurt us, why would Roman’s…”

 Janus is the next one to curse. “Of course…the bruised ego.”

 Patton nods sadly. “Roman takes, well, it’s not really his choice, Roman is forced to take the brunt of the negative reactions Thomas has. That’s part of his thing.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Wait, but if this has been happening since…well, since Thomas has had an ego, and we didn’t know about this, then…”

  How many times has this happened?

 Remus growls. “New rule: no one is allowed to fuck with Roman.”

 No one dares disagree. Logan scans over the injuries again. He frowns.

 “Hold on…some of these seem…consistent with that judgment, but then why…”

 A faint groaning sound snaps him out of his musings. A tense silence falls in the bathroom as Roman starts to stir in Janus’s hands.

 “Roman,” Logan calls softly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

 “L’gan?”

 “Yes, Roman, I’m right here. Don’t try and move too much right now, you’re very hurt.”

 Roman blinks up at them, his eyes focusing glassily on Janus, who smiles. He tucks another piece of hair away from Roman’s face.

 “Shh, shh, my prince, hold still,” he coos, “you’re awfully banged up, sweetie, just hold still…shh…”

 “J’nus? What’s…where is…” Roman’s face swivels back to Logan. “Where am I?”

 “You’re on the bathroom floor, Roman, we had to see to your injuries.”

 Roman’s eyes go wide and immediately all of them reach out to hold him still as he tries to move.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus shushes, “none of that now, sweetie, you’re hurt, calm down…”

 “I’m—I have to—“

 “You’re not going anywhere,” comes Remus’s voice from behind them.

 “Remus!”

 “What? He’s not!”

 “Yeah, but there’s no reason to scare the shit out of him.”

 “I can’t see,” Logan hears Roman’s frantic whisper as he turns to glance at the others, “I can’t—let me—“

 “Logan, is it safe for him to sit up?”

 Logan nods. “Just take it slow, nothing too fast. It will probably be the best if he can lean against someone.”

 “Jan—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”

 When Roman is upright, his back against Janus’s chest, only then do Virgil and Patton relax the slightest bit. Remus doesn’t. Logan’s gaze switches anxiously between the two.

 “Remus—“ Roman swallows— “Re, are you—are you mad at me?”

 “A little.”

 Roman shrinks under Remus’s glare. “I’m sorry.”

 “Jeez, Ro, it’s not—I’m not mad at you like that,” Remus mumbles, “it’s mainly just—well, our thing is…you know, cat pile.”

 “You’re—you’re mad because you can’t lie on top of me right now?”

 “Yeah! It always makes you feel better! And now I can’t help you feel better!”

 “R-Re—“

 Remus lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, careful to avoid barreling into any of the others as he wraps his brother in a protective hug. Janus huffs lightly but stays upright. Roman’s eyes close and his head drops to rest against Remus’s.

 “I’m the only one allowed to fuck with you,” comes Remus’s muffled voice, “no one else.”

 “I know,” Roman whispers, “I know.”

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman,” he prompts softly, “we aren’t mad at you. We won’t get angry with you.”

 “...promise?”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “Promise.

Janus just squeezes Roman’s shoulder gently. “I promise too, sweetie. Now, will you tell us what happened?”

 “I, um…” Roman’s gaze flickers over to Patton. “Have you—um…”

 “I’ve told them a little, sweetheart,” Patton says when Roman can’t finish his sentence, “we’ve figured out the ‘bruised ego,’ is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

 Roman nods. He turns his head back towards Remus, his face contorted. Logan carefully reaches out to ruffle his hair.

 “Take your time,” he whispers, “we’re not going anywhere.”

 “I have three,” Roman blurts out after a moment.

 “…three, honey?”

 “Patton has…the wings, Virgil has the height, Janus…Janus…”

 “Has the pants.”

 Janus lightly flicks Remus’s head, shaking his head fondly.

 “Are you saying you’ve got three turns of phrase, Princey?” Roman nods. “Okay. Is one of them ‘bruised ego?’”

 “Mhmm.”

 “Okay. Are you comfortable telling us the other two?”

 Goosebumps rise on Roman’s arms and Janus carefully positions them so Logan can help rub them away. Remus growls protectively and huddles closer.

 “…creative block,” Roman murmurs, only for Remus to tense. Remus raises his head slowly.

 “Ro-Bro?”

 “I, um, my room—my room shrinks and I—I can’t get out the door, I can’t move anything, I can’t breathe, I—“

 “Shh-shh-shh,” Janus soothes instantly, “you’re safe, my prince, you’re in the bathroom with us, you’re not there, you’re not there.”

 There are a few tense seconds of deep breaths.

 “…what’s the third one, Roman?”

 Roman looks at his wrists, turning them over as if he doesn’t recognize them. “…shackled creativity.”

 Patton clenches his fists as Virgil muffles another curse. Remus follows Roman’s gaze, the line of his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Janus carefully laces his fingers through one of Roman’s hands, Logan lacing his through the other.

 “Thank you for telling us, Roman,” he murmurs, “and…I do not know how much this is worth to you, but…we are so sorry this happens and that we could not do anything about it.”

 “It’s okay,” Roman murmurs, “it’s my own fault.”

 The bathroom falls silent.

 “…Roman, it’s not your fault.” Virgil scoots closer. “How—this isn’t your fault.”

 “Isn’t it? I’m the one that’s the closest to the Imagination,” Roman says softly, completely convinced of what he’s saying, “I’m the one that makes it possible for Thomas to see us…the Sides, the Imagination…isn’t that my job?”

 “Not like that,” Logan says firmly, “never like this.”

 “Logan’s right,” Virgil says when it looks like Roman’s about to argue, “you’re the conduit for the Imagination, but you’re not responsible for everything that this place does, let alone how Thomas interprets and internalizes stuff.”

 “None of this is you, Roman.” Janus rests his cheek against the top of Roman’s head. “None of it. It’s not Patton’s fault he grows wings, it’s not Virgil’s fault he grows taller, and it’s not your fault that this happens to you.”

 “You’re missing someone off the list there, Jan-Jan.”

 “Remus, I swear to god—“

 Remus cackles, throwing his head back as Janus swats at him. Of course, the problem is that they all try and look mildly annoyed at Remus, and yet the instant it makes Roman giggle, even a little, they all have to break character because Roman’s smiling again.

 “Seriously, Ro-Bro,” Remus says after a moment, “this isn’t on you. You don’t deserve this or some other fucked-up shit. This is fucked up all on its own. You’re not responsible for this.”

 “We’ll talk to Thomas,” Logan says, “about…negative feedback and internalizing things, alright? This isn’t healthy, Roman, it’s not—it’s not supposed to be like this, and it’s definitely not your fault.”

 “…okay.”

 “Can you say that for me, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, reaching around to cup Roman’s face, “that it’s not your fault?”

 “I-it’s not—“

 Roman stops. Swallows heavily.

 “Go on, my prince, you can do it.”

 “…I-it’s not my fault.”

 “Good.”

 “It isn’t my fault.” Roman’s eyes go wide and something hitches in his throat. “It is—isn’t—I—oh, god—“

 They catch Roman as he starts to cry.

 “You did so well, sweetheart, so well, I’m so proud of you.”

 “It’s okay, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.”

 “I’ve got you, my prince, I have you.”

 “You’re gonna be fine, Ro-Bro, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

 “You don’t have to do this alone, Roman.”

 Roman rests there, in the arms of his family, bruised and exhausted, but not broken.

 Not anymore.

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[shadowworks]

What’s Said Is Said

Pairing: Fae!Hawks X F!Reader

Warnings: Dub-con themes, light bondage, oral, virgin reader(‘ye ‘ol times idk man) Fae’s being dicks

Word Count: 5.7k

Credit; Thank you lovely wife for creating this beautiful banner! You’re always the sweetest, I swear, @pleasantanathema

A/N: This piece is part of the, Pleasant & Strider Present: The Smut Pile Fantasy AU Collab! Like before, this is written in third person but is still a reader x Hawks fic. Maybe one day I'll write in second person. Today is not that day.

Hope you Enjoy~ 

***

Everyone in town heard the warning of the Dark Forest. Never wander beyond the treeline or else you’ll be snatched by the fae. And while this did scare the children from their southern borders, there were those in adulthood who took the fable with a grain of salt. The leaves and branches shroud the forest floor in this never ending night, and the winds blew through the trees like a soft, ominous whisper calling out, “this way” —But it did not mean there were faeries.

Still, the young traveler moved forward.

She wandered slowly—carefully through the wood with her lantern raised high. She wasn’t certain how long she’d been looking for her cat. As noticeable as her black cat was in a town bathed in sunlight, it was quite the opposite under the thick cover of leaves. But she would not abandon her friend who dulled the dreadful nights, who turned her wet frown into a soft laugh. No, she’d find him, and they’d leave the forest together.

She called out again searching through the wild brush. She looked for motion across the grass--the snap of a twig, a shadow across her light. But still, there was nothing. 

 In fact, it was silent. She slowed her steps to a stop, turning her head to the side. Her brows crinkled together. The wind that shook the branches, that rippled her dress had ceased, and in the moment- so had the sounds of the forest. She held her breath, jerking toward the other side as she felt a figure standing in the shadows. But she exhaled her breath. There was nothing.

When the silence remained like a fog among the ominous trees, she eventually lowered her lantern. There was great reluctance, but she could not hold still like the animals. She had a selfish thought of wanting to turn back around and hurry home...Instead she tread lightly on her worn shoes, pressing forward against the web of mossy stones

If something was out there...She’d do well to avoid it.  

The young traveler’s steps did not make it far, however, as she stopped dead in her tracks.

A muffling noise seemed to be coming from all around, but then the wind brushed at her dress. And on the winds, there was a whisper. She whipped around to the noise on reflex, clutching her lantern toward her chest. The voice was calling out from afar. She understood little wisps of words as it grew louder, and it gradually pushed forward. Until-

“My, what a pretty thing you are,” it whispered against the shell of her ear. 

She stifled a cry. Her eyes darted back but found no one was there. Her hand clamped over her ear she could have sworn she felt a hot breath against her ear. She was sure of it.

She knew she had to flee. Her head reasoned to look harder and then get out.  She began picking up pace and walking backwards, yet another jolt of panic  ran through her. The forest floor was layered in dips and curves of overgrown roots and her foot had caught against one. Her arm swung out, and the lantern slipped from her fingers. 

