#flutter rows & columns

[shalomniscient]

feixiao x reader [nsft utc]

"w-when i said we should do cardio after you finished, i didn't me-- ngh--!"

feixiao cuts you off with another sinful roll of her hips, bullying the head of her thick cock already buried full in your squeezing cunt against that one spot that has your toes curling. your thighs tremble as she has you face down ass up on the bed, her large hands squeezing the meat of your hips appreciatively. you have to crane your head to the side to look over your shoulder up at her, and her expression is pulled into one of shameless smugness, a fanged grin wide on her lips.

"what was that?" she teases, snaking a hand down to tease your stiff clit with her thumb. you groan at that, half-muffled against the sheets, and her ear twitches at the sound. "c'mon, you're not complaining, are you?"

with what little brain capacity you have left, you huff, inner walls squeezing around her in a way that has her sucking in a sharp breath. "n-no," you manage, fingers curling into the sheets as she languidly moves her hips, her hips clapping against the back of your thighs. feixiao chuckles, leaning down to kiss between your shoulder blades, along the curve of your spine. you shiver at the feeling of her warm breath against your skin, and then the plushness of her lips, reflexively pushing back against her as you chase more of that sweet friction.

"that's what i thought, princess," feixiao croons as she bends over you like a crescent, one hand sliding over the back of yours and intertwining your fingers while the other continues to work lazy circles around your clit. she's a lot more relaxed this time, some of her energy having been worked off by her training. she's indulging fully in the way your velvety cunt wraps snug around her shaft, fluttering and clenching each time she draws back only to snap back inside. she noses and nips along your shoulders and nape, sucking and biting little marks into the skin there. she can taste the tang of your sweat salty on her tongue, and she licks a stripe along the column of your neck just to hear you whine. the sound goes straight to her cock, twitching inside you, and her ears press flat against her skull.

despite the slowness of her pace, it isn't very long until you're squirming beneath her, the muscles of your abdomen flexing and jumping as your orgasm creeps up on you. she feels it too, a coil low and heavy in her gut and a pressure under her skin trying to expand outward. she trades her long, deep strokes for sharp grinds against you, keeping her cock snugly buried in your tightness. it allows her to target your g-spot with ruthless efficiency, pulling hoarse moans and cries from your lips. her chest is pressed to your back now as she leans as far forward as she can to chase your mouth, eager and needy to swallow your moans in a bruising kiss, although it's much less of a kiss and more of a dance of teeth and tongue. your breath mingles with hers, praise intertwined with breathy pleas of her name, and she swears upon the stars she's going to give you what you want. everything, anything you want.

"that's it, princess," she grunts as she feels you cum around her with a low cry into her mouth, "that's it. pretty girl, so pretty for me, so perfect." your pleasure-addled noises slowly taper off into sweet begging for her, for her to fill you up and cum inside and god she wonders if you know the things it does to her. you probably do, on some base physical level, which is why you so often mewl it to her even when your brain is leaking out through your pussy around her dick. feixiao ruts harder against you, a rumbling growl building in her throat as she feels her balls draw up tight and her heart skip several beats in a row to the time of her thrusts. when she finally cums she sinks her teeth into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but certainly hard enough to leave a mark, and you must enjoy it because you cum again, pussy squeezing and fluttering around her length like you're trying to drain her dry. her hips stutter of their own accord, fucking deeper into your addicting heat before she feels the edge wear off, and she slowly lowers herself down on your back, her face pressed against your spine as she pants for breath. she doesn't pull out, not yet, she knows you don't like it when she pulls out too quickly, so she stays within you as you both recover, idly smoothing her hands up and down your sides. when she hears your breathing even out, she presses another kiss to your sweat-damp skin.

"alright?" she asks, and you only make an affirmative noise in response. she laughs a little breathlessly, rolling over with you in her arms so she's not smothering you with her weight. the movement jostles her cock in your cunt a little, making you whine, but she soothes you with another kiss to your shoulder. her hand sneaks down to brush over the bulge she forms in your tummy, and she feels that heat pulse low at the base of her spine, but you're so thoroughly fucked out as it is that she decides to keep it to the back of her mind. for now.

(maybe it'll be a different story when you both make it to the shower. whenever that is.)

a minute later, her wristwatch beeps. right, she'd forgotten to take it off. she glances at it--then grins like a cat more than a fox; three perfectly filled cardio rings shine innocently at her from the screen. she knows what she's doing for cardio from now on.

[yjw1a1]

Paper Hearts & Potion Bottles | YJW

PAIRING. Yang Jungwon x female reader GENRE. ravenclaw x ravenclaw, contemporary romance drama, fluff, hogwarts WORD COUNT. 6,337 WARNINGS. fluffy and warm. DISCLAIMER. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR THE WORK I WROTE, SO PLAGIARISM IS NOT ALLOWED HERE. all the credits to the owners of the photos. Please be kind. :) SUMMARY. In the quiet corners of Hogwarts, Y/N L/N has always been content to stay unseen—quiet, clever, and safely tucked behind her books. That is, until Yang Jungwon, the brilliant and untouchable Ravenclaw prefect, begins to pull her into his orbit. As she fights to stay grounded, Jungwon unravels every wall she’s built, not with grand gestures, but with quiet loyalty, soft laughter, and the kind of attention she’s never dared to expect. What starts as a potions partnership slowly turns into something neither of them can ignore.

DATE RELEASED .04.13.2025

CLASPING HER HANDS TOGETHER PLEADINGLY, “Professor, please!”

The word came out louder than Y/N intended—sharp enough to echo slightly off the stone walls of the nearly empty classroom. She froze, immediately regretting it.

Professor Alden blinked, slowly turning from his desk to face her. “Miss L/N,” he said, tone laced with faint amusement, “did you just interrupt me?”

Y/N’s face flushed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, voice quieter now. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I just… I know you haven’t assigned partners yet, but I was wondering if you might consider pairing Riki with Yura?”

Professor Alden looked past her at Riki, who stood casually leaning against the wall, a picture of barely-contained smugness. His brows raised, clearly surprised Y/N was going this far for him.

“Yura,” the professor repeated, his tone flat. “As in, Miss Seo?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quickly. Then, softer: “I just think they’d... complement each other well. For this assignment.”

Riki jumped in, grinning. “I’ll clean cauldrons for the rest of the year.”

Professor Alden gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “That would be a start.”

“Please?” Y/N added, more earnestly now, twisting her fingers together behind her back. “You said last semester I could ask for a favor because I helped you tutor the third-years…”

“I did say that,” the professor sighed. “But I meant a favor for you, Miss L/N. Not for your—how shall I put this—morally flexible friend.”

“Hey!” Riki said, indignant. “Flexible, sure. Morally flexible? Debatable.”

Y/N bit her lip, clearly trying not to smile.

Professor Alden ran a hand down his face. “Perhaps I’ll consider it. Only because your academic assistance has been... invaluable. And because I suspect you’ll keep pestering me otherwise.”

He waved them toward the door. “You’re both dismissed.”

As they exited, Y/N exhaled slowly, as if she’d just finished running uphill. She didn’t even glance at Riki as she muttered, “Nishimura Riki, you seriously owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “But just for the record—I never asked for your matchmaking services.”

She finally looked up at him, lips twitching. “No. But you’ll thank me for them.”

Riki narrowed his eyes. “You’re terrifying when you get like this.”

“I barely said anything,” Y/N mumbled, already embarrassed again.

“Exactly.”

They parted at the dungeon staircase, and Y/N climbed the winding corridor toward her next class, still feeling warm from the unexpected confrontation. Speaking up like that wasn’t really her thing—she preferred to stay unnoticed, fading into the background.

But she supposed Riki brought that part out of her sometimes.

The next morning she reached the Potions corridor, the parchment list was already pinned just outside the classroom door, fluttering slightly with the draft of passing footsteps. Y/N stood in front of it, hugging her books tightly against her chest, and scanned the rows of names, finger trailing hesitantly down the column.

Then she stopped.

Partner Assignments:

Seo, Yura — Nishimura, Riki L/N, Y/N — Yang, Jungwon

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Yang Jungwon?

Her heart stuttered.

He was a year above her—technically a sixth year, but always present in their class as Professor Alden’s TA. Brilliant. Untouchable. Beautiful in that cold, pristine way that made people speak more quietly when he entered a room. His uniform was always perfect. His handwriting was annoyingly elegant. His potion work was flawless.

He wasn't supposed to be her partner.

Y/N stepped back from the list, as if physical distance might change what she’d just read. It didn’t. There his name remained, taunting her like a dare.

This day was spiraling.

Yang Jungwon. How should she put it?

The star of the show. The eye-catcher of the fifth years. People didn’t just notice him—they watched him. Every answer he gave in class was the right one. Every interaction with a professor was respectful but confident. Everyone knew he was a guaranteed Head Boy next year.

And Y/N?

She had been in love with him since her first year. Quietly, hopelessly. The kind of love that sat in her chest like a warm secret she never planned to speak out loud.

Unfortunately, her feelings had always been thoroughly one-sided. Jungwon barely knew she existed—at least, not in the way she wished he would. He never looked twice. Never even—

“Y/N, right?”

His voice cut through her thoughts, smooth and low and just a little amused.

She turned too quickly, nearly knocking her books against the wall. There he was, standing just a few feet away, his expression polite, unreadable—except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. A smile. Small, but devastating.

“I’m Jungwon,” he said, like she didn’t already know.

Y/N swallowed, willing her voice not to betray her. “I—I know. I mean, yes. You’re—” She forced herself to stop talking before she started listing off everything she knew about him, including his preferred wand grip and favorite seat in the library.

Jungwon tilted his head, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Right. Makes sense. I’ve seen you in Alden’s class.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said quickly, adjusting the books in her arms so she had something to fidget with. “I, um... I guess we’re partners now.”

“Looks like it.” He glanced at the parchment list behind her, then back down at her with an easy shrug. “Not a bad outcome, honestly.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

Jungwon smirked slightly, but it wasn’t unkind. “I’ve read your essay on potion-sigil layering. Alden used it as a sample last term for the six years.”

That stopped her completely.

“You… read my essay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was good. Better than some of the ones written by people in my year, to be honest.” He said it casually, as if complimenting her work was a normal thing. As if it didn’t just send her brain into a slow spiral.

Y/N looked away, trying to hide the very real possibility that she might self-combust. “Thank you. That’s… really kind.”

Jungwon’s gaze lingered on her for a second too long, but she was too busy staring at the floor to notice.

“I’ll be around after dinner tonight,” he said after a moment. “Library, east wing. If you want to start planning the project.”

She nodded without thinking. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Cool,” he said, and then turned to go—but paused. “By the way…”

Y/N glanced up.

“You surprised me,” Jungwon said, offering another of those quiet, knowing smiles. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to stare down Alden for a partner request.”

“Oh. That wasn’t—that wasn’t about you.” Y/N flushed immediately. “I swear I didn’t know I would end up being paired with you,”

“I know,” he said, turning away again, voice drifting behind him. “That’s what makes it more interesting.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving Y/N standing there, heart rattling, thoughts scattered, and books slowly slipping from her grip.

They worked until the library bells chimed for curfew.

And by the end of the evening, Y/N realized something:

Yang Jungwon was far more dangerous to her heart when he wasn’t being perfect—when he was being kind.

Just as she began gathering her notes, sliding books into her bag with careful precision, Jungwon spoke again, voice quiet but clear in the stillness between them.

“So,” he said, “why’d you do it?”

Y/N blinked. “Do what?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Talk Alden into pairing Riki with Yura. That wasn’t exactly a subtle move.”

A pause. Then she tilted her head, considering him. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

Jungwon’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Only because you asked me to.”

Y/N laughed softly, and the sound was warm, a little fragile. “Riki—although he’s a pain in the butt—I grew up with him. He’s practically a second brother. And I’ve never seen him so... down bad. Like, head-over-heels, running in blind, falling-head-first.”

She shook her head fondly, her voice softening.

“So I thought... why not? He’s my best friend, after all.”

Jungwon didn’t interrupt. He just watched her, something unreadable in his expression.

Y/N glanced at him, then looked away quickly, her cheeks pink. “And I think she’s really good for him. He started trying harder in school. He doesn’t skip breakfast anymore. And he just seems... brighter. With her around.”

The library seemed quieter all of a sudden, like the candles themselves were listening.

Jungwon’s voice broke the stillness, low and thoughtful. “You pay attention.”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “Someone has to.”

Jungwon looked at her for a long moment, like he was seeing something different now—something quieter and deeper than he’d expected.

“That’s rare,” he said finally.

Y/N looked back up, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“What is?”

“Someone who does things for other people… without needing recognition. Without expecting anything back.”

She blinked, caught off guard by how gently he said it.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” Jungwon added, lips twitching into the hint of a smile. “You hide a lot behind all that quiet.”

Y/N ducked her head, trying—and failing—not to smile too much.

“I’m not hiding,” she murmured.

He leaned forward just slightly. “No?”

“I’m just... careful with where I place things. That’s different.” she said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

Jungwon didn’t reply. He just looked at her for a heartbeat longer than was necessary—long enough that her chest started to ache with the weight of it—before he finally stood, gathering his things.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked casually.

Y/N nodded, her voice almost caught in her throat. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He gave her one last look, then disappeared down the row of shelves, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows behind him. Y/N sat still for a moment, hand resting over her notes, heart quietly racing.

“Y/N!”

The sound of her name rang across the courtyard, startling her so much she fumbled the stack of books and parchment in her arms. Everything went tumbling to the ground with a muted thud, scattering across the cobblestones.

She hadn’t even seen him coming.

She’d been too lost in thought, moving quickly through the crowd of students rushing between classes—her mind already halfway to Defense Against the Dark Arts, rehearsing incantations in her head. But now, standing amid her mess of fallen belongings, heat prickled at the back of her neck.