When it smashed into shards a few feet away, another breeze swept along. It was only made strong enough to snuff out the flame, which licked the oil among the broken glass. Then it was gone.

 Suddenly, a gloved hand reached out and caught her mid-air. The grip was firm and held her weight with more than enough ease to pull her in. The maiden looked on.

There holding her hand was a radiant young man. A smirk pulled at his mouth crookedly, and the gold in his eyes was strikingly crisp and gleamed in the darkness. She noticed his pupils were slit as they looked like her lost friend’s. His hair was pushed back, and she found the shape of his face was more handsome than anyone she’d seen in town—even his pointed ears were charming 

“Well well, look what I found.” He said, breaking the silence. His hold on hers softened but he did not let go. “What are you doing out this far in the woods, little dove? Been some time since a human’s come this way.” 

She did not respond at first, did not move her stare from his brilliant looks. For a moment, she could not remember what she was meant to be doing.

This struck a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, what’s that look for? You still with me?” He teased. He reached for her cheek with his other hand and leaned forward to inspect her features for any sign of liveliness. “I was hoping you hadn’t lost your head—Little do-o-o-o-ove?” 

His sing-songy voice brought a spark of recognition back into her gaze, and a heavy blush bloomed over the bridge of her nose. This wasn’t like her, she’d never done such a thing before.

“Ah, there she is!” He said in praise, swiping his thumb across her cheekbone. She was certain he could feel the heat. “Heh, careful now. I wouldn’t lose myself out here if I were you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she managed just before shaking her head in shame. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

 “Oh, but I do.” He returned matter-of-factly. “You’re not the first to fall for this devilishly charming fae you see before you.”

Fae. Human. He tossed the words around so casually one would think he spoke sincerely. She stared for a moment with a tilt of her head.

“And by fae you mean...?” 

“What, you don’t know?”

She paused. 

As if on cue, her curious eyes fell behind his rather handsome and princely black tunic, finding an incredible display attached to his back. And oh, did they show what he was. They took the shape of black feathered wings but they certainly weren’t. Those glossy wings were transparent like a dragonfly, and in the veins of each side they glimmered a bloody red. The lines fanned out in perfect detail, each one resembling a feather of a bird.

“You’re…! You really exist,” She gaped, shifting her wide eyes back to his gold ones.

The faerie smiled back, knowing full well where her gaze had fallen. It was almost as though he’d seen this before, actually. There was something a little too cocky behind that pretty mouth, and  she wasn’t liking his satisfied smile very much.

The faerie then stepped back in proper form, and she watched him dip low in an elegant bow, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She tried not to think of the second rise of heat on her nose.

“They call me Hawks, my dear.” The fae greeted officially, but the maiden did not like his response.

“They being whom?”

Hawks glanced up. “Pardon?” 

“They being whom?” 

“You must have guessed there's more than just me.”

“I have.” 

“Then why do you ask?” Hawks wondered, his eyebrow quirked. 

“Well...if the rumors of you existing are true, then it’s right to assume all the others are true, right? Are “they” the good kind that leave lilies in your hair, or are “they” the kind that steal your left shoe?”

Or were they kind that snatched infants from their cribs, or lost travelers in the night? But she dared not ask that part. 

They stared at one another, though Hawks stared in a way that sized her up. The impish gleam in his golden eyes was snuffed, and the curve of his smile faded. It was as though she’d said something wrong—yet it was hard to tell.

She opened her mouth to explain but that’s when the wind gently pushed at her hair.

“Pretty thing, pretty thing.”

Her hand tensed under his leather fingers, fixing a frightened look toward the returning whispers. This time though, she was not the only one who heard this. Hawks straightened his winged back, and turned to the direction of the voice.

“Well shit. Looks like these bastards caught your scent.” Hawks said with an ungracious tone. “Leave it to the Unseelie to spoil everything…” 

She stared at the back of Hawks’ head incredulously. Did she hear him correctly? They could smell her? The Unseelie were the malevolent fae she’d heard about before.They were the Goblins who stole human faces; the Pale Men who ate children and left nothing but their shoes. And now, they were the fae who call to you with an echo on the wind.

“Not again.” She muttered, a distressed anger snapped inside. 

 Hawks looked back alarmed, having felt the loss of warmth in his hand. Lifting his chin, he watched as her beautifully framed figure stalked off, moving deeper into the tree’s shadows.

“Hold on, wait!” Hawks called out, extending an outstretched hand. The maiden was heading towards dangerous grounds, ones which were outside his claimed boundaries and near the Unseelie even Hawks found to be tasteless. 

“No, no, no, no!” She repeated as she hurried away on shaking legs, “I’ve dealt with enough faeries on this adventure, thank you! I came here for my cat, not to mingle with smelling fae.”

“Your cat?” Hawks asked. 

“Yes, my cat!” She said, turning herself to face him. “He slipped out earlier and made a run for it out here!” 

Her eyes were able to study his sharply dressed figure in black, all of him lit by a red glow coming from the veins inside his wings. For a moment, she thought how out of place his attire was in the Dark Forest. 

“Is that right?” He mused, letting those gold eyes fall to the ground. They were pinned on something, but she couldn’t see from her spot. “And just out of curiosity; how do you plan to find him in the dark?”

His boot kicked at a remnant of the lantern, she heard the glass crunch under his foot. When Hawks lifted his gaze, his expression was unreadable.

 “Look, we don’t have too much time.The Unseelie won’t harm your pet, but a human like you? I can assure you, they won’t keep you a pretty corpse if they snatch you up.“ 

His black and red wings began to flutter to a rapid speed until they were an illuminating blurr. They lifted him from the ground effortlessly, and he flew through the dark with a graceful air around him.

“If you come with me and wait for the Unseelie to pass, we’ll look for your cat then, alright?” Hawks landed softly before her, offering a stretched arm and open palm for her to take. 

She hesitated, looking him over for any sign that read foul play. He was one of the fae after all, and his kind gesture was given so suddenly. “You’ll look for him, with me? I...Why-why would you want to help me?” 

Hawks liked holding her hand. He didn’t wait for her reach and grasped hers, hanging at her side.The soothing leather rubbed against her skin as he laced their fingers. His gaze was fixed on the curves of their hold, the flash of her wrist. A smile softened his face. 

“Well, I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you all to myself in the big bad woods,” Hawks confessed before flicking his catlike eyes up. “Hey. It’ll be alright, dove. Let’s find you someplace, safe.”  

***

Hawks eventually dropped the back of her knees, while settling her back down on the ground. He’s the first to move, and he walked with purpose towards a particular tree.

She however, was occupied with the fog that rolled in this part of the forest. It was colder here, the trees were larger—and she’s unsure how to explain, but the blackened bark on these trees was more ominous than the ones she’d passed on her own.

“Hawks,” she tentatively called, crossing her arms over her chest, “Where is this place?”

 Hawks kept facing the tree. He was intently regarding the natural grooves of the bark, cupping his chin in thought. 

“My neck of the woods! Thought it’d be safer to mask your scent with mine.” He mused. There was another pause before he saw it, and the tips of his fingers pushed on the bark pattern to his right—the wood cracked.

Hawks turned towards the maiden. He noticed her expression slowly shine as the door opened, leading to a spiral staircase inside. He beckoned her forward with a reach toward her figure.  She didn’t hesitate to walk forward and take his hand. 

It took a moment to reach the top of the staircase, but beyond those steps was a hollowed out room. Rich leaves with layered vines melded atop the ceiling, and a few human items were placed around. Among them included a velvet armchair in the corner, with thick blankets neatly folded on the cushion. 

Hawks gestured toward the chair, dropping the maiden’s hand. He then tipped his head back as he waved an arm above.

The canopy that made up the ceiling had started trembling, the vines falling loose and gradually stopping. Then they blinked, like they had eyes of their own. And each one ignited with a dim lit glow like a firefly across the evening sky, giving the room a soft warmth it hadn’t before.  

“That’s beautiful.”

Hawks dropped his head in surprise. She had stopped moving halfway across the room, with attentive eyes on him. He could see a sheen of wonder on her lovely features, a trace of a smile on her lips. Hawks smiled back.

Good, she was winding down. 

“You should see the vines further in! Now, those would really take your breath away.” 

“You own more than this place?”

“My neck of the woods, remember?” 

Hawks took to playing with his leather gloves, pulling on the fingers to slip off, “So this cat of yours must be quite something. I’ll admit, I’m not all interested in human pets, but I find it curious you’d risk being kidnapped for one.”

The small glow from the vines had revealed a patchy, web of plants around the chair, violet lilies had bloomed every which way. A few more even sprung up from the cushion as she lifted the blankets. 

Maybe sitting on the floor would be preferable...

“He was my father’s cat,” she said. She moved to set the blankets down, but Hawks had come beside her, graciously collecting them from her arms. He turned, aiming to put them on the wooden desk—(which was clearly made by human hands.) “He’s the last member of my family, and honestly, that’s more than enough for a reason. ‘Least for me, anyway.”

“So you’re alone?” 

She paused. She did not expect such a blunt response, nor did she expect Hawks glancing over his shoulder, curious, would leave her throat tightening. 

She quickly turned, pretending to find the black dahlia's on the wall more fascinating, “Yes. It’s been that way since last autumn. My mother died when I was a kid, and my father was killed in a hunting accident. Now, it’s just me.” 

“Just you, huh? No males waiting in the wings to ask for your hand in...whatever?” Hawks made it sound like it was absurd. Maybe it was. 

She huffed a laugh, smiling at a dahlia, “I don’t think so.”

She was of lowly status with a deceased father who never offered an engagement. He hadn’t flaunted her youth and beauty at social gatherings, or in other towns for that matter. There simply wasn’t time for those affairs when hard labor was required to keep from starving.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t be more fortunate.” 

Hawks’ hands slipped around her hips and firmly turned her. She wasn’t used to being touched, not like this. Her skin prickled under his bare fingers, and a familiar heat burned the curves of her cheeks. They were face to face, and a breath closer. 

“Did you know I almost let you slip by? It’s not uncommon for humans to venture this far in. Figured you’d turn back around once you couldn’t find who you were calling for, but of course, heh, you fell.” At those words, his thumb began stroking small circles against her hip. Each stroke across the bone jolted down her body, “But when I caught you, I saw it. Saw how scared you were. And I knew...you didn’t want to be alone.” 

“Well, yes. I wish I was never alone,” she confessed softly. She slowly began pressing against his hand, just a little, “but that’s something everyone wishes for, isn’t it?” 

Hawks smiled at her. Though it did not crinkle the corner of his sharp eyes. “Suppose you’re not wrong there. So why not have someone change that? Why not fill the void? Isn’t that something you’d want?”

With light pressure Hawks steered her backwards, easing her against the stretch of vines across the wall. He didn’t break his stare. 

But she could only stare back for so long, dropping her gaze under the intensity in his golden eyes. Delicately, she managed a small voice and replied, “I don’t know.”

Hawks didn’t like this answer. He grasped under her jaw, firmly lifting those timid eyes back to his slightly lidded ones. 

“Oh, no, no, I think you do,” Hawks countered. His voice was hushed, a husky and darkened tone,“You’re a maiden. Back home, you’re not allowed to want for things, right? Just sit there and look pretty, keep your mouth shut. Oh but, little dove, here? All you have to do...is give in. Fill that loneliness with your desires.”

She fell still, slowly exhaling through her parted mouth as he tilted his jaw, lingering near her lips. She breathed in his deep herbal scent, and a feeling gathered in her which blurred her thoughts with a subtle ache.

Hawks waited for her motionless to pass, as though he knew what she didn’t. He relished in her flushed features, and he smiled satisfied when her eyes fluttered shut. She leaned forward, and Hawks claimed her lips. 

There she goes.

 He kissed her in a way that slipped his tongue past her lips, exploring her warmth and digging his fingers in her jawline, controlling. She was forced to stay still, breathing in when he’d part, only to be crushed into his lips once more. 

Her head was spinning, so she didn’t notice a pair of thick coils slowly creeping down the wall and slinking around her wrists. Not until a tightening on her skin, and a sudden wrench on her arms, had ripped her from Hawks’ mouth. The lively vines from above yanked her forward, and Hawks stepped back. 

While she tried digging her heels in the moss to stop their pulling, the vines only wrenched her wrists back harder. She stumbled into the center of the room. Then they braided into one, hoisting her arms up together, her feet partly touching the ground. 

“Hawks!” She called, tugging back on the vines, “What is this? Why are you—“

“—Like I said before, we need to mask your scent,” Hawks said as he strolled nonchalantly from the wall. He brushed his hand across her waist and circled round to stand behind, “And there’s really only one way for my scent to stay on you.” 

She tried glancing around, but she couldn’t crane her neck that far, not where she could see him properly. Hawks paused for a moment, and seemingly was fiddling with something near his wings. He was quiet, which only made her tense. She listened for some indication of what he was doing, waiting for him to say something. 

Finally, a loud tear of fabric filled the room. Her dress loosened at the shoulders, and cool air brushed her mid-back. Her mouth gaped in a muted gasp. She could only listen as the tear ripped again, and again, with more skin exposed downward.

“You—You can’t expect me to walk out there without a dress!” She countered shakily. She tried biting back the shame bubbling in her throat. 

“Oh, certainly not. What kind of fae do you take me for?” He asked, still tearing up her long sleeves. She looked back again, this time she had noticed a red object in his curled grip, gleaming and fairly plush.

A feather?

“I’ll have you wear something better than these rags.” 

It took little time before pieces of cloth littered the floor, allowing her simple dress to fall in a puddle around her feet, at last. But Hawks wasn’t done. He knelt softly in the navy fabric, lifting her ankles one after the other, sliding off her worn shoes. They gave a light thunk when he tossed them near the armchair. 

Amidst his working hands, the maiden struggled with her feelings. A part of her wanted the crawling binds to let her go, have her drop so she may cover her breasts. She also wanted to kick Hawks for shredding her damn dress into nothing. Better clothes or not, the dress was still hers. But ultimately what curbed her resistance towards Hawks was the guilty pang she felt for doubting him. He was there to protect her; to keep the Unseelie from finding her. And in part, it helped that his light touch pricked at her lower muscles. It kept her wishing for that feeling on the skin again...If only it weren’t so embarrassing. 

“Are you scared?” Hawks asked.

The vines must have turned her at one point, for Hawks was kneeling in front of her and peering up with a gentle hand on her outer thigh. The hand with the blood coloured feather uncurled, and the very feather slipped through his fingers like it was alive. It soared up and behind him to blend against his black wings. Then suddenly, it was just another vein.

“I uhm…” She tried managing a calmer tone, but it remained shaken, “I don’t know what to...”

“I know, dove. Trust me, I know,” he soothed, running a hand up and down her thigh in assurance, “Won’t alway be like that, though, not after we’ve done this a few times.”

There wasn’t much time to fixate on what he meant, as two fingers hooked under her last garment and pulled it down her leg to the floor.

Now there was nothing in his way.

Hawks leaned in to press his lips along her inner thigh, trailing up slowly, gently. As he neared the curve of her sex, he hiked the back of her thigh on his shoulder, then her other one followed. Those sneaky binds were clever, really. They always knew when to hoist her higher, and they comfortably propped her in this new position. 

“Hawks, hold on, hold on,” she pleaded. It was moving too fast—the sudden shift from the ground left her startled. 

Hawks didn’t listen.

His predatory eyes flicked up to find hers watching, her beautiful eyes wide as a doe’s. This made him smirk, though in a way she hadn’t seen before, “Maidens always scream, but I wonder what you’ll say?”

With those words, Hawks tongue delved between her sensitive slit—and she tossed her head back. She was breathing in sharply. Her hips impulsively stuttered toward his mouth as his tongue stroked long and deep along her sensitive spot, but it didn’t compare to when he intentionally flicked against a bundle of nerves.

Oh my god. Oh fu —She tensed, her back arching into the touch. It was a hot pleasure that wildly pulsed inside her, something intense she never felt ‘till then. She had roamed a hand between her legs before in her quiet home, always alone, always rushed. This? This paled, it had never been this much.

Hawks was clearly in tune to her body's spasms. She writhed against his open mouth, while he was pressing and swirling his tongue on the bundle in concentration, his hands slinked up to hold her hips closer. He was set on one thing, his pace was building faster to it. And oh, it rewarded him so handsomely—a rush of excitement struck down to his groin from the sound. Her cries, her moans, her unwinding pitched voice; she was becoming his with every breath. 

“Haw-Haw-aks,” it kept breaking from her lips with harsh gasps; her head hung back towards the canopy with glossy eyes. Oh god, she wanted to thread her fingers in his gold locks and press him further in her sex—Yes, fuck, right there, his mouth feels so good. Her shame be damned, all she wanted was for him to keep going. 

An unseen smile curled slightly on Hawks’ lips. 

“That’s it, little dove,” he coaxed softly between laps, “Just let my name slip out...just like that.”

He returned to latch on her clit. He sucked in hard with a wet noise, and a loud sob wrenched from her lungs. There was so much vigor, he didn’t cease, her winding pleasure rose higher, tenser, with her shaky thighs clamping tight on each side of his head. 

“ Ha-Hawks, keep going, oh, keep going, fuck, keep—“ The spasms ripped through her with another sob breaking from her mouth. Her muscle walls clenched violently. She fell into a sense of ecstasy and her orgasm released. 

Bleeding hell...She could not believe how wonderful she felt. She was so light in the head.

Hawks lapped along her folds as she rode out the last wave of her climax. He took certain care to run his mouth over her slit, which seeped with glistened come. As he finished, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his knuckle.

“Well, what’s this? Where did my shy maiden go?” He teased, looking up toward her with a playful grin, “You were making the sweetest sounds up there.”

She made an expression which had Hawks chuckling. She really was a pretty girl, with such pretty timid eyes. 

Hawks eased her legs off his shoulders, setting her down so she could step on the wood. It was a little hard though, as her tiptoes wobbled about until the vines dropped her lower. After, Hawks pushed up to stand. He pressed his body against hers and he sealed her lips with his. It was short, but she noted her own taste on his tongue before he parted. 

“You did good, dove. Heh, ready for me now? It’s my turn.” 

He then turned her. It wasn’t surprising Hawks was leading her along with little chance to respond, already brushing his lips across her neck. A hand cupped her breast and began squeezing, while his thumb rolled her nipple with tact, “Don’t worry, I’ll make this feel good...So damn good.”

He might even break her.

“But doesn’t this hurt?” She asked breathlessly. She felt naive, but that’s what the married women in town said. There was pain, and it ended with blood.

Hawk gave a reply she did not expect. His mouth which trailed gently down the curve of her neck, sucked hard into her smooth skin. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine, and her lips opened.

“You feel that? It hurt a little, didn’t it?” He whispered against her ear, “Can’t promise it won't hurt, but I can at least promise my cock will leave you twitching. You’ll be moaning, and when you come again, it’ll be when I’m deep inside you.”

She felt something thick rub between her legs, just then. The hand that toyed with her breast started roaming downward to pull back her hips. His other hand had been working on his belt prior, taking himself in hand with mild strokes. 

The lazy work on himself was fine. This wasn’t about him, well—for now, at least. He’d focus on his needs once the intended plan was carried out. But until then, keeping her aroused was Hawks’ priority. 

“Just relax...tilt your hips a little more,” he instructed, all while slicking the head of his cock like he’d done for his length. Once ready, he began lining himself toward her entrance, “Yes, that’s right, little dove. Precisely like that.”

She braced her arms against the vines with fingers curled in a tight grip, all while trying to relax her body like Hawks had said. But it was difficult to persist as Hawks advanced, and he slid his swollen cock inside her. A gasp slipped from her lips, her spine curved. He was thick. And as if he were forging through, she felt him strike his hips in shallow thrusts through her wet entrance, sink deeper in her stretching, and pulsing walls. 

It hurt, but a familiar ache spread. 

“You’ll enjoy it more if you relax.” Hawks' voice rasped thickly. He placed a hand on her lower back, gently rubbing at her spine. His length was still buried, feeling her clench--Ah, fuck. She was damn tight. He wanted to plunge forward, pound her with no mercy. It even took a good deal of restraint to hold still. “Don’t be afraid, I got you...Just let go.”