Of course it had to be him.

Yang Jungwon jogged the last few steps toward her, breaking away from a nearby bench where a cluster of sixth-years—his usual group—watched with open curiosity. One of them raised a brow. Another elbowed the girl beside him.

Y/N pretended not to notice.

“Sorry,” Jungwon said, crouching down to help her gather her things. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” Y/N said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she reached for her potions book. “You caught me in deep thought.”

Jungwon let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made her insides flip for absolutely no reason. “Dangerous place to be.”

She tried to smile back without looking like she was dying inside. “Some days more than others.”

He handed her a neatly stacked pile—two of her books and the packet of homework she’d nearly lost to the wind. She noticed he didn’t give her the potions book she’d just reached for, instead tucking it under his arm.

They both stood.

“Jungwon,” Y/N said awkwardly, adjusting the pile of books in her arms. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” he echoed back, with the faintest teasing lilt to his voice. His eyes were sharp, observant, but kind. “Where are you off to?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she murmured, keeping her voice low.

Jungwon started walking beside her before she could object, her potions book still firmly in his grasp.

“I’d appreciate it if you handed me that,” she said softly, gesturing toward the book he’d taken.

Instead of responding, he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled—that same irritating, charming grin that made her forget whatever coherent thought she’d been forming. “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh—no, please,” Y/N stammered, quickening her pace half a step. “I don’t want to interrupt your hangout with your friends…”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Jungwon replied, effortlessly matching her stride. “Besides, it seems like you’ve got a lot to carry.”

She stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t making fun of her. He didn’t look like he pitied her either. Just... calm. Steady.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, not quite sure what else to say.

They wove through the crowd together, a few glances trailing behind them—none of which Jungwon seemed to notice, or at least acknowledge. Y/N, on the other hand, noticed everything: how people looked at him, and then her. How they whispered. How it felt like walking beside him drew a circle around her she hadn’t been expecting to step into.

As they reached the entrance of the staircase leading down to the DADA corridor, Y/N slowed her steps. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. Then offered the potions book with a small, mock-bow. “But I wanted to.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took it. Just barely. Still enough.

“See you after class?” he added, like it was obvious. Like they did this every day. “In potions, of course,”

Y/N nodded, her voice nearly caught in her throat. “Yeah. See you.”

He turned and walked off, hands in his pockets, back straight—unbothered. Confident.

Y/N stood at the top of the stairs for a second too long, heart tapping at her ribs like a nervous bird.

She hated how easy he made it feel. And how badly she wanted it to be real.

The dungeon air was cool, damp, and laced with the earthy scent of mugwort and dried kelpie root. Y/N adjusted the sleeves of her robes as she slipped into her seat, her notes already spread in a neat arc in front of her.

She didn’t need to glance at the seat beside her to know he was already there. She could feel him.

Jungwon.

His posture was relaxed, but Y/N had started to notice the small things—how his eyes flicked toward her when she arrived, how he shifted his seat slightly closer each time, how his voice dropped to a softer tone when he spoke just to her. Even though she noticed these things, she’d deny it meaning anything more than just an observation. 

"Today," Professor Alden began from the front of the room, "you'll be working in pairs to brew a base for restorative elixirs. It's simple, if you're not distracted."

There was a pause as the professor cast a quick look at Riki, who—of course—grinned like he'd been waiting to be called out.

Y/N bit back a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Riki already nudging Yura, who, surprisingly, didn't shove him off but simply rolled her eyes with something dangerously close to fondness. Y/N didn't say anything, but her heart swelled a little at the sight.

She didn’t get to linger on it.

Because the next moment, Jungwon had already moved—reaching for the cauldron setup, his hands deft and sure as he started sorting ingredients into tidy piles on the worktable.

“You don’t have to do that,” Y/N said quickly, almost fumbling to reach for the chopped lavender. “You’re the TA, not a student. I can—”

“Y/N,” he said with a quiet laugh, “I don’t mind. Really.”

“But—”

“I like doing this with you.”

Her heart stopped.

He didn’t say it dramatically. It wasn’t loud. It was just... honest. Matter-of-fact. Like he hadn’t just knocked all the breath out of her with six words.

“Oh,” she said. Brilliantly.

He handed her the jar of ground moonstone, and their fingers brushed—again. He didn’t pull away.

“You always do everything alone if no one stopped you,” Jungwon added casually, sprinkling the powder with a precision that was almost unfair. “So consider this... me stopping you.”

Y/N blinked at him.

“Politely,” he amended with a grin.

She huffed out a soft laugh despite herself. “You’re too smooth.”

“And you’re too easy to fluster,” he shot back, eyes twinkling.

“I am not—”

“You’re turning pink right now.”

Y/N groaned, half-burying her face in the crook of her elbow. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he said, leaning just a little too close, voice dropping just enough to make her nerves buzz. “Voluntarily partnered with you. Willingly suffering.”

She peeked at him from behind her sleeve.

He winked.

Merlin.

They worked in a rhythm after that, easy and natural. Y/N measured the ingredients, Jungwon stirred. He reached for her notes without asking, and she let him. He double-checked the flame beneath the cauldron, adjusted it slightly, and she didn’t mind—not like she usually would.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Riki bumping his elbow lightly against Yura’s. She didn’t look annoyed. She was smiling. And then, very quietly, she handed him the correct flask before he even asked for it.

Y/N felt a smile creep across her face.

By the end of the period, their potion was the most vibrant shade of aquamarine in the room—textbook perfect.

“Brilliant work, you two,” Professor Alden said, peering into their cauldron. “Unsurprising, considering.”

Jungwon accepted the compliment with a small nod, while Y/N ducked her head, heat rising to her cheeks again. As the rest of the class packed up, Jungwon remained seated, leisurely tidying their notes.

“You know,” he said without looking up, “I’ve never seen you smile as much as you have this week.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re always quiet. Sharp, observant. But lately...” He finally looked up. “You seem lighter.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Not without sounding foolish. Not without giving something away.

So instead, she offered him the faintest smile. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Jungwon’s eyes lingered on hers, thoughtful. “I don’t think I am.”

the courtyard buzzed with warm sunlight and lazy conversation, the spring air scented faintly with lilac from the enchanted hedges lining the quad. 

Y/N didn’t mean to pass by where Jungwon and his friends were sprawled across a low stone wall near the fountain—she just happened to be walking through.

Head down. Books tucked close. Trying not to exist too loudly.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice rang out across the lawn like it was nothing—like he hadn’t just made her heart plummet to her knees.

She froze mid-step, then slowly turned to see him grinning at her, waving her over like they always did this.

“I was just telling them about our assignment,” he said, scooting over and patting the empty space beside him.

Y/N hesitated.

His friends—all glossy hair, perfect posture, and lazy charm—turned to look at her like she was a riddle they didn’t really want to solve. She recognized most of them by name, reputation, or whispers in the common room. They were the type of people who walked through the castle like they owned it.

People who looked like they belonged next to him.

Still, she walked over, hugging her books tightly, and perched carefully on the very edge of the stone wall—barely sitting at all.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual.

One of Jungwon’s friends, a tall Slytherin boy with windswept dark hair and too-sharp eyes, raised a brow. “You’re the Ravenclaw, right? The one who practically lives in the library?”

“She’s partnered with Jungwon in Potions,” another chimed in—a girl with glossy nails and a voice like honey laced with something sour. “The quiet one who never talks.”

“She talks,” Jungwon said lightly, though there was a slight edge to his voice now.

Y/N tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Only when I have something to say.”

“She probably writes full essays just to say hello,” the dark-haired boy snorted. “Bet she keeps a checklist for conversations.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned. She curled in on herself just slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her grip on her books tightened.

“Come on, leave her alone,” Jungwon said, voice firmer now, shoulders shifting subtly as he looked at them.

But the girl wasn’t done.

“Honestly, Jungwon,” she said with a half-smile, “I didn’t know you lead on the bookish and invisible type.”

That one landed.

Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. The laugh she’d been biting back turned to dust.

Jungwon sat up straighter, his expression sharpening. “That’s enough.”

But Y/N was already sliding off the wall, brushing invisible dust from her robes with trembling fingers.

“I should get going,” Y/N said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have to help Riki before dinner.”

Jungwon stood like he might follow her, but she shook her head before he could speak, gaze fixed on the cobblestones.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added softly, already turning away.

She didn’t let herself look back.

She didn’t want to see the way his friends still watched her like she didn’t belong. She didn’t want to see if Jungwon stayed silent—if he let them. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, her steps fast and clipped as she moved across the quad, willing herself not to crumble until she was alone.

Her cheeks burned, her throat tight with humiliation.

And that’s when she slammed into someone’s chest.

“Sorry,” she murmured instinctively, already ducking her head, about to move around them—until a hand gently grabbed her wrist.

“Woah there, you,” came a voice, light and familiar. “You’re walking like you’re trying to charge through a wall.”

Riki.

Her steps halted, but she didn’t meet his eyes. He was still smiling—until he really looked at her.

His expression shifted instantly. Gone was the teasing glint in his eyes, replaced with something softer. More serious.

“Y/N?” he said, quieter now.

She didn’t respond, just kept her head down, her silence loud enough to raise every alarm in him.

He turned toward his group of friends, gave a quick wave that said I’ll be back, and without waiting for her permission, gently tugged her by the wrist, leading her away from the main path and behind one of the stone pillars cloaked in creeping ivy.

“Y/N,” he said again, more firmly now. “What happened?”

She slouched forward slightly, shoulders folding in like she could make herself smaller, invisible. It was in moments like this—only moments like this—when Riki dropped the sarcasm and got serious. Because he knew her. He always had. Since childhood.

And she trusted him with the parts of herself she wouldn’t let anyone else see.

“I feel stupid,” she muttered, voice cracking.

“Come on,” Riki said with a half-smile, trying to nudge the mood lighter, “you’ve got top marks in nearly every class—”

“Not that kind of stupid,” she interrupted, voice raw. “Stupid for entertaining this stupid crush I’ve had for years.”

His brows pulled together. “On Jungwon?”

She flinched—just slightly. When she looked up, wide-eyed, he scoffed gently, folding his arms.

“Y/N, I know you just as well as you know me. Might I remind you.”

Her throat tightened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “On him.”

Riki nodded, like he’d known all along. He probably had.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the sleeves of her robes. “And the worst part is… even if—if—he maybe feels the same way, it doesn’t matter.”

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Because I don’t fit. Not into that world. Not with them.”

Riki looked at her, really looked—at the girl standing in front of him who had always stayed quiet, always stayed good, and still somehow felt like she wasn’t enough.

“You fit where you decide to stand,” he said gently. “And if he doesn’t make room for you in his world? That’s not a world worth stepping into.”

Y/N blinked hard.

“I just...” she exhaled. “It hurts. How easy it is for everyone else. How I thought—maybe—this time it’d be different.”

Riki placed a hand on the top of her head, ruffling her hair just slightly—just like he used to when they were kids.

“It is different,” he said. “Because now, if he’s too blind to see it? You’ve got me, and I’ve got hexes I’ve been meaning to try.”

Y/N laughed—wet and shaky, but real.

“Come on now,” he added, smiling and offering her his arm. “Let’s get dinner and eat that negativity out of you.”

Dinner passed in a blur of comfort food and quiet conversation. Y/N smiled and nodded in all the right places, but her mind was elsewhere—already building a plan, already working through what she could do about the weight in her chest that hadn’t quite lifted.

Later that evening, when the Great Hall had mostly emptied, she spotted Sunghoon—a fellow Ravenclaw seventh-year—gathering his books near the entrance.

Perfect.

“Sunghoon,” she called gently, slipping toward him. “Could I ask you for a favor?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Y/N held up two sherbert lemon drops in her palm like she was making a serious deal. “I need you to pass a note to Leehan. Quietly. He sits next to Yang Jungwon in the Ravenclaw common room, right?”

Sunghoon blinked, then grinned. “You’re bribing me with sweets.”

“Two lemon drops and a chocolate frog if you don’t read it,” she bargained, shoving the parchment into his hand.

He accepted, chuckling. “You Ravenclaws are dangerous.”

“Efficient,” she corrected, smiling tightly.

The note was simple:

“Bad stomachache – (probably the mashed potatoes) raincheck on the potions project tonight sorry!”

That was the lie.

The truth?

She needed space. Silence. Something steady beneath her hands. So instead of heading to the common room, she made her way up the winding stairs of the Astronomy Tower, lantern in one hand, parchment and books in the other.

The wind at this height was sharp, but Y/N didn’t mind. The open sky had always calmed her. There was comfort in the stars—they never asked questions. They never looked at her like she didn’t belong.

She settled on the cold stone floor, tucked into the alcove near the edge of the observatory. Her lantern cast a warm glow across her parchment as she scribbled notes, diagrams, measurements. Everything for the potions project. Her quill scratched quickly, fueled by quiet determination.

She was halfway through re-calibrating an unstable ingredient ratio when she leaned back and sighed, rubbing at her temples. Her thoughts were knotted. Not just with potion theory, but with Jungwon’s laugh, his eyes, the echo of you seem lighter lately still clinging to her ribs.

And then—

“I didn’t take you to be a liar and a rule breaker now, did I, Miss L/N?”

Her eyes shot open.

Jungwon stood in the entryway, arms crossed, brow slightly raised. He was still in his uniform—tie loosened, hair wind-tousled, prefect badge gleaming beneath the moonlight.

Y/N’s heart lodged itself somewhere in her throat.

“How—how did you know I’d be here?”

He stepped inside, letting the door creak closed behind him. “I’m a prefect,” he said, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I’ve known for years you sneak up here after curfew.”

She blinked. “But—”

“I never reported you,” he added, eyes warm. “Made sure no one else did either. I figured… if anyone deserved a quiet place to be left alone, it was you.”