She can only nod in reply. It was going to be alright; she had to remember that. She exhaled a deep breath and tentatively eased under Hawks palm, eyes fluttering shut. She was ready, and his hands firmly settled on her sides. He then leaned back just so he could thrust forward, setting the pace with long, deep pumps.

She ached. Every thrust left her sore, but the ache was subtly there, building with Hawks momentum. The snap of his hips threw her body back and forth, shaking to his rhythm, his heavy pants in her ear. A shudder rushed down her spine, hearing his lust so crisply behind. Her lips parted to breathe, and her moans spilled out. 

“Hnng—Yesss, let me hear you. Fuck, you take my cock so deep,” he growled lowly.

Hawks thrusts were sounding wet as his pounding in her skin quickened unsteadily. He’d admit, this was reckless for a virgin maiden, but he wouldn’t hadn’t planned on stopping now for her sake. Hawks was chasing his own orgasm, and as he mentioned before; this was his turn. 

In that moment, she was thankful her arms were strung up, for it was her only support against his unyielding smacks inside her. But the rhythm changed, as Hawks jerked her hips back into an arched angle. Another cry spilled from her lungs. 

Christ, why did it feel so fucking good?! When Hawks snapped hard, his length struck an intense patch in her inner walls, and a beautifully sweet mixture of pain and pleasure shook in her core. 

Hawks felt her violent twitch, which only excited the fae. 

“You like that, sweet dove? It feels like you fucking do! Let me hear you scream!”

She did in fact, cry out. 

All her senses fell to the pleasure, the euphoria, the sweet pain of each thrash. And he pounds—and he pounds, and he pounds. Until she felt something warm flood her insides, and another writhing, hot pleasure ignited her nerves in a violent crash. 

Then there was only the sound of their heavy breaths. He stayed sheathed inside, all while blood had bloomed across the maiden’s thighs.

***

Just before the evening turned to dusk, Hawks had awoken from the makeshift bed he assembled from the folded blankets. At first, he only buried his cheek into the maiden’s loose hair, and drew his arms tightly around her bareback, just so she fit snug against his own bare chest. She was warm, so soft in his arms as she slept soundly.

Then came a gentle breeze that wisped at his forehead, brushing at his thick pieces of hair. 

Swirling on those winds echoed a voice.

“Little dove.”

This only warranted a deep growl, though Hawks hadn’t made an effort to move from his maiden’s warmth.

“Cut that shit out, I haven’t told her yet,” he mumbled with an edge in his tone. He refused to crack open his eyes, and craving sleep more than anything he dismissed the voice abruptly. 

The room fell silent.

It obeyed him, not the other way around.

“What’s said is said,” —Hawks adjusted his body, gently rubbing his face on her head, “You wish to never be alone, well, wish granted. You’re mine now little dove...Mine, forever.”

There’s no reply from his maiden, whose gentle breathing was doing a lovely job of lulling Hawks deeper into the pull of sleep. She wouldn’t like it, oh he knew she wouldn’t. But she’d learn to. And she’d learn her efforts of finding her missing cat were all in vain. After all, the cat never made it far into the forest. He scared off that pathetic thing, but he watched the maiden wander. 

What’s said is said, and there’s nothing she could do to change it. 

***

@pleasantanathema @present-mel @enjifuckersupreme @redflannel

[some-kindofgnome]

tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal. 

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know? 

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron​ has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”  

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?���

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

[cinnamonrusts]

i’ll see you in the village -- 3

parts: 1 2

Chris closes in on your location and he prays to see that you’re alive and well. However, you’re on the opposite side of the secluded village and come face to face with the big honcho herself, plus some of her troublesome “children”. (chris redfield x f!reader)

                                                    ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

Chris's heart pounded in his chest as the squad’s van got closer and closer to the blip on the laptop’s map. He hoped that you would be okay - maybe staying in a home or met a friendly local... Your smile was all he could picture when he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in to calm down. However, when he opened them, the van veered off away from the main road where the rinky-dink cottages were scattered about and headed into the woods. “Where are you going?” he asked as he leaned into the cab. Night Howl was behind the wheel, “Following the ping, sir.” Chris swallowed hard, if you were alone in these dark woods -- something could’ve went wrong.

The vehicle bounced around on the uneven ground and Chris held on to the back of the seat to keep himself upright. His eyes never moved from the windshield and his keen senses were on alert for any sign of you. Lobo spoke up just as the ping reached its loudest pitch, “Says we’re here.” Chris opened the door with one quick yank and he jumped out of the van. He pulled out his flashlight and his gun from his belt as he observed his surroundings. The area was as quiet as death and there were no signs that you even there. Chris walked around the area for quite sometime as his team watched him from within the vehicle, they exchanged brief words in regard to if they should help or stop him. But decided to let him do this unless he was met with danger.

His desperation reached an all time high and he started to shout your name into the dark. “[Y/N]!” Chris continued to walk and shout until his boot kicked something that was laying on the road. He kneeled down and shined his flashlight at the item that caught his attention. Chris picked it up and realized that the crumbled pile in his palm was once a cell phone. Technology seemed to stay at a standstill in this area and was mostly untouched by the outside world -- so why was there a cellphone here? The only explanation was that it was your phone. His tired faced drained itself of color and his heartbeat quickened to an unmeasurable rate. He was silent but his mind was loud. If anything were to happen to you, he would tear this entire place apart and tear through anyone just to get to you. His fist closed around the broken phone and crushed it more. As he came to a stand, he breathed out through his nostrils loudly and let the plastic crumble from his fingers.

Lobo stepped out from the van to approach Chris with concern, “Everything alright, Alpha?” Redfield’s eyes were fixated on the trees before him and he was silent - not even a twinge in his face, he was blank. “They took her,” he finally spoke after an awkward amount of silence. His head turned toward Lobo, “I’m gonna get her back.” Lobo nodded, “But Alpha, don’t forget about the main objective... with Winters.” Chris grit his teeth before he barked, “YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT?!” He instantly felt regret and apologized for his outburst. His team was completely faithful to the man and followed him to the ends of the Earth. But, he was scared to lose anyone else... he’s lost too much already and if he lost you... he was unsure if he could handle that. Lobo patted his shoulder a couple times, “Don’t worry, Alpha. We got your back and we’ll find [Y/N].”

                                                    ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

The Duke listened to your story intently and when you finished, he erupted in laughter. Your face crinkled in surprise at his reaction, “Did I say something -- funny?” you ask, offended. The Duke continued to chuckle before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “If you’re going to tell me a tale, my lady, at least make it believable.” You scoff and thought briefly about how good you thought your story was but -- it didn’t fool this large man that sat before you. “Now, why don’t we start again, American?” The jig was up and you might as well just tell the truth. “How could you tell?” you ask and he chuckled once more. “Gypsies haven’t been around this area for nearly fifty years! And also, you lack of an accent from the area you claim to be from... it is rather funny, if you ask me!”

Your ego felt somewhat hurt by this stranger but that was besides the point. If he could easily see through your ruse, then maybe so would Miranda... “So...” you start to say before the wagon got slammed into from the side. You tumble around inside the cart as it flipped several times before it landed upside down. The Duke had been separated from you as the back part of the wagon broke free from the front part he was in, and the horse carried him away to safety but left you behind

.

You groan loudly as you roll to your side and try to push yourself up but couldn’t because of an excruciating pain in your leg. It is hard to focus because of the trauma that your head had taken from the crash plus the trip down the hill earlier. Once your vision cleared, you could see a rather large piece of wood protruding from your upper thigh. “Shit!” you curse as your shaky hands hesitated to pull it out. But it was too painful to even touch and your training kicked in, if you took it out, you would more than likely bleed out due to where it was located and you were far from help.

Loud noises shuffled around from outside of the wagon and you began to panic. Your hands shuffled through the broken pieces of wood that were scattered around in an attempt to find your pistol. The curtain at the back of the wagon lifted slowly just as you found your weapon, and you proceeded to shoot a warning shot. The curtain dropped and it was silent for a moment but your aim was still up. Suddenly, a large, black root slinked up under the curtain and yanked you out from your cover. You screamed loudly and desperately tried to aim for something to shoot at but you found yourself being held upside down. Stupidly, you emptied your clip into the air as you hoped it would hit the root. 

✧.*

A woman stepped out from the shadows to slap your pistol out of your hand and you instantly recognized her face once she stepped into the moonlight. Her blonde hair and attractive features... they-they matched Mother Miranda! It was Miranda! Shit. Now you were deep in it... You followed the root that had a tight grip around your ankle up to the hem of her dress. It was apparent that she had abilities similar to that of the mold and BOWs, even better. “There was word of a rat in our nest,” she hissed, her voice feminine and powerful. Miranda’s stare was cold as she walked closer to you; her face closes in on yours and you could feel her warm breath on your sweat stained skin. “And the snakes don’t care much for rats. American agent rats to be exact.”

The root lifted you higher into the air and you were dangled above her head. Miranda looked up to you, “I think I will let the others help me decide what to do with you.” she smiled before the root slammed you down into the ground and your vision faded black.

Miranda lifted you from the ground and held your unconscious body in her arms. Black feathers spread from her back and wrapped around the two of you, then disappeared in a swirl of black.

✧.*

An unknown amount of time passed before you came to. The sound of a few people talking caused you to stir, their loud voices rang in your ear and irritated the horrible headache you had. “I say we strip her down, cover her in honey, and throw her to the rats! A rat for a rat!” a man’s voice boomed with excitement and it was the first sentence you could make out while coming to. “Let me have her! She’ll be turned into the finest of wine!” a woman’s voice that was not Miranda’s yelled over the man’s.

When your eyes opened fully, three faces turned toward you. “Well, well, good morning, sleepy head!” the male grinned and lowered his sunglasses to get a better look at you. A dark haired woman across from him stood from her chair and her insane height towered over you, “She looks healthy and plump enough to craft an excellent bottle.” The man stood from his chair and pushed her a bit, “You always want to turn the women into wine. Boring!” 

The two of them began to bicker back and forth for several minutes until one of Miranda’s roots grabbed hold of your throat and reeled you in. “You two can fight over the child’s father. She - she will be mine to toy with, I’ve made up my mind,” the leader smiled a menacing grin which caused your blood to run cold. Inside you hoped that Chris would punch  through the door and save you from your predicament, but that chance was slim to none. “Begone my children, I have work to do.” They obeyed her wishes and left.

  ✧.*

She wrapped her wings around you once again and kept you restrained while she forced you into her laboratory that was beneath the village’s grounds. “I could kill you but that would be a waste.” she spoke as she strapped you to a table in the middle of the room. You wiggled violently as you tried to free yourself from your imprisonment but cried in pain at the open wound in your leg. “A strong American agent like yourself could be an interesting addition to our family... think of it as an eye for an eye.” she walked away to a shelf and reached for a large glass jar which had a sort of creature inside. “You’ll be the first outsider to receive a Cadou implant. And I am oh so curious to see how you adapt...” She reached into the jar, pulled out the pulsating parasite, and slowly approached you. 

Screams escaped your mouth as you thrashed around in another attempt to break loose but your restraints were so tight that they dug into your flesh. Miranda pushed your head down with force and pressed her palm into your forehead. The “Cadou” writhed around and long tentacles sprouted from within its fleshy mass and grabbed onto either side of your chest . Your last breath was a shriek of terror as it attached itself to your body and burrowed into your torso.

[ichorai]

the golden daggers ; j.yh

pairing ; enemy!yunho x princet!reader

summary ; in which your kingdom is destroyed, and you come across a soldier from the enemy realm in the forest.

words ; 1.7k

warnings / includes ; mentions of death and weapons but nothing graphic, yunho being a lil shit but also being a softie </3

a/n ; here's my second drabble for @ficscafe's royalty drabble event !! fyi for those who don't know, princet is a gender-neutral term for prince / princess ! i might be turning this into a full-fledged fic, who knows 👀 special thanks to @minghaofilm and @subways-stuff and @gyukult for reading through and tolerating my onslaught of frustrated rambles <33

The brisk morning air whistled past you, brushing against your skin in a wintry kiss. With muted footsteps, you stepped over the forest foliage, gentle and cautious. You lifted your sleek wooden longbow, keeping the feather-tipped arrow nocked. Just in case.

In times like this, you couldn’t be more careful. There could be traps anywhere.

Your kingdom had only just collapsed yesterday. To be quite frank, you had no idea what you were going to do. Where was a royal princet to go once everything you knew burned to the ground?

The memory of smoke and flames still played vividly in your mind, a staggering mirage of harsh ambers and furious carmines and sooty blacks. The smell of death had filled your nostrils, slowly seeping into you, wrapping its grimy dark fingers around your heart as you sobbed over what you lost.

Death had poisoned you, and you just barely managed to pull away before it could see you choke.

That was last night. Today was going to be different. You had nothing left to lose now.

“Your Highness,” a voice rumbled from behind a nearby tree. With your heart thudding angrily against your ribcage, you swiveled around on your heels, watching the man stride out of the shadows with open arms. “Though, just how high could a princet be without their kingdom, hm?”

This man, evidently, was a soldier of your kingdom’s worst rivals. You could tell by the glimmering silver medallion he bore on his jacket, their intricate insignia etched precariously into the metal. Wars were fought for centuries, and thousands of battles found your nation victorious and proudly arrogant. Until… well, until last night.

You wouldn’t be surprised if you were the last survivor of your kingdom.

Without giving it a second thought, your pinched fingers let go of the arrow’s feather-tip end. It sailed through the short distance between the two of you with a resounding hiss, slicing through the air like a hot knife through butter.

A tumultuous concoction of apprehension and awe roiled about you as you watched the man pull two gold-encrusted daggers out of their scabbards, side-stepping at lightning speed and cutting down your arrow as if it were paper.

You paused for just a millisecond, before reaching behind for your quiver, grappling for another arrow. What a fool you were, thinking you could beat him in a game of speed. In just a blink of an eye, he stood in front of you, the cool metal of his dagger rested gently against your jugular. One wrong move, and you would be dead in a matter of minutes.

“I’m Yunho,” he murmured with a sinister grin, blowing a strand of dark hair away from his narrowed eyes. He practically towered over you, glancing down with a mischievous glint in his gaze.

You didn’t bother to grace him with a response, muscles frozen in place.

“Are you afraid of me, Your Highness?” He attempted once more, leaning down slightly to meet your angry stare. “I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me. Drop your bow.”

With a gentle huff, you slowly moved your hand away from the quiver, coming to slowly wrap around the wrist that held the dagger against you. It pained you to see that your own fingers were trembling uncontrollably. Were you afraid? You couldn’t quite tell. Yunho watched you with a strange look of curiosity, his pupils flitting from your ashen face to your nimble fingers, wondering just what you were planning to do next.

And that was when you jerked your head away, keeping his wrist still with an iron-grip, taking advantage of his momentary surprise. You hooked your leg around his buckling knees, shoving him backwards. Yunho fell onto the damp leaves of the forest floor with a pained groan.

Though he was a giant of a man, you managed to kick the daggers across the damp forest foliage, toeing them farther and farther away from his reach and pinning his hands above him as you situated yourself just above his hips.

“My, my,” Yunho crooned breathlessly, chest rising and falling just centimeters away from yours. “Never thought I’d be in a position like this with a princet of the enemy kingdom. You smell better than I expected. Is that fougère I detect? A hint of honeyed-peach eau, perhaps? Forgive me, it’s hard to tell underneath the stench of burnt fabric, Your Highness.”

“Shut up!” Were the first words you managed to snarl out. “You… you took everything from me.”

“And we had nothing to begin with, princet,” he murmured coolly from beneath you, regarding you with a well-hidden anger broiling in his narrowed gaze. It took all you had in you not to pummel your fists against his perfectly sculpted features. “Are you going to kill me? If so, I ask you to do it quickly. You don’t quite strike me as the torturing type.”

There was a tense pause lingering between the two of you as you huffed out a small breath, hanging your head in shame. It almost physically pained you to let go of his wrists as you clambered off of his larger frame.

“Thank you,” he said.

You remained silent, a frivolous symphony of death wailing into your ears. If you let him go now, you’d be a goner. And despite that, you knew that you hadn’t the courage to end his life.

After all… he had every right to be angry.

You curled your hands up into tight fists, balling up the wet leaves of the forest floor. Yunho watched you with bated breath, arching his eyebrows. “You know I have to take you in, right? You’ll be a prisoner for the rest of your life.” His question was asked softly, tentative. You were no longer the villain he thought you were.

“I know.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

Swallowing around your clogged throat, you bobbed your head once more. “I know.”

The two of you pushed yourselves off the damp floor. After you grabbed your longbow, he snagged his daggers (kicked an impressive distance away), then the two of you proceeded to stride through the forest in unvocalized tandem. Several times, he pried his lips open to say something, but promptly snapped his jaw back shut, a bashful expression gracing his features. You weren’t entirely sure where he was taking you, but you doubted that it’d be anywhere good for you. You could already picture the musty cell they’d throw you in.

Following several tepid seconds, Yunho spoke up to ask with a slight air of curiosity, “you had a chance to be free. Why didn’t you take it?”

You winced slightly, fiddling with the notched wood of your longbow. “I have nothing left, Yunho. What’s the point in running?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed uneasily. A gentle breeze ran through the trees, tousling the withered foliate hanging on the gnarled branches. Bits of dead canopy fluttered downwards. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a browning leaf catch against the strands of your hair, a minute frown marring your lips. You reached upwards to pluck out the weather-beaten frond, flicking it away in the midst of your silent brooding.

“Stop,” he commanded after a moment’s hesitation, lifting an arm to your abdomen to halt you mid-step. “I can’t… I can’t do this. You have to go.”

Incredulity seeped into your voice. “What?”

In frustration, the giant of a man carded his hands through his ink-hued locks, screwing his eyes shut.

“Yunho—!”

“I’ll pretend like I never saw you. Please, just go. Get on a boat and sail far away from here.” He paused to unsheath one of his gold-encrusted daggers, glinting almost maliciously against the filtered sunlight. You had to hold in a gasp when he held the hilt out to you, gesturing for you to take it. “I hope to never see you again, princet.”

With nimble hands, you slowly curled your fingers against the handle, the cut-jagged gems cold against your skin. You twirled the blade with surprising agility, and Yunho almost found himself grinning at your natural talent.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you letting me go?” You couldn’t help but be slightly suspicious.

Yunho refused to meet your gaze, shame sitting heavily on his shoulders. “I… I don’t want to hurt you. I wasn’t lying when I said that before. You lost everything, and it’s my Kingdom’s fault. My people are proud, and they don’t want to admit when they’re wrong. For that, Your Highness, I’m sincerely sorry. I just… I don’t want to be the reason you’re rotting away in prison.” One of his hands reached out to grasp yours, laying his warm palm over both the dagger and your knuckles. You almost flinched backwards, eyeing him warily. “If you head far enough east to where no soul knows of ridiculous trivialities like Kingdoms and royalty lines, you can… you can start over. No titles, no responsibilities, no ties. I’m giving you a chance to leave behind your bloody past. You’ll be safe. Or, as safe as one can be in these times.”

When he slipped his hands away from yours, you could almost feel all of his warmth pull away. Reality seemed to sink into your consciousness, and you also staggered backwards, sucking in deep breaths of cold forest air.

“Thank you, Yunho,” you whispered, clutching his dagger and your bow. “I won’t ever forget about this.”

He dipped his head just slightly, the smallest of smiles quirking his lips upward. “Have a safe journey, princet. I know I said I hoped I’d never see you again, but… I don’t think it’d be too awful, would it?”

“Far from awful, soldier.” You were pleasantly surprised to find genuine mirth coloring your words.

You were well aware of Yunho’s gaze piercing holes into the back of your neck. There was a queer concoction of relief and dread roiling about in your stomach. Nonetheless, you swiveled on your heel, thumbing the grooves and bumps of the sleek dagger he had given you, striding away from the enemy who let you go.

[jinmukangwrites]

succumb (1/?)

Note: "?" because I don't know if I'm actually going to continue this. All I know is that I saw this post from Liccy and couldn't stop thinking about it (hopefully you don't mind me leeching a little off of your fantastic hc). I just had to write something or else I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. Unless I decide to make more of this, I'll keep this just in Tumblr for now.