Y/N stared at him, caught completely off guard. “Why?”

He shrugged, walking closer, careful not to startle her. “I don’t know. Maybe I liked knowing something about you no one else did.”

Her stomach fluttered. He glanced down at the parchment scattered around her and lowered himself beside her without hesitation.

“You were working on the project?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I thought… if I finished most of it tonight, we could get it out of the way. You’ve got a lot on your plate already.”

Jungwon looked at her for a long moment, then pulled something from his pocket—a small bar of chocolate—and gently set it beside her parchment.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N looked up, startled. “You don’t have to apologize for your friends—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted. “This isn’t about them.”

Her breath hitched. “Then what for?”

He shifted closer, tone quiet but full of something heavy and sincere. “For letting you believe—even for a second—that you didn’t belong.”

Her heart cracked.

“I should’ve said something,” he went on. “When they made you feel small. I should’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. And that’s on me.”

“Jungwon,” she said softly, unsure what to do with the ache in her chest.

“I let you think you had to prove yourself,” he added, voice tight now, eyes fixed on hers. “Like you had to work twice as hard just to meet me halfway. I never wanted that. I see you, Y/N. And you’ve always belonged—even before you knew it.”

Silence settled between them. Warm. Real. The kind that said more than words ever could.

“I always knew you came up here,” he said again, softer now. “And I never once thought to stop you. Maybe… because part of me hoped that one day, I’d find a reason to come up here too.”

She looked down at the chocolate. “You know, you’re forgiven,” she murmured. “But only because of the bribe.”

Jungwon laughed—a soft, warm sound—and bumped his shoulder gently against hers.

“I’m glad I came with a bribe then,” he said softly. 

It had been a strange few days.

Since the Astronomy Tower, Y/N hadn’t quite known how to act around Jungwon. He hadn’t done anything different—still smiled when he passed her in the corridor, still greeted her with that half-tilt of the head and soft “Hi, L/N”—but something had shifted.

She could feel it. And it terrified her.

It was a quiet afternoon in the courtyard when it happened.

She hadn’t planned to be there long—just long enough to finish annotating her Ancient Runes essay. The benches under the eastern ivy arch were rarely occupied this time of day, and the warm breeze made the castle’s stone chill a little easier to bear.

But of course, they were there.

Jungwon and his friends—Stephan, Penelope, that whole Raveclaw group who always looked like they belonged on the front of the Daily Prophet’s “Most Promising” edition. They were laughing about something, carefree and sunlit, and Y/N had considered turning around right then.

Except Jungwon saw her.

“Y/N!” he called out. His voice was easy, warm. Too natural. “Come sit.”

She froze. His friends looked up—some polite, some clearly surprised.

She hesitated. Then nodded once, carefully. “Just for a bit.”

She tucked herself into the end of the bench, clutching her notes like they were armor. She could feel their eyes on her—the way Jungwon whispered something to Minji, who tried to hide a laugh.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said, ignoring them entirely. “Did you finish the translation on the Veela rune sequence?”

She blinked. “Um. I… yeah?”

“Let me see it later?” he asked, smiling. “I trust yours more than mine.”

Someone snorted—Penelope, probably. “Wow, Yang asking for help. Miraculous.”

Jungwon didn’t even look at her. “She’s brilliant. I’d be stupid not to.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. She stared at her parchment, unsure if she was allowed to smile at that.

“Didn’t know you were tutoring now,” someone else muttered under their breath. “She your new charity case, Jungwon?”

Y/N’s breath caught.

It was barely audible, but it landed sharp in her chest. She immediately began gathering her things, panic rising in her throat.

“I should—”

“Y/N,” Jungwon said quietly.

She paused. Didn’t look up.

“Y/N,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Can you stay a second?”

Something in his voice made her still.

He stood.

Just like that—right in front of everyone—Yang Jungwon stood up from the golden pedestal of his usual people and turned to face her like there was no one else worth talking to.

“I like you,” he said, plainly.

Y/N blinked.

“What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, softer this time, but no less certain. “I think I have for longer than I really understood.”

A silence fell over the courtyard.

Penelope’s whisper cut the air. “Wait—what?”

“I know this probably isn’t the right way to say it,” Jungwon went on, eyes only on Y/N now, “but I don’t want you thinking I care what anyone else in this courtyard thinks. Or what they say.”

She stared up at him, heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

“I like that you carry two quills in case one breaks. I like that you make tea the exact same way every time, like it’s a ritual. I like that you’re quiet—but when you do talk, you mean every word.”

She laughed, breathless and pink covering her face. “You notice all that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling a little. “You’ve been elbowing your way into my brain since second year. I just didn’t have the guts to do anything about it until now.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes shining. “You’re serious?”

He stepped a little closer, careful, like he didn’t want to scare her off.

“I’m not trying to make a scene,” he murmured. “But I want you to know I’m not going to hide it either.”

Her voice was small. “You’re not embarrassed?”

“Of you?” He gave a soft laugh. “Y/N, I’ve been trying to impress you for weeks. You just didn’t notice.”

Her cheeks burned.

His fingers brushed hers.

“Let me walk you back after this?” he asked, gently. “Just you and me.”

She hesitated. And then—finally—she nodded.

“Okay.”

His smile could’ve lit up the Great Hall.

“Brilliant.”

Behind them, the courtyard was stunned into a quiet kind of disbelief. But Y/N didn’t care. Not when Jungwon reached out and took her notes from her hands like they mattered to him too.

Not when he sat beside her again, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and didn’t look away once.

it had been a week since the courtyard.

A week since Jungwon, in front of his friends and half the student body, told Y/N he liked her. He was even gentler now. He walked her to classes when he could. Passed her quietly folded notes during lectures that just said things like hi, you look really pretty today or how are you feeling? 

He asked, he listened, he gave her space—and then filled it, just enough, when she needed him to.

Which is how they ended up in the library on a rainy Sunday afternoon, curled into one of the hidden alcoves behind the stacks of old Astronomy texts.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the window ledge, parchment in her lap, while Jungwon sat backwards in the chair across from her, chin propped on his arms, watching her like she was far more interesting than the essay they were supposed to be working on.

“You’re not writing anything,” she said without looking up, quill moving across the page.

“I am. I’m writing mental poetry about the way your nose crinkles when you’re trying to sound annoyed but actually love the attention.”

Y/N looked up sharply, a laugh caught in her throat. “That is not what I look like.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jungwon said with a grin. “It’s tragic, really. I’ve been hit with at least six Cupid-level curses since breakfast.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled, cheeks pink, going back to her parchment.

There was a pause. “Y/N?”

She hummed in acknowledgment.

“Can I tell you something without you thinking it’s too much?”

She glanced at him over her paper, expression softening. “Okay.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I think about you. A lot. Like, in the middle of class, or when I’m supposed to be answering Prefect reports, or—”

“Jungwon—”

“Wait, I’m not done,” he said quickly. “I think about the way you talk with your hands when you’re explaining something you care about. The way you look when you're really focused. The little hum you do when you're reading and forget where you are.”

Y/N blinked, her heart doing an alarming somersault.

“And I know it’s only been a week since I said it out loud,” he added, “but I think I’ve liked you for ages, and I just… didn’t know how to tell you without sounding like a walking disaster.”

She set her quill down slowly.

“You don’t sound like a disaster,” she said softly. “You sound like someone who… maybe likes me the way I used to wish you would.”

Jungwon stared at her. “Used to?”

Her lips quirked up. “I’m trying to play hard to get. Don’t ruin it.”

He laughed — actually laughed, bright and crooked and real — then got up from the chair and walked the few feet to where she sat, leaning one hand against the stone wall beside her.

“You’re terrible at playing hard to get, by the way.”

“I’m shy,” she said, a little breathless with how close he was now. “Sue me.”

He looked down at her, eyes soft. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“You’re not going to ask first?”

“I just did.”

She tilted her chin up. “Then I guess you should.”

So he did.

And it was slow, and careful, and warm. She clutched his sleeve, and he steadied a hand at her jaw, and neither of them moved for a long, quiet moment.

When they pulled apart, she kept her eyes closed for just a second longer.

Then, with a smile, she whispered, “Are you always going to look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I hung the stars.”

Jungwon’s reply came instantly, like he’d been holding it in, “You are the stars.”

Y/N dropped her forehead to his chest, laughing into his robes. “You are so down bad.”

“And you love it,” he said proudly, wrapping his arms around her.

She sighed, content. “Unfortunately, I really do.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, they stayed right there — wrapped in a bubble of parchment, old books, and something that felt a lot like falling in love.

NOTE: SURPRISE SHAWTYYY!! I posted. Cheers to the fourth write on this acc! And also please look up for my upcoming story, ANGOSTURA, based off of the one and only amazing Keshi, and this story was also hinting at another hogwarts au to come! let me know if you caught it!!

~xoxo ruby

© yjw1a1

[v6quewrlds]

I’m the bday girl… I still have hope for homiesexual 3 for the future… but do you have anything currently written for Joe that you haven’t post yet

happy birthday, bestie! pls don't look too closely lol <3

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist.

Joe paused, eyeing the racks of clothes and the wall of shoes. He widened his stance, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the landscape of your side of the walk-in closet. "No, the patterns would clash," he murmured to himself.

You laughed to yourself. You knew Joe was taking this task to heart, and you loved that. Though he could have questionable choices of his own, you had to admit he had an eye that surprised you from time to time.

He held up an olive green mini-dress that caught the soft light of the closet perfectly. "This one," he said to himself decisively. It was a color you hadn't worn in a while, but Joe thought it would bring out the warmth in your eyes. "Okay, shoes..." He bent down, squatting to rummage through the neat rows of heels and flats. His eyes scanned the options, and after a moment, his hand shot out, grabbing a pair of strappy black heels. They were tall but not too flashy, elegant and simple with enough detail to make a statement without overshadowing the dress.

He returned triumphantly to the bedroom, holding out his selections to you. You took the dress and shoes from Joe, your smile growing as you stood to look at yourself in the full-length mirror. You held them up to your body, visualizing the outfit. "If this football thing doesn't work out, I might hire you to be my assistant," you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Joe smiled wide, his face lighting up with a rare blush. "I'd settle for being your personal stylist," he quipped back. "What are the jewelry vibes tonight?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Gold," you said, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "Go crazy." You pulled on the dress, swapping your sweats for what he'd picked. Joe watched your transformation with a sense of satisfaction, his eyes tracing your silhouette.

He rummaged through your jewelry box, his gaze darting over the various necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. He paused at a gold plated necklace and a pair of dangling gold hoops. He held them up to the light. "These," he nodded, placing them aside.

You slipped into the bathroom to finish getting ready, the smell of your favorite perfume filled the room as you sprayed a fine mist of it behind your ears and along your neck. The scent was a warm, inviting blend of jasmine and vanilla that Joe always seemed to love. He entered behind you, handing you the hoops before draping the necklace around your neck. His hands lingered for a moment, his thumb gently brushing against your collarbone.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration. "What do you think?" he asked, eyes sweeping over your figure as you fastened the earrings.

You met his gaze in the mirror, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. "I love it," you said, turning to face him. You leaned in to kiss him, your heart fluttering as his hands found your hips, squeezing softly as your lips parted. "Thank you," you whispered, the warmth in your voice unmistakable.

His arms drew you closer, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, feeling the fabric of your dress brush against his palms. He kissed your forehead, his eyes still taking in your beauty. "You're welcome," Joe whispered back, his voice soft with affection.

"Baby," you laughed against his chest, "we're going to be late."

He didn't budge, his hold on you tightening instead. "Worth it," he murmured, planting a trail of kisses along the column of your neck. You laughed lightly, attempting to push him gently away.

"Seriously, Joe," you said, your hand finding the nape of his neck, your tone playfully stern. "Our reservation..."

"Is for 8 PM," he finished your thought, his voice muffled against your skin. "We've got time."

[urhoneycombwitch]

#17 from that prompt list about seeing the marks left on their partner and getting turned on has got me all kinds of 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 It feels roommate-eddie coded 👀 especially if they have their no-marks rule, but he just kinda loses control one night.

Then we torture him, walking around showing it off, telling him he can’t touch until he learns some self-control…okay, I’m gonna see myself out…

(most assuredly not @rebelfell sending two asks in a row)

foreword: Sarah I’m being so fr how are you literally in my brain… I had a blurb on this very topic set on the back burner bc I couldn’t find a place for it so here it is spruced up!!! (prompt 17 from this list)

cw: Reader has breasts, visible marks, no skin tone/color mentioned, a wee bit of choking kink, not full smut but mdni as always. oh yeah and biting 😈

___

You can feel the weight of Eddie’s eyes on your form, even as you pretend to be oblivious, leaning into the reflection of the standing mirror in the corner of his bedroom.

A few swipes of your pointer finger and your lipgloss is perfect; with a smack of your lips, you straighten up again, tugging the hem of your tee down to meet the band of your jeans. “Almost ready?”

The friendly smile you turn to give Eddie is met with a glower, his dark brows slanted, a death-grip on both knees where he sits simmering on his bed.

“Did you come in here solely to torture me, or do you have other plans up your vixen sleeves?”

Briefly, your eyes flick to the ceiling as you turn back to your reflection, fussing with your hair to keep your hands busy. “Only plan I got is attending our beloved friend’s barbecue. Which we should’ve left for, like, five minutes ago.”

Eddie huffs. In response, you sigh, landing just-left of condescending. “Not my fault you want to fuck me regardless of what I’m wearing. It’s jeans and a t-shirt, Eddie, I’m basically fit for a nunnery-”

There’s a whoosh of spiced air that wafts over first, chills cascading down your spine made worse as Eddie moves in. His left hand lands on your hip, rooting you to the carpet, while the other tracks up, skirting between the valley of your clothed breasts, your collarbone, your neck…

He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, silver rings biting cold against your skin as your neck goes lax, baring a long, tantalizing stretch of it as Eddie tilts your face up and to the side.

His lips press to the sweet spot behind your ear, then follows the slope of your neck down, stopping at your shirt’s collar that hides the rest of your skin. From your hip, his hand lifts to pull the fabric aside, revealing a scattered canvas of suck marks and teeth imprints that grace the top of your shoulder.

“You really gonna show up with these? Make all our friends wonder who’s been marking you up?”

Eddie’s voice is low, but you’d be a fool to mistake it for softness.

Another shiver licks along the length of your body, and this time Eddie feels it; he presses in closer, hand sliding from your chin to hold just under your jaw as he meets your fluttering eyes in the mirror.

“What’re you gonna say, hm? If Robin asks where they came from? If Steve makes a jock-y comment? If you get teased?”

It’s not like you haven’t been in this situation before- attending events with mutual friends, having to act like your roommate hasn’t been the one checking all your boxes, making up excuses for being late or looking like someone had been using your body as their personal chew toy.

You’ve always made excuses- pretty seamless ones, if anyone’s counting. You don’t even try to squirm away when you respond, swallowing around the light pressure at your throat- “I’ll tell them what I always do. Blind date hookup, one night stand, my dentist’s cousin’s friend that I’ll never see again-”

Eddie bites into the soft flesh of your upper shoulder, hard, free arm wrapping around your midsection like a seatbelt while his other elbow digs into your chest, hand still wrapped around the column of your throat.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, white-hot adrenaline surging with the sting of the bite, body stiffening against the restraints of Eddie’s arms as you grit out, “Asshole!”

It sounds too whiny and pleasure-soaked to cause any real alarm, Eddie grinning into the curve of your skin (bastard) before tsking, kissing over the thumping mark in partial apology. “Mm. I think you like it. I think you get off on parading our little secret around the poor folks who don’t know any better-”

“As if you don’t.” Eddie may be the one doing most of the biting but you’ve got the bark to match, glaring furiously at the reflection of his maddeningly-cool black-caramel gaze, even as the pressure on your windpipe increases with a minute flex of his palm.

“Yeah. Y’got me there, princess.” His eyes flit across your exposed skin, like he’s trying to memorize all the shades and colors of you combined with the wreckage of his handiwork. “Maybe you should cover up some more. So it’s just you ‘n me who knows what’s under here.”

The cotton collar snaps back into place, covering almost all the evidence (save for the tail end of a day-old scraped hickey). Eddie releases your jaw and takes a step back, the warmth leaving your body all at once, frozen where you stand until sense returns.

You clear your throat before speaking, irritation prickling as you set to fixing your hair again from where Eddie’s interruption had stalled. “Whatever. Fine. But I’m only changing because it’s gonna be cold later, and a long sleeve will be better- not because you told me to.”

“Fine.” Eddie adopts a neutral tone as he settles back onto the mattress with a bounce, tugging absently at the inseam of his dark jeans to relieve some of the mounting tightness. “Have it your way.”

“I will,” you snap back, turning from the mirror on a socked heel, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy on the bed. “And you better have your boots on by the time I’m changed.”

With that, you flounce from Eddie’s room in search of a more conservative neckline, while Eddie pouts and pretends to have the will to disobey you for all of five seconds.

And then he’s up, trudging to the bureau reluctantly to source a pair of socks while scheming for the perfect excuse to take you both on the extra-long route to the barbecue.

[jjkeremika]

Valentine

description: AoT men and women asking you to on a valentine's date <3

pairing: Levi; Armin; Jean; Erwin; Eren & Mikasa; Historia; Zeke; Reiner x reader

Levi

Levi stood at your apartment door with flowers and concert tickets to your favorite band. He shifted his weight between his heels and toes as he nervously wondered if he should turn back before you realized he had arrived.

Two solid knocks and a light pause later, you opened the door to his stoic demeanor, his lips relaxing into a smile at the sight of you in comfy clothes. He briefly glanced down to his ratty jeans and aged leather jacket. “Hey,” he greeted after clearing his throat, regretting his appearance. He felt he should've dressed up for you.

“Levi, hey!” you returned excitedly, about to pull him in for a hug when you noticed the flowers in his hand. You didn’t comment on them. “What are you doing here? Oh! Come on in!”

You dragged him by his forearm inside, closing the door behind you. “Oh, I was just,” he said quietly, shrugging, “around. And,” Levi lifted the flowers, shifted the weight between his feet. “I saw these and thought of you.”

“Awh, Levi, they’re beautiful!” You eagerly took the flowers from him, brought them to your nose for a long sniff. “Thank you.” You hugged him with one arm before pulling away and rushing to your kitchenette. “Let me just get a vase. Make yourself comfortable as always.”

He followed you to the kitchen, stood awkwardly in the doorway and tried to not blatantly gawk at your figure as you bent over to search the cabinets for the vase.

“I, uh, also saw that Linked Horizon are coming on the fourteenth. Did you s—?”

“Oh my god, yeah!” you exclaimed, hopping up from your position in the cabinet, the ornate glass in your palms. “I saw that!” You filled the glass with water and a spoon of sugar. “But I never bought tickets and now it’s sold out.”

Levi rubbed the papery tickets against each other in his pocket. He watched as you used shears to cut the bottoms off the stems. He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket.

“Well, if you’re not busy that day…” You carefully dropped each stem in the water, rearranging the flowers and tossing the fallen leaves and petals. He stepped into the room, drawing your attention, and held the two tickets openly. “I’d like to go with you.”

Armin

Working at the library was honestly one of your favorite parts of the day. It was slow, mindless, relaxing, and quiet. The ambiance was kind, and any sour moods evaporated instantly once you entered those archaic arched doors.

Since it was a library, you didn’t really speak with your coworkers beyond necessity, but the blond boy who spent his time at the admin desk always caught your attention—and he was always already looking to you.

The two of you spoke in an unintelligible morse code, an unspoken language of wordless greetings and longing thoughts and lingering stares.

When you both started speaking, it was by bonding over a love of puzzles and logic traps. Armin and you shared stories of writing and interpreting ciphers and tricks, discussed possibilities of work-related games for entertainment.

On the twelfth, you started your shift with the return cart, and a large note in black ink stopped you from starting the task. For Y/N, please review the following, it read, proceeded by four rows each with four columns containing a decimal value and three numbers.

You recognized the decimal shorthand and spotted the books already on the return cart. You picked up the first one and reviewed the set of numbers, eventually determining it as indicators for the desired page number, line, and word.

Once you deciphered the message, you smiled and felt the warm flutter in your belly. You dragged the cart upstairs to the main entrance, stopped outside the administration room to see the familiar fluffy blond hair poking over the computer screen.

Wordlessly you entered and sauntered over to his desk, dropped the sheet of paper with the decoded message and your answer on his desk and left with a wink, leaving him with amazed wide eyes and an open jaw as you left the room.

Will you be my valentine?

—Yes x

Jean

Connie told him the traditional approach was stupid and uninteresting. “It’s y/n! They’re cool and fun and hilarious and awesome! You can’t do something unbelievably lame like you always do,” Connie had rambled in an eccentric voice that now haunted Jean’s thoughts.

“Fucking Connie,” Jean cursed to himself as he fixed his hair in the reflection of the window, trying to maintain his balance as the train rushed over unsteady tracks. He nervously glanced down at his watch, frantically grabbed the handlebar when the tram lurched to a stop.

Jean hopped off and rushed to the bar at which the two of you had decided to meet. He spotted you instantly, in the tight red fuzzy sweater vest and still perfectly fitting baggy jeans. He regretted his overly dressed up appearance with his matching suit and pink tie for somehow still lacking.

“Y/n,” Jean leisurely greeted with an eager grin and sparkling eyes, feeling his body warm up at the quick embrace you gave, “thank you for meeting me here.”

You gestured to the free seat next to you; he sat down. “Oh, Jean, it’s my pleasure,” you said with a smile, “thank you for asking me here.”

The conversation flowed naturally, and Jean felt himself warming up from your attention, the drink, or the room. He slid his jacket off and tugged on his necktie in a failed attempt to cool off.

You noticed the pink tint on his skin and the faint hitch in his breath. You noticed the awkward tugging on his necktie, that he was wearing a necktie at all. You noticed the smile he hid when you touched his arm with your long fingernails, when your thigh brushed against his.

As the night neared its end and he still hadn’t asked, the adrenaline rushed through his veins and he heard Connie’s cynical voice echo in his brain. He felt his stomach drop with each glance towards you, because he was convincing himself he couldn’t ask, couldn’t be worth more than nothing to you.

“I’d really like to see you again,” you hinted while you both stood on the pavement, “soon.” You felt the heat burning into your skull. The shocked expression on his face was tortuous. Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that was too far.

Maybe it was far enough. “Y/n… would you maybe like to spend Valentine’s day with me?”

Erwin

You had visited the older instructor’s office to ask some questions on the class content, to seek some extra support on upcoming assignments.

Connie had told you Smith was the most helpful of the instructors, but you neglected to factor in the biceps the size of your head, the voice that was smooth like margarine, the eyes that stranded you alone at sea. His help was marginalized by his distracting features, by the concerned expression when he asks if you understand contrasting his brilliant smile and demeanor when you say yes.

And did it really matter if you only understood when it came from him?

His elbow bumped into yours as he leaned to the side, closer to you, to view your page. "Y/n," he started, his leg brushing against yours as he uncrossed his thighs and leaned back in the chair, the skin tingling in his touch's memory, "would it help to meet regularly?"

The question alone caught you by surprise, but paired with his heavy tone, thick with uninterpretable layers, and a curious expression with a piercing blue, watchful gaze. You barely heard him tap his foot over the blood roaring in your ears.

"We can start with an additional meeting on the..." Erwin trailed off, clicking through his online tabs to find the calendar. "The fourteenth." He punctuated his sentence with a click on the date, your eye catching the empty schedule as it appeared on the screen. He turned to you. "We can start then and take it from there."

"O-Okay," you agreed, nodding in sync with the faint throb in your pelvis as your brain reeled with the improbable. "Thank you." Your voice was quiet, and you barely heard yourself speak.

"Absolutely," he breathed out, "more than happy to help." He glanced you up and down, rested his chin between his thumb and fingers to hide his lips, his light blue eyes darkening. "I'll order us something to eat too."

Eren & Mikasa

Mikasa was scribbling your and her names in the corner of her notebook page, actively drawing the small heart around it, when Eren suddenly and loudly slid into the seat next to her, causing her to jump and draw a line through the doodle. She hid it with her palm.

Eren looked at her with a bold desperation in his eyes. “Mikasa, I’ve been thinking about asking y/n out for Valentine’s…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side sheepishly. “Do you have any ideas?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened. “O-oh,” she stuttered out, taking a half-breath to quell the unsettling feeling in her gut, “I, um.” She glanced to the palm covering the doodle. “I’ve been wondering the exact same thing actually…” She swallowed dryly. “With y/n, too…”

It’s not that she expected him to be upset, but she was surprised when his eyes lit up in a mix of excitement and relief. He perked up, straightened his spine and leaned towards Mikasa. “Let’s ask together! We can do, like, a three-person date.” He shrugged, tried to contain his eagerness. “I’m not against it. But I still have no fucking clue how to ask.”

You entered the room mid-sentence, both of their eyes focusing to you as you crossed the room to a desk. You glanced up from your phone to see both of them already looking at you, both smiling and waving immediately.

“Hey, babes,” you greeted the two of them, affectionately fixing the out-of-place strand of hair near Mikasa’s forehead. You turned to Eren and smiled wider at his eager anticipation. “I was addressing you too,” you clarified, rubbing his shoulder.

Eren leaned into your touch. “Do you have any Valentine’s plans?” Mikasa asked, playing with her pen. You spotted the heart near her hand.

You started to feel warm, flattened your lips to try to suppress the growing grin but eventually bit your bottom lip. “Not currently. Sounds like I might in a minute, though,” you responded with a wink, smiled wider at the light pink stretching across her nose.

Eren’s voice caught your attention, and you suddenly became aware of the arm he snaked around your waist under your backpack, noticed that your arm had slid along his shoulders, “Would you... want to spend it with us?” he asked nervously, before rushing out, “It doesn’t have to be a date, but, well—”

The heat settled in your stomach, and you felt your pulse in each body part. Your smile twitched at the question—at the implication.

“Yes,” you interrupted Eren’s rambling with a confident answer to a question you’ve never considered before, but now will never forget, “I’d love to spend it with you two. As a date.”

Historia

Ymir had the largest scowl on her face when Historia shyly walked over to you, a pink blush on her cheeks and a sweaty hairline. You shifted uncomfortably under Ymir’s gaze when your eyes flicked to the blonde girl standing in front of you, looking at the floor.

“Hey, y/n,” she started quietly, her cute, high-pitched voice singing in your ear, “how’s your day going?” She had a sickeningly sweet smile, one that made your stomach flip and turn with nerves. You felt your inhale cut short as she stared at you with big, rounded blue eyes.

"Good, thanks," you answered with a smile, “how’s yours?” You continued to pack your bag with your notebooks, ignoring the uncomfortable heat of Ymir’s bold glare.

“Better now,” she answered, a light rouge appearing on her cheekbones. The giddy feeling erupted in your gut and bubbled into a doey smile. “Do you have Valentine’s plans yet?”

You shook your head, tugging on the last zipper. “Nope,” you answered casually, unbothered by the notion of being single on the love holiday, “i’ll probably watch a movie at home.”

“Oh, good idea! I love movies!” Historia added, the grin taking up her face. “I..." The tips of her ears tinted pink. "I don’t have plans either." She rocked back and forth on her heels, clutched her notebook a little closer to her chest. "Would you want to watch a movie together?”