Summary: While collecting firewood after a harsh day of traveling, Wild and Hyrule find themselves ambushed and alone, facing a mysterious enemy that wants Hyrule for something Wild doesn't understand... or more specifically: they want Hyrule's blood.

Tws and warnings in tags

-o-o-o-o-

It’s a night filled with the chill of air fresh after rain. The damp grass and twigs lining the ground below the still dripping trees squish below Wild’s boots as he walks, his eyes sharp for anything that could be useful.

Today’s been a rather taxing day on his energy, and he can tell it’s been the same with the others. The constant rain has caused the paths to become slick with mud and the rivers too dangerous to cross. To top it all off, they don’t even know who’s world they are in; making it so that as they journey they don’t even know where they are going.

Wild hates the rain.

But luckily, he’s not assigned with the behemoth task of finding dry firewood alone. Hyrule walks beside him, his pants and tunic blotched with dark colors thanks to the puddle he had fallen into a few minutes before.

The quite literal stumbles here and there put aside… they’ve actually done a decent job at gathering firewood so far. A few hours into their search they both have arms cradling rather hefty loads of dry twigs and branches found in miracle spots hiding under rocks and undergrowth, untouched from the rain.

A cold win stirs, causing Wild to suppress a shiver as he straightens out of picking up another stick to add to his impressive collection. He probably should have worn a warmer tunic while heading out, but Wind was looking miserable in the cold and didn’t look used to this kind of chill, so he had lent his snowquill tunic and didn’t have the heart to take it back as the poor kid sat sniffling in the driest part of camp.

Wild mentally begins to make a list of things he has that could go in a warming soup once they have a fire going. If none of them have colds tomorrow morning, he will eat Legend’s hat.

“We should head back,” Wild calls towards his companion. Behind him, Hyrule straightens up from where he was quite hilariously resembling an old man squatting down to pick up a book they have dropped. His arms are overloaded with wood, and Wild’s sure if he bends any lower he would be struggling to pick up the sticks he will undoubtedly start dropping.

“You think we have enough?” Hyrule asks.

Wild hums and looks at the two armfuls they have gathered. They need enough to last them for dinner and through the night, and a little extra if the fire happens to go out from unpredictable rain storms through the night. It’s not like Wild’s scars would be able to help him tell the oncoming storms; they’ve been none-stop aching since they found themselves in this unfamiliar forest.

After a moment of sizing up their bundles, Wild nods. “Yeah, if we’re smart with it we shouldn’t have to worry.”

Hyrule snorts. “Smart with it? Tell that to the blacksmith. He’s the one that tried to light Vet’s hair on fire.”

“In his defense, Vet kinda deserved it.”

“He accidentally caught Wolfie’s tail on fire.”

Wild snorts. “To be fair, he kinda deserved it too.”

Hyrule gives an unimpressed look to which Wild responds with a grin and as much of a shrug he can manage without dropping anything. The wind brushes past them and through the leaves in the trees, reminding them both that the night is approaching and banter can perhaps wait until they’re warm at a fire.

“C’mon,” Wild says, “we should get going.”

Hyrule’s face splits into a grin and rushes to catch up with Wild as he begins to walk back towards the direction of camp. The sound of mud squelching beneath their boots accompanies his thoughts as they go. He hopes they’ve set up the pots and pans he needs to make dinner like he asked them to. He’d like to get something warm in his belly as soon as possible and it would be so much quicker if the others realized they could maybe help make dinner sometimes.

He’s in the middle of planning out his next moves once they’re back with the others when it happens. It’s achingly familiar too—the way the air seems to turn foul and the shadows of the trees grow within the blink of an eye. Through his travels alone… before he fought and defeated Calamity Ganon… things were hardly ever perfectly okay. Safety was always rare, and things could go sour quicker than what you would expect. Wild quickly trained himself to always be aware of the dangers around him, even if everything seemed happy and safe. It saved his back more times than what he could admit, even if the pressure of anxiety pressing down on his ribs was more constant than a place for him to spend the night.

He could sense everything about to go wrong a moment before it does. He’s not sure what’s made him aware of the change—whether it’s the quieting of crows or the darkening sky—but one thing is for sure, this time he’s not quick enough to stop it.

He sees Hyrule twitch besides him and drop all of the firewood in his arms right into the mud. His hands fly to his neck as Wild drops his load and pulls out his sword. He hears a zip and catches the flash of light just in time to jump out of the way of a flying arrow.

Immediately, Wild is in battle mode. With practiced movements that he doesn’t even think about anymore, his shield is off of his back and on his non-dominant hand just-in-the-nick-of-time to block two more arrows with an equal number of thunks. With rising adrenaline, Wild looks over at Hyrule and what he sees makes his stomach twist. There, just a few strides out of arm's reach, Hyrule stumbles and tugs his hands away from his neck; grasped in his fingers is a small, thin twig with a feather on one end and a metal glint on the other. It isn’t hard to guess what’s exactly going on as Hyrule stumbles again with fluttering eyelids.

This isn’t any old attack from monsters in the forest, Wild concludes as he begins to rush towards his poisoned friend.

This is an ambush.

Just before Wild can reach Hyrule, a form jumps down from the trees between them. Wild has a split-second to recognize the glint of misshapen armor bent to fit a large reptile's body before the Lizalfols is swinging a sharp boomerang right for his throat. Wild steps back and raises his shield before he could be hit, however he has to work hard to suppress a frustrated snarl as he’s forced to widen the distance between himself and the barely standing Hyrule. He can see the other hero struggling to pull out his sword as more figures emerge from the surrounding trees.

“Alright, ugly,” Wild hisses under his breath as he shoves his shield out with calculated power. He needs to finish this quickly before Hyrule gets himself more hurt so he can figure out what poison was used and if the others are okay.

The Lizalfos screeches and stumbles back, waving its weapon wildly. Wild takes its struggle to regain balance as an opportunity to rush forward and swing his sword right for the weak spots of its armor. The monster screams impossibly high with unhuman chords before falling limp on his sword, however Wild doesn’t have time to celebrate before claws dig into his shoulders. Stifling a cry of pain, Wild is forced to let go of his lodged sword to catch his fall on his hands and knees. The well-known shriek of a bokoblin reaches his ears as he throws his weight to the side to dislodge the thing. Luckily, he’s successful, ending up on his back with the perfect position to swing his shield at the exact right moment to hit the bokoblin right in the snout as it tries to jump at him again.

“Champ!” calls a shaky voice. Hyrule.

He doesn’t sound too good.

And judging how there are several more monsters here than what he remembered before ending up on the ground… neither of them will be too good soon if he doesn’t act.

He scrambles to his feet, barely noticing how soaked in rain and mud he is now, and grabs a stick on his way up that he had previously dropped. He swings it like a bat at the next closest bokoblin—mourning his sword and mentally kicking himself for getting it stuck in the corpse of a fucking lizard—but he only manages to slightly stun it for a moment before its running after him with pig-like gurgles quicker than what he can properly lift his shield. However, before the creature can hit him, there's the flash of a friendly blade, cutting the beast down mid-air. Before him stands Hyrule, looking very pale with beads of sweat trailing down from his hairline. Wild’s about to nod his thanks, but two things happen at once that makes everything go completely downhill.

Wild sees Hyrule’s eyes roll up to his skull right before the air is knocked out of him via a viscous swing of a tail to his ankles, resulting in him landing heavily on his back.

Monsters all around him squeal with glee as Wild attempts to catch his breath and struggle to his feet. However, before he can do so, the heavy body of the lizalfos responsible for taking him down lands on his back, expelling any of the air Wild had left in his lungs. For a horrifying second, Wild’s almost afraid his head is about to be removed from his body with the flash of a sharp boomerang.

Shockingly enough, that doesn’t happen. While he feels the blade slide right against his jaw, his skin does not break. With the tug of a clawed hand in his hair, he quickly finds this isn’t a kind of ambush that he’s used to. Most surprise monster attacks stay exactly as it appears to be: an all-out attack with no more intentions than to stab things and scream loudly.

This one however is proving itself to be a little different. They want something, something that they’d keep Wild pinned on the ground with a blade to his throat alive.

Thanks to the hand holding his head up by his hair—sending a rather vicious kink into his neck as he’s still stuck on his stomach—Wild can see Hyrule completely collapsed on the ground with a few monsters hovering over him with excited snorts and grunt.

He can’t believe the two of them have been bested by monsters as low in skill as these.

Something more has to be going on.

And, just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s the sound of booted feet approaching on the soggy ground. The new presence comes behind from where Wild is pinned, so he cannot see them. However, based on the even steps and the whoosh of cloth, he can at least infer that they’re not a monster… or at least something a bit more humanoid.

His suspicions are confirmed once the figure steps into view. They look the build of a Hylian; though below the cloak that covers their face and exposes nothing but the shadow of a pointed chin… they must be a rather tall Hylian.

Which definitely isn’t good. Monsters are one thing—creatures born out of hatred and greed—but a Hylian who’s born as pure as any other human and animal in the world choosing to work with monsters? Deal with wickedness? They’re always the bigger threat. If the Yiga clan alone isn’t proof enough that Hylia’s creations can inhibit more darkness than the lowest of beasts, then Wild would ask what shrine you've been sleeping in.

Not like he could ask that now, not as the cloaked figure steps right past Wild without sparing a single glance. Wild cannot help but feel his stomach twist in fear as the person kneels down by the unmoving and unarmed Hyrule. They place a pale hand on Hyrule’s forehead, making Wild’s skin crawl.

“Get away from him!” Wild snarls, digging his fingers into the mud and attempting to push the heavy lizalfos off from him, but all that does is cause the creature to hiss and tighten the blade.

The cloaked intruder doesn’t respond nor quit in their endeavors of getting too close to Hyrule for Wild’s comfort. In fact, Wild almost thinks they didn’t even hear him.

He’s about to shout out once again—angry with being ignored—but the breath leaving his lungs fall silent as the figure brushes back Hyrule’s hair with a verbal sigh. Then, to Wild’s horror, the figure pulls back to their cloak to bring out a small vial filled with a deep purple liquid.

“What is that?” Wild demands as the lid of the vial is popped off and lowered towards Hyrule’s pale lips. “Don’t you fucking dare-” suddenly the air is squeezed from his body, forcing his protests to cease, as the lizalfos leans more of it’s weight onto his back to press his face down into the mud.