You corrected your posture and returned her soft gaze. "Yeah," you answered with an exhale, started to put your backpack on. "I'd really like that."

Zeke

Zeke haphazardly handed you the blunt, the leaflet threatening to slip from your fingertips and fall from the third story window. “Ze, careful,” you told the older man, rolling your eyes despite the smile lingering on your pursed lips, “you’re gonna’ make me drop it.”

He snorted, settling with an open mouthed smile. You watched the faint red appear around his cerulean eyes. “I can’t make you do anything.” He stretched his hand out, silently requesting the roll back.

You crossed your legs, took a long huff, then passed it over. Your fingers brushed against his, the light sensation tickling the skin for moments after. “If you hand it off wrong and I drop it, that’s your fault,” you explained simplistically, shrugging to emphasize the easiness of it all.

The smoke curled around his beard, followed the lines of the glasses resting on top of his head. He flicked the wrap, spent ash falling to the windowsill. “But I didn’t make you drop it,” Zeke retorted, blowing some residual smoke into your face. He chuckled as you closed your eyes and swatted the contaminant away.

“But you played a direct role!” You reached over and stole the blunt from him before he brought it between his lips; the blond man laughed as he let you take it, watched intently as you brought it to your own. “Wouldn’t have happened without you,” you mumbled with a long exhale, the picturesque smoke rolling off your tongue.

Zeke leaned against the wall, let his wrist rest against his knee, and tilted his head. His smile softened the longer he stared at you directing smoke and ash out the window. “I also play a direct role in asking if you want to have dinner with me on the fourteenth, but I can’t make you say yes.”

You looked out the window, suppressing the blushing grin by biting your lip. You affectionately rolled your eyes at his redirection. Not the same thing—like at all. “It’s different when you know I will,” you retorted, taking a hit and holding it until it burned, still avoiding eye contact.

“So… you will?” He eyed you carefully, handed the rest of the blunt to you and dropped his glasses onto his nose. “Say yes, I mean?” Zeke nudged your foot with his.

The roll slipped from your fingers as you focused on hiding your red cheeks and toothy grin behind your palm. “Well, obviously, yeah,” you answered sheepishly. You spotted the wrap on the wooden floor. “And see! You made me drop it!”

Reiner

You patted into the kitchen to find Reiner in front of the stove, steam rising from the pans as he shifted between items. You admired his bare back, the smooth, silky-looking skin intimately caressing tight, bulky muscles interrupted only by the thin linen apron straps.

The sudden noise of the espresso machine caused you to jump and squeal, which brought Reiner's attention to you. He hurried over, gave you a quick kiss to the cheek. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet," he murmured between more kisses, eventually pressing his lips to yours for a lingering lock.

"I can smell everything from the next room," you responded, lightly tapping his firm chest and kissing his lips again. He pulled away to attend to the aromatic contents on the stove. You sat on a bar stool. “Smells delicious, by the way.”

You saw the way his thin lips morphed into a pleased smile. “Should taste so, too,” he hummed his agreement, turned his back towards you for five more minutes. You indulged in the sight, feeling your own pupils dilate to take in more of his broad shoulders and tailored back.

Then he was making a lot of ruckus, rapidly opening drawers to find utensils and rushing to and from the fridge for toppings and ingredients. He was tossing food onto one plate and carefully aligning it on another.

You slipped off the stool to peak over, smiled at his concentrated brows and peaking tongue as he drizzled chocolate onto the dish.

You were right behind him when he turned around with the dish ostentatiously in his hands, his kind blue eyes sparkling with pride and excitement and anticipation.

You audibly gasped and brought your hands to your open smile. “Reiner! Wow!” you said astonished, hearing and feeling your stomach rumble with hunger at the sight of the heart-shaped pancakes with a chocolate lace drizzle, at the bacon and eggs and toast arranged on the side.

He waited for you to read the hidden message, the note written in jam on the toast. You giggled, took the plate from him to put on the counter, and embraced him. “I’d love to be your valentine,” you said with a long kiss.

[theragethatisdesire]

"ti penso ogni giorno" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

first fic! kind of threw this together while traveling and had no beta readers, so please be nice to me. i've been spending some time in the italian countryside and got a little inspired.

pairing: reader x eren jaeger

wc: 7.5k (jesus christ)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, unprotected sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, princess), slight breeding kink (if you squint) crying, multiple orgasm, creampie, aftercare

**title means "i think about you every day" in italian :')

Standing on top of this mountain looking over unfamiliar fields, you don’t remember a time in the recent past you’ve felt so at peace, the quiet fluttering of the sparrows easing the ever-present ache in your heart.

It was a tasteful ceremony. A small church in the middle of the Chianti region, in a little town with a name you couldn’t pronounce, decorated with so many candles that the room was sweltering, even with the breeze wafting in from the hills. Mikasa and Jean’s little girl, Clara, had played the role of flower girl perfectly; you hadn’t seen her since she was a newborn, and there she was, toddling down the aisle on fat little three-year-old legs. Historia and Ymir were beautiful brides, practically unchanged over the years, still as consumed with each other as they had been in college.

Even now, you distinctly remember a drunken night when Ymir promised Historia that she would take her to Europe one day, and here she was, marrying her beloved blonde in the heart of Italy. Another memory surfaces, parallel to that one, of someone looping an arm around your waist as you watched college-Ymir make her declaration, a whisper in your ear of the same promise. You pack that up and tuck it away as soon as it surfaces, scratching at your elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” Mikasa’s voice is behind you, drawing closer. You smile down at Clara, holding her mother’s hand and wobbling out into the grass.

“Just thinking,” you sigh, swishing your wine around in its glass, “I should come back in and join the party.”

“They just finished the champagne toast, but you haven’t missed the first dance,” Mikasa agrees.

You take Clara’s other hand and reluctantly allow yourself to be led back into the thick of things, the two of you swinging the little girl between you. Her shrieks of joy make you smile in spite of yourself, calming the nerves fluttering around in your stomach. Years had passed and things had changed, you and everyone else around you included.

It was a gorgeous reception, even more beautiful than the ceremony. They’d chosen a huge stone patio outside of the massive villa they’d rented, covered by columns of stone arching up to form a roof and dripping with flowered vines. It was exactly what you would’ve chosen, so beautiful it didn’t need decoration. Simple, natural, Tuscan.

“He didn’t bring a date,” Mikasa murmurs to you as you enter the terrace, scanning the room for Jean. She didn’t need to specify who “he” was; you had seen him at the ceremony, longer hair than you remembered, two rows ahead of you. Even if you hadn’t, the sad truth was there was really only one “he” for you, and Mikasa knew that.

“What do you want me to do with that?” You respond, trying and failing to mask your discomfiture with irritation.

“Whatever you want,” Mikasa shrugs, vague as always, scooping Clara up onto her hip and striding across the tented reception to Jean. You watch her go, watch Jean take Clara and kiss Mikasa, envy and self-pity clawing at your heart.

Ymir and Historia chose a slower song than you expected; it must be Historia’s doing that they were doing a first dance at all. Ymir had made it exceptionally clear during the bachelorette trip that all of the frills were to make Historia happy, and she was mostly looking forward to the honeymoon. The memory makes you snort into your empty wine glass, until you catch a glimpse of green eyes across the room.

Eren’s suit is more expensive than anything you knew he owned, sharp at the corners and resembling something your boss’ boss would wear. Mikasa had mentioned months ago that Eren and Zeke’s business was really taking off, but you find yourself wondering if these were the clothes he wore now, or if it was a splurge. He’s staring at you, no surprise there. Breakup aside, Eren’s the most possessive person you’ve ever known, and anything that was his is always his, at least from his point of view. That was part of the problem, you reflect, tracing your red fingernail around the rim of your wine glass.

The first dance concludes and amidst the applause, waiters begin circling the room with hors d'oeuvres, little bits of smoked salmon and crudite platters. After the travel and ceremony, you’re ravenous, and you begin weaving your way through the crowd to track down a tray with carbohydrates on it.

You’re halfway through stuffing a croquette into your mouth when Armin interrupts you, chuckling. “Hungry?”

“I only flew over this morning,” you excuse yourself, dabbing at your mouth with a cocktail napkin. Armin doesn’t care, you know that, but after the last few years of cocktail hours with the most influential magazine and website owners in the world, manners are second-nature.

“At least it was a short flight. You came from…Belgium?”

“Moscow,” you shrug, “four hour flight into Milan, two hour train, hour long car service.”

“Car service?” Armin cocks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you gotten fancy over the years?”

You blush, embarrassed. “Did you fly from the states?”

“Shanghai, actually.” Armin’s face shows it, still puffy from the flight. “I don’t even know how many hours, just that it was long.”

“I’ve made that flight,” you say, empathizing, “not a fun one.”

“I was able to throw some miles from my company card into it and get first class, though, it was the nicest-”

“Can I join you two?” Your heart drops. You knew he was watching you, he’s always watching you, but to be so bold as to interrupt a conversation, speak to you here? Now?

“Sure, Eren,” Armin steps to the side to make room for Eren at the high-top table you’ve found yourselves gathering around, “we were just catching up on our flights over.”

Eren nods, masterfully collected as he smiles politely at you. “I actually had business over here, so I left New York maybe…a week ago, now? It wasn’t bad at all, our company card covers first-class flights.”

Some strange mix of annoyance and being impressed swells in your throat. You take a swig of wine to swallow it, not trusting yourself to resist throwing out a snarky comment or alternatively inquiring about where this first-class-covering business card came from. You don’t owe him the satisfaction. Armin nods politely, but you can see the tension in his smile. The history between Eren and you could stretch for miles of scorched earth, and it’s no secret. You imagine that earth, black and smoking, half-finished houses with white picket fences smoldering down to their foundations.

“So,” Eren breaks the silence, turning to you, “where did you come in from?”

“Moscow.” One-word answers, minimal detail, you assure yourself in your head. He won’t get his claws in you this time if you don’t let him.

“Moscow is beautiful,” Eren sips the bourbon that you had considered throwing in his face when he approached, “but a little cold this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It was very nice, actually,” you can’t help disagreeing for the sake of it, “I was only in town for a few days covering a story, anyway.” Shit. You’ve betrayed yourself already and revealed a detail. Eren’s smile curls up over his cheeks like a cat that’s found a trapped mouse. You kick yourself inwardly.

“Hear that, Armin? Our little bookworm is still writing.”

You roll your eyes at the old nickname from college, earned by your constant pleas to stay in for a comfy night instead of a frat party. You had read over 350 books in college, breaking your four-year goal by at least fifty. Eren used to beg you to tell him the stories you read before bed like a child, because he couldn’t be bothered to read the actual book and it sounds so much more interesting when you read it, baby. And up until the last three years, you had obliged him. Now, the only person you read to sleep is yourself.

“I made a career out of it,” you snip, “so yes, still writing.”

“Clara’s getting into the wedding cake- I don’t see Mikasa, shit, one sec-” Armin’s sentence is cut short by the speed with which he darts away from the pair of you, running off towards a table on the other side of the room. You don’t necessarily blame him, but you seethe anyway, vowing to repay him for abandoning you.

“Career, hm?” Eren hums pleasantly. “Work’s going well, then?”

You snatch a second glass of wine off of a passing tray, wanting more than anything to walk away from him, but you both know your feet won’t move. Getting a nice buzz going is your only option, at this point. You take a healthy swig, shrugging. “I enjoy it, and it pays.” 

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Eren murmurs, quiet and thoughtful. You blush and frown all at once.

“Says the one wearing a $6,000 suit.”

“Is it?” Eren fingers his lapel. He looks amused, and you want to smack the faux-bashfulness right off of his face. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Your work must be going exceedingly well, then,” you glare, seeing right through him. The facade falters for just a moment, a critical moment: Eren almost looks sad.

“The business took off about a year ago,” he’s not looking at you, focusing on something in the distance, “so I’m traveling almost constantly now. I hardly see Zeke, my only company is usually just my assistant or a flight attendant. I love visiting a new city every week, but it’s…”

“Lonely?” You finish for him before you can stop yourself. He nods, looking surprised.

“Your work keeps you on the go now, too?”

“I switched over to a rolling travel schedule two years ago, when Rolling Stone started their global music column. It ended up being super popular and I’m the lead journalist, so I’m basically running all over the world listening to the weirdest music you can imagine. They had me head over to Berlin one time to cover the ‘rising alien punk scene’; it was…really something.” You pull a funny face at the memory, Eren laughs, a deep, real laugh from the belly. You can hear yourself rambling, revealing, but you can’t stop. It’s so natural that the realization of falling back into yourself, the self that loved Eren, is making your skin crawl. You should walk away, look for an out-

“Have you explored the grounds at all?”

Eren’s question snaps you out of your moment of clarity, back into his magnetic field. “The grounds?”

“This house,” Eren gestures to the villa that Ymir and Historia have rented for their closest friends, “sits on over a thousand acres of vineyard. The best wine in the world.”

“I can tell,” you examine the legs on your glass of red, provided by the vineyard itself, “it’s not my usual French, but it’s incredible.”

“Snob,” Eren grins at you. You have always been a picky wine drinker, Eren used to joke that you could pass a sommelier test without even taking the course. “So, the grounds?”

He offers you an elbow. You look at it, weighing but not really weighing your options, and slip your arm through his, feeling the rapid thudding of your pulse. You’re fairly sure if anyone looked closely at your neck, they’d see the frantic heartbeat insistently pushing right under your skin. You tell yourself it will only be a short walk, just a few minutes, because you do want to see the grounds, even if it’s with the last person you should be spending any time with. You hope that you’ll be able to sneak out without catching Mikasa’s eye.

Eren tugs you along, prattling on about the history of the vineyard, entirely unaware that you’re not listening. This Eren is so different from the Eren you left in New York, but still similar, still feels like home. His nose and jaw have only grown stronger with age, but his eyes still have a youthful glimmer, even if they seem sharper and more intense than you’ve ever seen them. It’s unlikely that he’s physically grown even taller between 23 and 26, but his presence makes him seem like the tallest man in the room. He’s self assured, confident, and in charge, in a manlier, more mature way that you’ve never seen before. A heat simmers in your stomach as you admire the curve of his strong neck, and you want to swat your own hand, tell yourself to settle down. It’s just a walk.

“I think I could die happy here,” Eren says, looking over the view you’ve approached, about a half mile from the rest of the party now. You chuckle.

“A beautiful view and some good wine is all it takes?”

“That’s most of it, these days,” Eren shrugs, “but I do need cable. And-”

“A television, a gym, at least one case of shitty domestic beer in the house at all times,” you count off on your fingers.

“For starters,” Eren concedes with a shy grin. “And a wife.”

Those last two words cause your heart to stop altogether. You look around, realizing just how far you are from the villa, how alone you are with him. The sun is setting reluctantly around you both, sinking slowly, holding onto the landscape with an iron grip.

“That would be nice,” you stammer, “f-for you, definitely.”

“Want to explore this building over here?” As if nothing out of the ordinary happened, Eren points out a smaller home down the hill from you both. “It’s really cool inside.”

You trudge along beside him, having kicked off your heels and left them at the reception long ago, and a fresh wave of anger kicks up in your chest. It was just so quintessentially Eren; drop a bomb, and then act like nothing happened. It reminds you that there are aspects of Eren you can’t stand, and that reminder instills you with the confidence to seclude yourself with him in the charming little stone house.

It is really cool. No window panes in the entire bottom floor, just the fresh vineyard air rolling in. There’s a little kitchenette, some various odds and ends of sofas and chairs sprawling across the clay-bricked floors. A huge table, clearly made for workers’ lunch breaks over the centuries, squats in the middle of the bottom floor, and racks of wine cover the walls. You break away from him to pick up a bottle or two, examine the label, brush off some dust.

Eren grants you a few moments to yourself before you sense him behind you, closer than you want to consider.

“Anything good?” He says, peering right over your shoulder from the sound of it.

You turn around before you can regret it, chest to chest with him. He’s hunching his head to make the best eye contact with you he can, the way he’s always done. You focus on breathing normally, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how his proximity still affects you after all these years. “A ‘92 vintage Chianti. They actually talked about this wine in my sommelier course; I didn’t even realize this was the same vineyard.”

“You took the course?” Eren smiles crookedly, an endearing grin that you’ve always loved. You smile despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, “I took the course.”

Eren grins wider, and thankfully leaves you there, striding across the room to shuffle through the kitchen drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a wine key and two glasses. You cock your head, confused.

“It’s supposed to be the best, huh? Crack it open.”

“Eren…” you trail off, holding the bottle gingerly, “this bottle has to be over a thousand dollars. We can’t do it.”

“Did I forget to mention this is my bunk for the trip?” He smiles again, his prominent canines glinting in the sunset light streaming in, gesturing around the room grandly; your knees nearly buckle at the sight. “Bedroom’s upstairs. Ymir and Historia said any of the wine’s up for grabs. It’s the owners’ fault if they left the good stuff out for us to get into, and it’s on my tab anyway.”

You’re nearly speechless, not only that Eren got an entire house to himself (he’s always been the spoiled brat of the friend group), but that he tricked you into coming here, with him. When you fail to respond, he takes it simply as more reluctance to open the bottle, and he grabs the bottle from you and starts to dig the corkscrew in through the top.

You let a few beats pass, considering your options as he pours the wine. When he finally hands you the glass, you give voice to your thoughts, testing the waters. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you love wine and the house is cool,” Eren shrugs innocently, taking a sip, “damn, that’s good. Try it.”

You hold your glass stock-still in your hands. “We’re done with…what we used to do, you know. That’s not what’s going on here.”

The air sparkles with dust; Eren’s demeanor stutters, a small frown working its way onto his face. “Just try the wine, babe.”

Your heart flutters, your stomach sinks, your memories with Eren shriek from the back of your mind. The pet name is too familiar, too easy, and it brings a cold chill over you. As you’re prone to do, your panic comes shooting out coated in snark.“Babe? Yeah, no, I’m done-”

“Sorry, sorry– it was a mistake, force of habit,” Eren’s already apologizing as you’re talking; you hate how he can still anticipate your reaction before you can give it. He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, rolling his eyes, “a mistake. Try your wine, you don’t know when you’re going to stumble across that again.”

You let him hold your wrist, enjoying the pressure of his strong hands into the delicate flesh of your arm despite yourself. You look between him, the wine, the room several times, as if you’re weighing your decision. You know what you’re going to choose, but maybe you can pretend that he doesn’t know, too. Eren’s willing to play along, eyes wide and pleading.

Without breaking your gaze, you carefully taste the wine. Damn him, it is good. It has a complexity of flavor and a depth to it that’s incredibly rare, even in the French countryside wines you tend to favor. Even though you fight it, you smile at him and offer your glass for him to pour more.

The bottle passes quickly, both of you settling yourselves in chairs at the kitchen table, discussing old friends, new friends, reminiscing on the college years when you were both a little happier and a little less sane. You hardly notice the sun setting further, the smallest bits of twilight leaking into the corners of the sky.

“Your teeth are so red,” you giggle, head spinning. The wine was delicious, delicious enough for Eren to pop open a second bottle, but God, was it strong. You aren’t sure how you’ll manage the walk back up to the reception- is the reception even still going on?

“So are yours,” Eren pinches your cheek, giggling drunkenly along with you.

“God, you’re right.” You place a finger onto your teeth, rubbing frantically at the wine stains to no avail. Eren reaches a wobbling hand out to pull your fingers out of your mouth, shaking his head. He frowns and shakes his head, childlike.

“Don’t take them off.”

“The wine stains?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? They make teeth look dirty,” you laugh again, trying to shove your finger back into your mouth where Eren’s holding it.

“I…okay, maybe it’s weird, but I always thought it was kind of sexy when your teeth were all red from wine,” Eren blushes, and it’s so childishly endearing that you can feel your heart swell.

“Really?”

“I never told you that?” Eren looks astonished, chuckling under his breath. “It drove me crazy back when we were together. You’d go to Historia’s, or Sasha’s, or whoever’s and down a bottle or two of red and come stumbling back into that crappy apartment in Harlem-”

“-the one with the mean bodega lady outside!”

“Yes!” Eren snaps his fingers, pointing at you excitedly. “Anyway, you’d come waddling back in, hair a mess and wine all over your teeth, your lips would be bright purple, and you’d always be so horny-”

“Eren!”

“It’s true! You’d ride me for an hour before you knocked out.” Eren sipped his wine, smiling in a private way that you felt was just for you.

“An hour seems like a bit of a stretch,” you murmur, looking down into your glass. You’ve almost finished your wine and you shouldn’t have any more, the reception is waiting for you and you’ve been gone with Eren long enough that you’ve been missed at this point. When you pull your head up, Eren looks different. It’s a familiar face on a new man: his eyes have a mischievous glimmer in them, the sunset winking at you through his green irises.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips; your mind wanders to that tongue, those lips. Mentally, you dance over what you know those lips and tongue can do, how they feel on your mouth, your neck, between your legs. Your wine-addled mind tries to shake the persistent thought. Eren reaches a hand over to your mouth, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the corner of your lips.

“Still think it looks sexy,” he mumbles, half-drunk and half expecting a stern reprimand from you. His eyes search your face, curious of your reaction. It’s the moment you’ve been running around the world from for the last three years, finally coming to fruition here in this little house. 

You embarrass and surprise yourself simultaneously: tears well in your eyes. You want him; you’re drunk and beautiful and desperate for him in the beautiful countryside of Italy, but he’s so bad for you. They’re tears that have been waiting behind your eyes, tears of frustration and desire.

“Why are you crying?” Eren asks, furrowing his brow. You know he knows, he understands you and your emotions better than anyone. You’re angry with him, angry that he knows the source of your tears before you open your mouth.

“We’re done, Eren,” you fail miserably to steel your voice, “we can’t do this anymore, remember? It’s not good for us.”

“It’s been three years, baby,” Eren responds, still rubbing his thumb over your lips, “three years of growing. We’re different now– I’m different.”

“No,” you sniffle, feeling like a child. Whether he’s changed or not is still up for debate, but your sore heart can only take so much. He’s so beautiful, soaked in sun and wine and temptation, simpering at you. Your resolve is weakening by the second.

“Yes,” Eren insists, “it’s me. You belong to me, you know you do.”

“Eren–”

“You always do this, always try to run from me, but I’ll always find you,” he murmurs, “I’ll go to every corner of the earth if I need to. I’ll always find you because you’re mine.”

You’d love to say that he leaned in, he grabbed your face and pulled you to him, but you’d be lying. It’s you who leans forward ever so slightly, catching your chapped lips in his and kissing him tentatively. You wouldn’t be lying if you told anyone that he sighed into your mouth, ready to feel your body under his hands again. You wouldn’t be lying in the slightest.

Eren allows you a few tentative kisses, a few pecks against his lips, familiar and new all the same. Once you’ve had your fill of shyness, your obligatory ruse of unassuredness, he reaches for you, scooping you into his lap. You straddle him, whimpering at the friction of his already-growing bulge against your clothed cunt. He has to push your dress up to allow you room to spread your legs over him; you’re wearing a slinky little silk number, a gorgeous deep brown against your tanned skin, but not cooperative for lap-sitting.

Eren’s tongue is practically down your throat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you have to pull away for air, hands roaming your now-bare thighs.

“This dress,” he pants between kisses, “is so fucking perfect on you. Look so good for me.”

You sigh into his mouth, running your hands through his hair. Off to the side of your mind, you realize you may have knocked his hair out of its bun, but the dark locks feel so soft in your fingers, you can’t bring yourself to apologize for it. He’s wrapping his hands around your ass; Eren always loved your full hips, and it seems that that fact hasn’t changed.

Your hands find their way to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’s grown stronger over the years, definitive muscles rippling under your fingers, but the broadness he’s always possessed is still there. He’s large compared to you, twice as wide and at least a head taller, and you loathe to admit it, but it turns you on. You love the way he manhandles you, the way he pushes and pulls you exactly how he wants you, the way he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, rocking them against his own.

A particularly well-placed thrust of his hips against yours elicits a wanton groan from you, spilling into his mouth. Eren moans back, moving away from your lips to mouth his way down your throat.

“Gonna sit you up now, okay?”

He stands, knocking the chairs aside on his way up, to set you on the table, the perfect height for him to grope at you, pull your dress this way and that.

“Wanna get this thing off, will you let me?”

You hesitate, or try to, at least. His hands are dizzying, flying all over your body and squeezing at just the right spots as he nibbles on your earlobe. “But, the reception–”

“Sh, sh, sh. We’re so far away, baby, they’ll never even know, yeah?” Eren goads you and you’re putty in his hands, the rapidly-shrinking rational part of your brain growing quieter with each kiss, each pet. He manages to wrench your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a stringy pair of panties. Eren steps back to look over you; you resist the urge to cover yourself. You know his routine.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, palming your tits, “you’re perfect, do you know that? So beautiful just for me, aren’t you?”

You flush pink from your chest to your forehead. Even after years of love and war and running, his bedroom talk still gets to you. Eren loves to tell you what he thinks of you, and you’ve never managed to grow accustomed to hearing it.

“Say it.”

“Hm?” You hum, preoccupied with his mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts, even pausing to suck a bruise into the side of your left.

“Say you’re beautiful, tell me how pretty you are for me.”

This part is new; Eren has always loved to talk to you in bed, but your participation in the dirty talk has been minimal until now. Your blush grows even deeper. “I’m beautiful, beautiful just for you.”

“Good girl,” Eren purrs, allowing you to pull his head closer to your chest. His tongue swirls around one nipple. He closes his lips around it, sucking hard, and you moan openly, pulling him closer. Eren grins, letting his teeth pinch down on it. “You still like when I play with your tits, hm?”

“Yes,” you hiss, too caught up in pleasure to address his smugness.

“Know you baby, know you inside and out. These tits are mine,” a hand wanders down to your cunt, swiping across your panties and feeling the wetness that soaks them, “and this pussy’s mine too. You might not love me anymore, but your body– oh, she loves me.”

You have no way to respond to that, no way to address what those words do to your brain. Chagrin as you might be to admit it, he’s right. Eren was your first and only adult relationship, fucking your body into submission for years and training it, training your cunt to respond to him and the way he liked to touch you. He’s pushed and prodded you into his perfect little fuckdoll, and you let him and you loved it. You loved every second of it, and god does it feel good rushing back to you now, finally under his hands again after years without.

Eren nudges your panties to the side, rubbing quick circles over your clit, just the way you like it. A long, heady whine leaks from your lips, your hips urgently roll towards him.

“Missed me? Is that it?” Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smug grin on his lips. Eren loves when you’re needy for him.

“Mhm,” you indulge him in the hopes you’ll get what you want, and you’re right. A long finger sinks into you, instantly curling to press into the spongy spot within your walls that has you swooning, clutching desperately onto his shoulders.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

You pull at his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his collared shirt. “Want it off, want to see you.”

Eren relents, pulling his hand from you to step back and strip his shirt and jacket. He is as muscular as he feels; you drag your eyes over his strong chest, his defined abs, and the deep V leading down below his belt. You briefly remember all of your post-college friends, girls that had never known Eren, teasing you that he was your hottest ex. You had blushed, but you understand. He’s like a Greek statue, glistening with sweat from the evening heat, every crevice of him on display just for you. It sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body, and you pull him back to you, relishing in the feel of his hands on you.