He doesn’t see what happens next, but he can put two and two together when a few silent moments pass before those human footsteps begin to finally head Wild’s way. The clawed hand in his hair loosens ever so slightly as slim fingers slip under his chin. Next thing Wild knows, he’s blinking through dripping eyelashes at the shadowed face of the cloaked figure.

Wild, of course, takes the opportunity to spit a wad of mud at the face of his enemy thanks to his little face-meets-dirt session.

He’s pretty sure he hits his mark, because in a blink of an eye Wild is no longer pinned on the ground, but lifted into the air by his neck. His feet scramble for purchase when there is none as his hands fly to his throat. The pressure on his neck is so intense that he doesn’t think to try and look at the face of his attacker. He can only gulp for trapped air like a fish out of water. Then, just like that, the pressure on his throat is released as he finds himself thrown back into the waiting arms of various monsters. Before Wild can attempt to find his bearings, his wrists are twisted violently behind his back; the motion almost yanks his limbs from their sockets. After a few gasps, it's all Wild can do to stand there with their physical restraints of clawed hands and send a cold glare at the cloaked figure.

The cloaked figure radiates irritation from where they stand, but Wild spares only a moment to bare his teeth at them before glancing back to where he'd last seen Hyrule.

He can’t see Hyrule’s face, but he’s no longer laying prone on the floor. He’s currently sat up with his chin limply touching his chest as a pair of monsters work together to bind his wrists behind his back.

Knowing that villains don’t usually restrain corpses, Wild concludes that Hyrule is still alive and returns his anger at the cloaked figure.

Wild takes a deep breath and speaks through hissing teeth, “who are you?”

“I would watch your tongue, hero,” the figure says, their voice not distinct enough to be dubbed male or female. However, Wild can practically feel the annoyance in their tone traveling down his spine. “We don’t need both of you, and your small friend is not the expendable one.”

The words settle in Wild’s gut like moss covered stones. This really isn’t any normal attack or ambush… this was a targeted mission.

Hyrule is the target.

“What do you want with him?”

The figure chuckles, their shoulders bounce in such an undeniably human way that it makes Wild feel sick to his core. “It never fails to amuse me that none of you seem to truly understand just how much more powerful and important this one is compared to the rest of you.” The cloaked figure walks towards Wild with arms spread wide. “His blood alone is more powerful than any form of magic known to any sorcerer.”

“What are you talking about?” Wild spits, forcing his face to remain cold and angry despite the pool of confusion and fear that’s beginning to swell around those moss stones in his gut.

The figure hums and tilts their covered head. After another moment, they speak with an amused tone, walking slowly towards Wild. “That slate on your belt... you’re the hero from the far future, oh how convenient. Tell me, have you ever wondered why the monsters come back to life?”

Wild doesn’t get a chance to answer before the figure stops right in front of him. He hates that even though he cannot see their face, he can practically taste the smug victory radiating off from them.

“Don’t you wonder why the moon shines red with blood?”

Wild swallows. “What does that have to do with anything?” He looks over where Hyrule is placed. “What does that have to do with him?”

The figure chuckles and leans forward close enough that Wild can almost see an outline of a pointed nose. “Everything.”

Then, with a flick of their hand, something hard smacks against the back of Wild’s skull. The world spins and pain shoots through his head and into every speck of his body. He blinks, and suddenly he’s leaning bonelessly into the grasps of the monsters behind him, the corners of his vision going black.

The last thing he sees is the figure turning back towards Hyrule with a flick of their cloak.

Then, his eyes fall shut and he knows no more.

[potter-imagines]

Meadow (George Weasley x Reader)

Prompt: Hi, maybe fred or george (you can choose) and the reader are spending the afternoon in a flower meadow together? (sorry for my english, it's not my first language)🙈😊

Notes: okay I'm sure spring break isn't a thing at hogwarts but for this write, it is . hope you enjoy !!

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff cause everyone loves george

Word Count: 3.5k

Spring break was winding down to a close as early April broke through. New life was brought to fruition as the snow from the harsh winter evaporated into the ground. Outside the grounds of the Weasley’s home were fields and fields of open land. Flowers sprouted in every step creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Those tumbling plains seemed to extend for miles beyond the horizon. Just beyond those grassy hills and slopes was a large, secluded meadow.

It was the early hours of a Saturday morning when a pair invaded the area far before the sun began to rise. The meadow Y/n and George had been occupying seemed to be the perfect location to view the birth of the new season. The perfect spot to enjoy each other’s company. Soon they would be ushered back to Kings Cross and board the Hogwarts Express- George for his last time and Y/n, well it certainly wouldn’t be her last time, no matter how hard she dreamed it was. The topic of George leaving Hogwarts was one the couple tip-toed around. Break was only two weeks but that meant two extra weeks for the pair to be together. With the school year tumbling to an end, George would be leaving school soon with his brother to start his dream and Y/n would be stuck needing to finish her last year at Hogwarts alone. The girl was a year below her boyfriend and although it never caused any friction for the pair, the gap was finally giving them issues.

In George’s mind, arriving to his last school year was both an accomplishment, and a burden. As excited as he was to finally leave those stone walls that held him back, the last thing he wanted was to leave her behind. It didn’t make any of the pain easier knowing that he’d be leaving alongside Fred earlier than the rest of their classmates. Y/n had been the only other living soul Fred and George had filled in on their grand exit plan. They needed someone to keep guard and be a lookout so who better than the one person they trusted not to run their mouth.

There was a heavy smell of earth in the air, mixed with the faint odor of new growth. The vivid green leaves and the cheerful colors of the blossoms are a feast. Flowers popped up from the soiled ground and the fruit hanging from the trees were starting to come to life.

The couple had spent a good portion of their break at the secluded meadow. In a way, it became their little secret spot. Not that it was a secret location by any means. Fred and George had discovered the meadow a few years back when they had ventured miles away from the burrow. The boys were always adventurous, especially when Molly and Arthur finally allowed them free range outside the family home when they were eleven. There were miles and miles of tall grass and woodland that made it easy to get lost. Of course with Fred and George, losing their way was never a worry. When the boys stumbled upon the breathtaking meadow, George seemed to be the only one interested in their find. Fred had wandered off into the section of forest they entered through, his attention captured by a group of baby deer camouflage in the woods. For years George would wander back to the meadow on his own when he needed a break from the loudness of his siblings or grew tired of Ron trailing on his coattails every turn. He promised himself he would keep the spot to himself, let it be his own private sanctuary. This plan ran smooth for a few years before George made the exception to break the rule for one person only.

But for now, the two could only take advantage of the time they had together and they didn’t intend to spend a second apart. It looked as if Y/n and George had stepped straight into a storybook. The grass was Eden-green and thigh-high to a thrush. A neon-blue ribbon of river ran through the ground in a squiggle line. A party of bright yellow ducklings scattered in the calm water, small quacks filling the air. Chirping and sweet songs from the birds made that feeling of Spring become a reality. Buzzing bumble bees and wildflowers sprung along the land. The sounds of nature engulfed the girl whole as she melted into the soft grass.

“I could stay here for the rest of my life- away from people, away from the world. It’s peaceful.” Y/n hummed softly. Her large doe eyes observed the clouds that formed a perfect line-up in the baby blue sky, as if they were boats safely moored in celestial harbour. Peeks of sunlight seeped in through the cracks in the fluffy clouds casting a shimmering light as they danced slowly by in the sky. Just a moment before she was listing off all the animals and objects she saw in the sky. Now she was considering the thought of staring at them forever.

George stole a quick glance down where she laid in his lap. Strands of her h/c hair flowing across his legs and hands. It tickled against his skin as a light breeze swept past. Her abrupt words had caught him off guard. He had missed the sound of her voice for the last hour, although adored the trance-like state of happiness that she was in so he was constantly biting his tongue to keep his thoughts from pouring out. Now that she was somewhat back to earth, he was eager to chat. Tilting his head in her direction George raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” He questioned.

A smile graced her lips as she nodded in confirmation. The land was beautiful, unlike anything she had seen. There certainly weren’t any meadows with such serenity as this in the city of London. For once in her life she could hear the sound of her heart beating in the quietness of the open land and she loved it. No cars honking, no crabby cityfolk shoving their way through crowds, no taxi drivers screaming at pedestrians to move, no bright lights, just nature and all of its creations.

Extending her arm, Y/n pointed out to the land. George followed her direction to see she was gesturing to a small section of the meadow that was surrounded by an eyecatching army of poppies and bellflowers. A large willow tree stood towering over the side. In the middle was a bare section- large enough for a home to fit. Y/n grinned in excitement as she suddenly sat up straight.

“Yeah. Build a little cottage, start a garden, maybe even a family… I think it would be lovely.” She said dreamily. Her eyes looked up to George in wonder, silently asking him to share his opinion. Mirroring her previous actions, George scanned the meadow. He placed his hand against his chin, pretending to think long and hard about her idea. Y/n giggled besides him and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. He chuckled in response and leaned back into the log supporting him. George nodded in agreement to the pondering dream.

There was a casual grace to the meadow, as if it has a peripheral awareness of its own beauty yet would rather be at peace in this warm sun. It was quaint and humble yet glowing in - like a glorious mansion hidden away in a forest. A hidden gem that was to be kept away from the rest of society. Their own little happy place that opened and bloomed just for them. There was something so magical about the meadow that George couldn’t pass it up. It felt like fate leading him there- leading them.

“Think we could make that work. The family part is a definante- it’s just building a home that’ll take a bit of time. We could get started on making a family of our own right now-” George was cut off when a hand clamped over his mouth. Although he was only joking, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

“George-” She warned playfully.

“Or in a few years. But living out here would be nice. ‘S not like I got to worry about commuting for work. It’d be a nice escape from the shop once we get business running, and once you graduate. Not to mention moving out here would mean I’d get to see more of you in that pretty dress. Flowers in your hair... you look so enchanting, darling.” A bashfulness struck Y/n to her core at his words. Her eyes instinctively shot down to the grass as a paint of red rose to her face. George’s heart quite literally stuttered at her reaction. Making her blush, seeing her smile because of something he said never failed to bring a sense of happiness to George. That damn smile, he thought to himself. He was sure she could convince him of anything when that innocent look took over. It was natural for her. Y/n was simply ethereal in every way.