“Want me to make you cum, is that it?” Eren’s amused, sinking two fingers into your heat. You croon, nodding desperately. He chuckles, moving his fingers against the spot inside of you. “I’ve got you, don’t worry baby. Gonna make you feel good.”

You nod again into his shoulder, attached to him wherever you can find the space, grasping his body and pulling it to yours. You wish you had the capacity to be ashamed of your need, laid bare for him to see, but you don’t. All you can think about is his fingers moving in you, gaining speed and bringing you closer to an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He slides a third in, just to be safe, and you’re so wet that your pussy accepts it willingly. The stretch makes you pout, push at his chest. “Too much, Eren–”

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he huffs, his arousal getting the better of him, “get you ready to get fucked. Cunt’s tight after all these years, isn’t it? Gotta work it open.”

That does a lot to your hazy brain; you bite deep into his shoulder, moans coming faster and louder as he works his fingers in you. The bubble is building in the pit of your stomach, your hips are canting towards him.

“Eren, Eren I–”

“I know, I know,” he coos, fingers curling inside you even faster, “my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? You want to cum all over my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry into his skin, biting and moaning alternatively. Your head’s spinning; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You’re no nun, not by any means, but Eren knows your body, crafted it to respond to him, to his hands and mouth and cock, and your body is rejoicing at the feel of him on and in you again. You can’t hold it, you know you can’t, you’re moments away now. “Eren, I’m going to cum, I’m gonna–”

“Do it, baby,” he growls into your ear, his fingers working even faster, thumb moving up to swipe at your clit, “give it to me, want to hear you cum.”

Your body convulses and you’re cumming hard, with Eren the first one of the night always goes that way. Eren knows it, pulls you close against him and works his fingers in you, helping you ride it out. He’s practically purring into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, cumming all over his fingers like that, and you eat it up. You cry into his flesh where it’s secured between your teeth, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.

Your orgasm begins to fade, and you find the presence of mind to shove at his fingers, begging for a reprieve. “Give me your cock, want it in my mouth.”

“Is that what you need?” Eren’s already helping you onto your knees, gentle, but needy. “Need my cock in your mouth?”

“Please,” you say eagerly, adjusting your knees to a comfortable position on the dirt floor, easily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his legs. He steps out of his shoes, kicking his pants off, strong thighs twitching under your nails as you softly scratch down them. A groan rumbles in Eren’s chest at your enthusiasm, he places a hand on your head, running through your curls.

“Can’t be for too long, ‘kay?” Eren pants, hissing when you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “Still gotta fuck you, feel you cum on me.”

You hum your approval, popping him fully into your mouth with a satisfied moan. You’ve always loved taking him in your mouth, the comforting weight of him on your tongue. You’re getting impossibly wetter, feeling the heat gather between your legs as you bob your head up and down on him, listening to his satisfied little grunts and groans above you.

Eren rubs a hand over your cheek, mutters his approval, thrusts his hips forwards unwittingly a few times. You gag when he does, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve taken him like this so many times, even with his impressive size, you love the feel of him pressing back into your throat until you choke.

“Fuck, fuck, baby it’s– it’s too much,” Eren indulges in a few more thrusts into your throat before grabbing your hair and urging you off of him, “need your pussy, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with that, letting him pull you to your feet, an anticipatory smile cracking across your face. You’re drunk on the wine and sex and him, babbling nonsensically. “Wanna feel you, Eren, need you.”

“I’ve got you, gonna make you feel so good, princess.” Impressively, Eren scoops you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both over to the wall, pressing you up against it. “Gonna make you mine all over again, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a loaded question, but you’re so captivated by him, all you can do is murmur your agreement, tell him you want to be his because at least for now, you do. Eren’s magnetic, the man you run from so you don’t get lost in him, but tonight, you’re willing to drown. You’re begging for it.

The stone wall is rough against your bare back, but the head of Eren’s cock rubbing through your folds distracts you, a promise of what’s to come.

“Please, please put it in, Eren, I need–”

“My girl needs to be full, doesn’t she?” Eren’s smirking at you, slipping the tip of his cock in. Even the stretch of that alone is enough to make you moan, digging your nails into his back. “There you go, gonna fill you up, make you all better.”

You nod into his shoulder, the weight of your actions catching up to you as he presses himself into you, fills you entirely. Eren’s your kryptonite, he’s a drug, he’s an overwhelming presence, you can’t think straight around him. Before coming to this wedding, you told yourself you’d stay away, but you can’t help it. Everything about him is like he’s sculpted just for you, your body yields to him so easily you think you might be made just for him too. His skin, salty and sweaty from the summer air, is delicious under your tongue.

He’s moving now, fucking up into you desperately, like he loves you and like he wants to break you. You jolt in his arms, helpless to do anything but take and take and take everything he has to give you.

He smiles against your open mouth, placing a sloppy kiss over it. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, letting him manhandle you. Eren’s always rough with you, always riding the line of too much, and you love taking it. You love letting him push you to your limits.

“Missed my cock in you, didn’t you? This cunt was made for me,” Eren huffs, “made just for me. Mine, isn’t it?”

You don’t indulge him with an answer, loathe to admit that your cunt is made for him, but you feel yourself clench down around him, more of your wetness soaking his lower stomach. Eren chokes out some mix of a moan and a breathless laugh, fucking up into you harder. “What a perfect answer, baby. You love it, I know you do.”

“I love it,” you agree, simpering against him as your willpower fizzles out to nothing. You’re reluctant to believe it, but there’s another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Your body responds to him in a way it responds to no one else, clinging to him and growing wet for him and tightening around him.

Eren’s digging his hands into your hips, moving you up and down on his cock more so than actually thrusting. He’s panting against your ear, hot and heavy and in tune with your own gasps. He nudges his mouth down to plant sloppy kisses around your shoulder, just at the crook of your neck in the sensitive spot that he knows you love, remembers even after all these years. 

“Been too fucking long, baby,” Eren says, “gonna cum soon.”

You nod into his neck, cunt tightening around him at the prospect of his cum inside you. Just the thought of it sends your mind into orbit; a little fantasy forms in your hazy head of him fucking you like this every night, like he used to, a child with your curls and deep, green eyes-

“Gonna let me cum in this perfect cunt, aren’t you?”

As usual, Eren’s right in line with you– the synchronicity makes you moan again. “Please, please–”

“Gotta cum with me, alright? You can do that for me, can’t you?” You can, you will, but you’re so close to the edge when you try to respond your words are jumbled together. Even so close to his own release, Eren snickers at you. “My sweet girl’s all fucked out, can’t even talk.”

“Need your cum,” you manage, “please, Eren, m’close.”

Years ago, through strenuous games of overstimulation and denial, Eren trained your body to wait for him, you can’t cum unless he does and you know it. Your only option is to beg, hot shame warming your face. Eren remembers, just like you do, it makes him grin, feral and dangerous in the early evening light.

“Need my cum, baby? Needy, so needy, so beautiful,” he’s starting to slur, you know he’ll finish soon, “gonna cum in this perfect cunt of yours, never let you keep it from me again. Maybe I’ll knock you up, hm? Can’t run from me with my baby in you.”

Your watery eyes fly open at that, the logical part of your brain long-quieted, and you moan loud for him again, just the way he likes. Eren’s thrusts have grown sloppy, he’s grabbing you so hard now you know you’ll be left with Eren-shaped bruises on your hips.

Eren finally cums in you with your name on his lips, long and deep, keeping his cock fully seated inside you. It triggers your orgasm, a toe-curling wave of pleasure coursing through your body, straining your sore muscles. Eren’s mouth is pressed against yours and all you can manage is a whimper, feeling his cum warm your pussy, leak out around from where you’re both still joined together.

All the energy’s been pulled from your body now; you slump against his shoulder and whine when he slides out of you. Eren places you gently on the floor, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before leading you upstairs on shaking legs. It smells like Eren up here, the pricey cologne he favors and the scent of well-loved sweatshirts intoxicating you. There are no words between the two of you as he leads you to the bathroom, helping you sit on the toilet seat as Eren rummages around for a washcloth to clean you.

“We need to go back to the reception,” you say weakly, wincing as Eren rubs the cloth over your cunt.

“What do you think?”

You frown, confused. “About?”

“Us, again,” he’s avoiding your eyes, focusing on his work between your legs. You’re not surprised he waited until you were disarmed to ask, brain still muddled and dizzy.

“Eren–”

“I am different now,” he finally meets your eyes, gaze alight with the burning, too-hot-to-touch love you know so well, the only love Eren knows how to offer, “got a therapist like you were always asking me to. I meditate every day. I’ll be so good to you, you know how good I am.”

He is good to you, you remember it well, your own tendency to flee was what broke you up in the first place. You’d left his heart shattered on the sidewalk of your apartment back in New York City, overwhelmed with commitment and unwilling to give his flaws the same grace he gave yours. You’re opposites: he’s hot where you’re cool, angry where you’re distant, argumentative where you’re cold. You sigh, head feeling heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me? What about the lives we have now?”

“We’d make it work, line our schedules up together” the corner of his mouth curls, you want to kiss him again, “we’re always able to figure something out.”

You hate yourself for it, you want to run from him, get a car to the airport right now. You also want to pull him into your arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, kiss that hesitant smile on his face and never stop. “I…can I sleep on it?”

Eren’s face lights up, a kid on Christmas morning. He’s always been so expressive in these quiet moments; unreadable in a crowded room, but when it’s just you and him, his heart’s always been on his sleeve. He can’t help it. “Yeah, just sleep on it.”

You get yourself as put-together as you can, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, slip the dress back over your shoulders and concede one more kiss to Eren. It’s slow, long and languid, tongues slipping over one another, the desperation now cooled into a sense of homecoming. 

You hold hands as you climb the hill back to the reception. Your knees wobble, and it makes Eren laugh, makes you blush. He’s still going on about the villa’s history, and you’re half-listening, admiring the stars above you both. The reception is still going on, albeit a bit more subdued than earlier. Some guests have trickled out, finding their beds, but your friends are still seated around a table, drunk and laughing.

Connie’s the worst, of course, leaning on Jean and regaling everyone with a tale about their Midwestern childhood together; Mikasa’s buried under Clara, who’s sleeping soundly in her lap; Ymir and Historia are alternating between listening and kissing one another; Sasha’s struggling with a corkscrew and a tricky wine bottle, Armin attempting to help her.

Your face warms as all eyes turn to you, rumpled and suspicious and late. Mikasa raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her face.

“Where have you two been? You missed the garter toss,” Ymir nudges Historia conspiratorially.

“Just touring the grounds,” Eren answers coolly, pulling the empty chair beside Mikasa and offering it to you. You sit, grateful to be off of your shaking legs.

“It’s so beautiful here, thanks for putting us all up…” you accept the glass of wine Armin is offering over your shoulder, tipping it in the happy couples’ direction. Historia murmurs a quiet ‘you’re welcome’, the entire table exchanging knowing glances. You scowl, being left out of a joke is one of your pet peeves. “What?”

Jean grins lewdly. “Nothing, just…I don’t think Eren’s room is as far from the main house as you two think it is.”

[gretavangroupie]

Transcendent - Two

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 15.6k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Cursing, Mention and Use of Magic, Black Magic, Curses, Mentions of Death, Anxiety, Attempted Assault, Mention of Injury, Blood, Arranged Marriage, Sadness, Crying. Smut: Sexual Themes, Heavy Pining, Kissing, Touching, Fingering.

A/N: Surprise! @gretavanmoon and I are back with another chapter of what has to be our favorite project yet. Without giving too much away, this will not be your traditional storyline. We've been dreaming on this one for a while and after a quick little break we are ready to get back to business. There will be no posting schedule with this story, taking it as it comes to give you the best story possible. But, it will be ongoing throughout this Winter and Spring season. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. It means the world to us and truly keeps us going.

The harsh sunlight blinds me as my eyes flutter open and I find myself  in some type of field laid out on my back. My trousers feel wet, as does my shirt. I can feel water between my fingers, and a few wet strands of hair against my neck. I can hear what sounds to be crickets hiding in the tall grasses around me, though they don’t resemble any grasses I’ve ever known. They’re thin and razor sharp with a bundle of seeds at the tip. The water beneath me  is murky and brown and I cannot see through it, though I know it’s shallow. Maybe only a few inches deep. The grass seems to be in perfect rows, and I quickly realize this is a crop field, not a grass field. 

As I pull myself up out of the water, the chill in the air bites at my wet skin and clothing, sending a shiver through my body. Goosebumps raise along my skin and a chatter falls from my teeth.  As I look around I see endless rows of crops, and in the far off distance what seems to be a barn or small farm. It takes all my effort to trudge through the muddy water, finally finding the edge of the crop field. I cannot name the crop, but I know it’s nothing I have seen in Louisiana. 

Large Oak trees occupy the perimeter of this land, thick with spanish moss and heavy with foliage. The landscape is so different from what I have known, with large rolling fields of grass and less swamp land.  As I step onto dry ground I do my best to wring out my trousers with water still dripping from my hair. I panic as I reach for the front pocket of my frock coat, hoping my book isn’t soiled with the dirty water. As my hand reaches into the pocket, I find it dry and untouched. As the wind blows again, I realize that I need to rid myself of these wet garments before I fall ill. 

I hear Serphine’s voice in my head, telling me of the tree that would hold the items I needed to blend in. “Find a tree with three mother trunks, and a deep hole at its center. There, inside, will be everything you will need to survive in the place and time you find yourself.” I hope there will be dry clothing there, though I am not quite sure what to expect. I search the trees in the distance looking to find the one she spoke of, three large trunks with a hole at the center. I walk quite a ways closer to the property, not finding the tree I am searching for, but as I draw nearer to what I now know is a barn, I locate the large Oak I am looking for. 