His hand brushed as gently as a feather across the skin of her cheek. Pushing the daisy back in place behind her ear, George drew his hand down from her ear to her neck. Gripping her softly George pulled her towards his body, lessening the space between the pair. Dipping his head he leaned in towards the girl until their lips were only inches apart. He smirked teasingly, ready to make a remark when Y/n took matters into her own hands.

Linking her hand around his chin she pulled his face in hers with a deep kiss. Although she initiated the gesture, it was George’s response that made her lose all sense of control. His large hands moved from her face to her waist in an instant. Much to Y/n’s surprise he lifted her without warning, still holding her lips in his, and placed her in his lap so she was facing him. Her hands instinctively switched to wrap around his neck for stability. Fingers gripped at his short ginger locks as she adjusted her hips into his.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as her entire body got weaker. She could only focus on how soft he felt against her mouth, how addictively he invaded all her senses. Everytime their lips met a rush of adrenaline and love ran through her veins. The muscles in her body went limp at his touch, jelly like. George held a tight lock around her waist keeping her steady against him. He slipped his tongue against her mouth, visibly shuddering when she slid her tongue against his in return. Tension was pooling by the second as the kiss intensified. Y/n’s strawberry dress cascaded down the side of legs as she repositioned in his lap earning a groan from George. Hot breath fanned against her face briefly at her movements. His hand darted from the small of her back to the exposed skin on her upper thigh, pushing her further into his body. The vibration of his voice against her lips and the tight grip of his hands on her thighs sent shivers down her spine. His kiss was sweet, like a long awaited embrace. Stars blurred her vision as George gripped her against his chest. The moment was quickly turning into a not so innocent kiss causing Y/n to slowly detach her lips from his. As she pulled away she remained sat in his lap, fingers brushing along the skin of his face as she admired his beauty. A smug smile was displayed on his face while he repositioned his hands behind his body to hold the pair up. Still holding his face in her palms, Y/n pressed forward to scatter a line of kisses on his cheeks. He chuckled in amusement before her kiss latched to his mouth once more. Between short and passionate pecks she fought for words to tell him how much he meant to her. She wanted to tell him all the emotions of love and desire he brought onto her. Tell him how she could never live with another- how he was the only one she wanted for the rest of her life.

“You’re too good to me, George.” She whispered against his lips. The lack of space between them was intoxicating. Heat emanated from George’s cheeks as he desperately attempted to regain his breath and compose himself. His chest was light with air caused by the sweetness of the girl before him. A small smear of glitter lip gloss covered his bottom lip in a shine.

George tasted a hint of bubble gum as his tongue swept along the skin of his bottom lip.

“I’d give you the whole world if I could but I’m afraid I don’t have the coins for that yet, princess.” Pressing his forehead against hers, George hummed the words. Y/n shook her head with a smile as she countered his grand proposition with one of her own.

“All I need is a quaint, cozy cottage out here and you… well a dog or a kitten would be nice too.” She laughed.

George could only stare at her in that moment. Her words registered although the naturalness to her beauty was too much for him to process. The sun hit her back in with such purpose it was as if she were an angel breaking through the sky. Her strawberry midi dress flowed down her sides and pooled in between his legs. Pretty pink satin clung to her form. The sparkling red strawberries fitted her perfectly. The ruffles on her shoulders gave her the look of a cottage princess, a fairy even. Hair flowing freely in the wind, it was a sight he’d never grow tired of seeing. He’d never seen someone as breathtaking as her.

Taking advantage of his silence, Y/n looked up to George in seriousness. His large brown eyes stared lovingly back to her. Gesturing to the meadow surrounding them, Y/n asked him,

“Do you think you’d be happy out here?”

George tore his stare from the girl to scope out the land once more. All the years he spent wandering down here alone in his mind and looking for some sort of answer to life, now he had found it. He could already picture where he would build a playset for the children and where he’d be able to make a small Quidditch pitch to teach your future kids. Ideas were forming for the house and how many rooms you’d both want. George was thinking somewhere around eight- extra room for more kids. Mapped out where the house would go, where he’d build a garden for you, figured out what tree would be perfect for him to put together a treehouse with Fred for the kids, and where the path would go towards the lake. The layout was quickly forming and he wanted in.

Y/n watched in curiosity as the thoughts swarmed through her lover’s head. She could see him intently thinking things over, then smiling before tilting his face back down at the girl. His head moved down so his lips could press against the skin of her forehead as he kissed her.

“Darling, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be more than happy.” He reassured her.

Y/n melted into the warmth provided by his lips. Her body leaned into his, desperate for more of him. George wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly and fixed his body so he was sitting tall. She clung to his frame like a koala to a tree, burying her face into the material of his hoodie.

“Once I graduate?” Her muffled voice vibrated against his sternum. George ran his fingers up and down her spine as he held her tight.

“Once you graduate.” George repeated sincerely. Although they’d gone over the conversation a million different times, Y/n couldn’t help the shadow of doubts that crept into her mind. She trusted George with all her heart- every inch of her being but they’d be living in two separate worlds for a year and she worried that was something he might not want. Maybe he would realize he wanted to be with a girl his age, or someone older, someone not stuck at Hogwarts. Even without reason for worry, it still came.

Remaining in his hold yet moving back slightly, Y/n’s eyes darted to the flower covered ground. Her fingers ran along the petals absentmindedly as she worked to find the courage to speak. Her shift in emotions did not go unnoticed by the boy. George focused on the look of contemplation adorning her. As adorable as she looked, he hated seeing her in the slightest bit of distress. This went for any situation whether Y/n was stressed about a class, feeling ill, or just sad because she’s hungry, George does everything in his control to fix it for her.

“You’ll wait for me?” The sudden question took George aback. Her tone was a mix of innocence and fear. His confusion arose for the grave manner of her inquiry. Even if her worries were astonishingly unworldly to George, he knew better than to shut down her insecurities brashly. If the topic at hand weren’t so significant to their relationship, he might even crack a joke. However the seriousness in her features was not to be ignored.

George reached out to interlock his fingers through her warm hands. That comforting smile of his graced his face as he brought her knuckles up to his lips and placed a trial of kisses along the bones.

“Of course I’ll wait, love. No other girl I’d want to spend the rest of my life with- no other girl I want to call my wife, the mother of my children. No one but you, my love.” George insisted. It seemed magical to Y/n the way he always knew exactly what to say. Always so heartfelt and honest in meaning. He never told her a lie to make her happy but somehow managed to piece together a perfect string of words to make her whole again. Something in the way he spoke, in his words, it made her believe nearly anything was plausible. Most of all, she trusted him and believed that he had every intention of sticking around, which brought a sneaking grin to Y/n’s face. All those worries washed away at his words. It was a part she loved deeply about him.

The feeling of George’s touch smoothing over the bottom of her pink dress pulled Y/n back to the meadow. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted past his nose from the perfume he had gifted her for Christmas. His fingers would skim against her bare leg in a teasing fashion as he smirked. Y/n let out a giggle at the tickling sensation of his touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck for support while her bashful grin never ceased.

“There’s that pretty smile.” George remarked with a chuckle. A sense of victory took hold of him at seeing her worries vanish. Arms locked around his neck, Y/n pulled him towards her as her head fell to his chest. Given their limited time, all the couple wanted to do for the next month was be in each other’s arms. George cherished every opportunity he got to hold her, knowing he’d spend the next year missing her everyday. It came in the little things as well like the way her hair always smelled like a basket of delicious fruits, or how she’d hum to herself while they were studying together. He already knew he’d spend most days babbling on to Fred about how much he missed Y/n. Break was almost over which meant the twins would be leaving Hogwarts for good within a few weeks. Y/n dreaded the idea of not seeing George every day, not getting to kiss him or hug him. George hated thinking about having to hear from her through letters and not getting to hear that sweet laughter every day. So for now, all George wanted was to hold his girl and enjoy the excitement for their future he felt budding inside of him.

The colors in the sky were starting to grow brighter by the minute and without saying it, the pair both knew they’d be needing to head back to The Burrow for lunch sooner then they’d care to admit. In the serenity of the meadows the couple found a sense of home. Y/n soaked in their last bits of time in the meadow before George mentioned them heading back. Although neither moved at his words but instead remained holding onto one another.

“I love you, George.”

“I love you more, princess.”

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (explicit)

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment/beheading, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: i told y'all there's more <3 the special character treat is for @sarge-barnes-sir mwah!

this is queued shdhhsh gonna fix the links in the mornin’

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS ABOVE, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS VERSION, GO AND CHECK OUT THE NON-EXPLICIT VERSION.

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

So you stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walks into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Starting with his left shoulder, you jab the knife between the bone and the soft flesh of his armpit, bringing the blade downwards. The sickening smell of blood swirled along with the image of muscle and fat being sliced made you gag.

Does the brain know that it’s seeing something it shouldn’t?

A rational part of you wanted to look away but the time is ticking, it’ll be much harder once rigor mortis sets in an hour.

You swing the knife down, cracking the bone once, and then again, and again, and again until the shoulder bone splinters and dislocates itself from the rest of Bucky’s torso. You had to switch knives and blades and a fucking bone saw to get through the rest of his limbs, leaving only his chest, head, and stomach untouched. After taping up and packing the arms and the legs, you work on putting the rest of Bucky into a nondescript suitcase.

The only problem being his head getting into the way of things.

Wanting to preserve even a shred of his dignity, you left his face untouched. Well, save from the crack in his skull.

You begrudgingly take a hefty chef’s knife and start cutting through the jugular vein, only stopping when the blade hits the spinal cord by his nape. The serrated blade of the bone saw sits on your blood-soaked gloves, scrape-scrape-scraping until it snaps into two.

The human head weighs around 10 pounds, kinda like a bowling ball.

An opaque black garbage bag containing Bucky’s head looks nothing suspicious as you put it inside a backpack—into a firepit you go.

His limbs—arms and legs alike—are going deep into the ocean, forgotten and to be used as fish food.

The limbless torso will be finding its home in a deep hole in the middle of a densely wooded area, far from the city.

But you’re not quite sure what to do with the mason jar of teeth though; the clinking noises of it remind you of the seashells you used to collect when you were a kid. Maybe you’ll stash it away with the torso.

Placing the bags into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale.

The drive to and from the places was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and went straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.