It is just behind the large white wooden barn, and as I round the corner I am met with quite a sight. A grand estate sits just off to the right, with a stately double staircase leading up to a full wrap-around porch filled with large white columns. The house must be three stories tall, each level having a generous covered balcony. I’ve never seen anything quite so ornate in all my time as a carpenter. But it's the roof that steals my breath away. I see what must be ten large chimneys protruding from the shingles, but the crowning jewel of the home is its large copper spire at the center of the roof, catching the sun and shining brightly. Something tells me that she is in there, but this doesn’t seem to be the place where one can just barge right in. 

I shake away my awe and make my way to the tree, feeling a bit foolish as I reach inside the hollow of the trunk. Shock runs through me as I feel a canvas sack brush against my fingers. I pull the bag from the tree and drop to the ground with it as I empty its contents. Inside is a new pair of light colored wool trousers,  a white long sleeve half button shirt, a pair of leather suspenders, a wide brim hat and a pair of work boots. Inside is also a small leather pouch with a pocket knife, etched with the image of an hourglass. I know this is Seraphine’s doing, a small reminder of my limited time. 

I quickly redress myself in the new clothing, instantly feeling warmer thanks to the wool trousers. I place my soiled clothes in the sack and pocket the knife, ready to head towards the mansion in search of answers. As I start out toward the footpath, I am quickly stopped by an incoming carriage making its way up the small dusty path towards the barn, and as I change my path I realize that the barn is actually a large carriage house. I watch as the horse trots toward the stables, furrowing my brows as I notice it favoring its rear hoof. My hunch is telling me that Y/N is somewhere on this sprawling property, and I realize that this horse and its injured hoof could be my ticket inside. 

I sling my sack over my shoulder as I rush towards the stables, watching as the carriage is unhooked from the horse and wheeled back into its storage slot. I can hear the whinnying of several horses at varying ages as I slowly step inside the building trying not to spook the horse that has finished its work. A large statured man is tending to this horse, patting his neck as he begins to lead it away to the stables. 

“‘Scuse me, sir?” I say. 

He turns abruptly, clearly startled by my presence. “Walkin’ tour starts at the main house.” he says, nodding to the estate behind me. 

“Oh, I’m with no tour, sir,” I explain, “I couldn’t help but notice your Gelding there seems to be favoring his right rear hoof.”

He raises a brow to me and looks down at the horses back hooves. “You noticed that from the walking path?”

“I did,” I nod, gesturing towards the hoof, “I know you don’t know me from Adam, but if you’d like I could take a look at it for you. I’ve worked with horses most of my life.”

He takes a good long look at me, as if trying to decide if I am telling the truth of not before nodding. “Alright, have a look. Simon is a calm horse, shouldn’t give you no trouble.”

I nod to him as I  gently drop my sack to the floor and place my hand on the hindquarter of the horse to let him know I am there. He twitches beneath my hand as I pet his coat, finding it to be in immaculate condition. I don’t know what this place is that I have found myself in, but they seem to care for the look of things and this horse and stable are no exception to that. I then quickly move to grab the horse's back hoof, trapping it between my knees to disable his movement. The man was right, Simon gave me no trouble and let me look at the underside of this hoof. 

“Ahh,” I remark, “His shoe is too small. He has outgrown it by a large amount. This is causing him pain.”

The man huffs, “Sounds right. Our farrier has stopped coming to tend the horses. We haven’t seen him in several months. I fear it was a harsh winter last year and we’ve had no luck finding another,” he pauses, as I release the horse’s hoof, dusting my hands off on my trousers. The man extends his hand out to me, and I shake it, offering a small smile. 

“Name’s Elijah, yours?”

I clear my throat as I grip his hand tightly, “Jak–Jacob,” I correct. “I’d love to get this horse fixed up for you if you have the tools?”

His eyes grow wide, “Are you a farrier?” he asks desperately.

“Not by trade, I’m a carpenter, but my father taught me much about horses, and this is one of those things.”

“I believe we have the tools, but no one has used them. If you follow me I can take you to them,” he urges. 

I follow him out the large stall doors to the side of the building. As we walk I notice a large number of people walking the property near the home, admiring the gardens filled with azaleas and bright camellias. The people are dressed in fine clothing, finer than anything I’ve ever seen back home, and I wonder if I truly did make the jump to South Carolina. I didn’t really know what to expect but this was never in my imagination. 

Elijah returns from the shed with a small bag of farriers tools, everything I will need to replace the horses shoes, down to custom horseshoes. Again I turn my gaze towards the house, seeing the main entrance as we walk towards the horse stables. A large green and white sign sits at the entrance of the walking path, finally answering the question of where I have found myself and where my girl is. 

‘Magnolia Plantation and Gardens Ancestral Home of the Drayton Family Charleston, South Carolina Est. 1676 ’

—

Several hours and a farrying lesson later, Elijah feels confident in his newly acquired skill and I feel as though I have earned my reason to stay here and help out. When Elijah offered me the work, I took him up on it. The longer I am here, the more time I have to find Y/N. I will work in the stables with the horses, tending to their needs and helping Elijah manage the carriages and carriage house. 

I follow behind him as he walks me to my living quarters. I am pleasantly surprised to find out that my accommodations are included in the job and that I wouldn’t have to venture into town to find something. He leads me to a row of small white wooden houses, just large enough for one room. The door creaks open as he steps inside, where a thin layer of dust is covering most of the surfaces. 

“S’not much, but it gets you by,” he says, gesturing to the room. There is a wood burning fireplace in the center of the room, a small table and a chair, a full size bed with a few blankets and what looks to be a trunk for my belongings. 

“Thank you, Elijah,” I answer with a nod, “It’s more than I expected.”

He nods at me as he begins to make his way out of the quarters, pausing briefly at the door. “Supper is at dusk, just as the guests leave. Meet me at the carriage house and I’ll walk you down and introduce you to some other folks.”

“Thank you,” I respond, feeling the rumble in my stomach. 

He closes the wooden door behind himself, leaving me in the quiet dusty room. I take a seat on the small featherbed, happy to have it after spending the day hammering down horseshoes. I don’t know how long I will be here, but I am glad to have my own space somewhere close to Y/N. Now, I just have to find her. 

—

I meet Elijah at the carriage house right at dusk, eager to fill my hungry stomach. We walk along the walking path, passing the main house and some of the fields when I finally get the nerve to ask. 

“What crop is it, the one in the fields?” I ask, feeling slightly nervous. 

He smiles and laughs as he throws his arm over my shoulder, “Well, that's Carolina Gold Rice boy. Don’t you know where you are?” he jokes, and just as you start to stammer back an answer, a loud dinner bell rings alerting the help staff to supper. A large steamboat is pulling away from the dock on property, black smoke rising up into the evening air. 

We approach a building just off the main house that Elijah explains as the Dining House and Recreation Room for the staff. All meals are served here and this is where the staff comes to socialize after working hours. The room is lined with long tables and chairs, dimly lit by gas lanterns. It smells of kerosene and a warm meal, adding to the growing hunger in my stomach. I take a seat next to Elijah as he introduces me to a field worker named Henry and his wife Etta. They are kind folk and offer to show me around if I ever needed. 

We all stand and make our way to the supper line as the kitchen staff plates our meals, which seems to be some sort of stew. As I carry my bowl back to the table a glass of water is set in front of me by a housemaid. I look at the stew, seeing that it is made with what is very likely the same rice from the field just outside. It's rich, with a tomato base and full of vegetables. It is sure to fill my stomach. 

I listen as Etta and Elijah talk about the crop this year, trying my best to learn this new place I have found myself in. Henry looks to me as I spoon the stew into my mouth. 

“You from around here, boy?” he asks. 

I shake my head, “No sir. I’m new to this area, I’m from down South. Louisiana,” I answer. 

He nods, “I have some family back in Louisiana,” he pauses. “You know anything about this place?”

“No sir, just what Elijah has told me,” I admit. 

“So you didn’t fight in the War of the States?” he asks. I feel my pulse quicken as I struggle to answer him. I know nothing of the war he speaks of, but I think it best to be truthful. 

“No sir.”

“I figured as much. You know, this place actually burned to the ground. S’why everything looks so new and shiny. Mr. Drayton poured a small fortune into rebuilding the property. He lost a lot of land but rebuilt it double the size.”

I clear my throat, “It’s– It’s a beautiful property, seems very well kept.”

Elijah chimes in, continuing the conversation with Henry as I turn my face back to my supper. But it's then, out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of blue fabric rush past. I lift my head to find a house maid in a pale blue dress filling a water glass at the table across from me. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest. I’ve found her. Her hair is tied in a braid at the nape of her neck, a pale blue ribbon tied in a neat bow at the bottom. She works diligently filling water glasses with a smile, and I realize that I’m just as taken with her in this life as I was in the past. 

She turns quickly, spotting me behind her as I stare her down. Her eyes linger on mine for just a brief moment before looking away and returning to her work. My pulse is racing as my stew continues to drip off of my spoon into my bowl. It must be obvious that I’ve lost my mind when Elijah leans over and whispers over my shoulder. 

“That's Ms. Y/N. She is the children's nursemaid. Not too sure why she is out here on supper duty tonight. Very beautiful woman, but a smart man would steer clear of her if he intends to keep his job.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat as I nod, bringing my nearly empty spoon to my lips. 

“Now, I ain’t seen anything myself but, Mr. Drayton seems sweet on her,” he continues, keeping his voice low. 

“Oh, he is unmarried? You mentioned children. Did his wife pass away?” I ask, looking for a little more insight.

He scoffs, “No sir, she hasn’t. Mrs. Drayton is alive and well, but is often away in town.”

I feel heat start to rise in my cheeks, “I don’t understand.”

Elijah looks around before he speaks again, “Rumor is that Mr. Drayton is after a male heir. His son passed in the States War and Mrs. Drayton has only given female children since.”

“How does that involve Ms. Y/N?” I ask, dropping my spoon into my bowl. 

“I believe he intends to get one from… her.”

I feel my jaw tighten as I swallow harshly. “So are they– Do they, you know, get on well?”

“From what I have seen, quite the opposite. She despises him. Only stays to care for the children. She practically raised them. Quite a task since she is but a child herself. You ain’t hear none of this from me, ya hear?”

I nod my head quickly, turning to look over my shoulder for another glimpse of her, but as my eyes scan the room, I realize she is gone, and that maybe my purpose in this life isn’t to make her mine, but to keep her from someone with intentions much worse. 

—

The outside sounds so different here. Once things are silent and I can hear the nocturnal earth come to life around me, I feel a little out of place, expecting to hear the crickets and frogs that I’m used to, but instead hearing sounds of creatures that I’ve never heard before. 

My bed is hard and lumpy beneath my back, as it’s nothing but a sack filled with straw and feathers, but it’s better than sleeping on the ground. I take a deep breath as I realize I’m being hit time and time again with the realization of what I’ve done. I’ve jumped overtop of the hands of time, or swam beneath them, maybe, all to chase after a love that lasted no longer than a fortnight back in Louisiana. 

“Insanity,” I mumble to myself as I turn over in my bed, gazing out the window to the high trees lining the property.

 Insanity doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I’m a cursed man, what did I even expect of myself? To live my normal life day to day, simply being happy with the fact that I’ll stay twenty-five forever? No. My life wasn’t mine, anymore. And I have my brother to thank for that. This is a distraction…perhaps. Something to live for, chasing after Y/N lifetime over lifetime. 

It’s disorienting to recognize that I seem to have landed in the exact place that she resides; I wonder if it will always be that easy. Seraphine didn’t give me that detail, probably because it was unknown to her. Happenstance or not, I guess I will have to find out on my own. 

My eyes are growing heavy as I let the peaceful new sounds lull me to sleep, the harsh smell of manure and straw now beginning to embed themselves into my skin and clothing. The scent reminds me of times past with my father and Joshua as he taught us everything we ever knew about equine life. And carpentry. And silversmithing. 

I grip my silver charm in my hand as I finally let sleep begin to overtake me. It brings me comfort for some reason, though the hands that crafted this talisman hated me so that he purposefully changed the trajectory of my life, and, unknown to him, changed his own life in the process. I wonder where Joshua has ended up, I wonder how he felt when he landed here in this new time and space. I wonder how confused he is, how terrified that we’re now alive eleven years in the future, in a different universe altogether. He doesn’t have the comfort of the book that Sera gave me, or the advice she bestowed me with. He’s clueless, out there wandering around aimlessly. I wonder how long it will take him to realize that his whole plan may have backfired.

A stream of thoughts enters my mind, and I think back on what Elijah had said about how Y/N despises Mr. Drayton. I wanted to press him for details, but the last thing I need is suspicion. My judge of character tells me that Elijah is trustworthy, though I do need some time to solidify that. 

She looked beautiful today, even from afar. Just the same in her mannerisms and movements, but all the more different at the same time. The draw my body feels to her is still very much alive and well, and I’m thankful that I was able to feel my heart rate rise from seeing her again. I drift off to thoughts of her, how her lips felt on mine the day at the pond, how she felt writhing beneath me, and how my chest caved in on itself the night the doctor told me she hadn’t made it. A fate I would wish upon no man to ever experience. 

But suddenly I’m awoken by a different sound, and it trumps my thoughts and the crickets lulling me. It’s rustling in the grasses, it’s laughter in the distance. I sit up in my bed and rub my tired eyes, pulling my blanket from across my lap to grab my bedside candle. I quietly creep across the squeaky boards of my quarters, allowing the glow of the light to follow me along to the window. I suddenly panic, realizing that I don’t have any protection in case an intruder of sorts were coming up on me. 

It’s then that I catch sight of another candle flame off in the distance, right underneath the largest iron oak tree I’ve ever seen. I peer more closely and finally make out what I’m seeing, four little girls barefoot and dressed in their white nightgowns, dancing around the base of the tree trunk. 

Must be Mr. Drayton’s daughters. 

I smile as I watch them dance, holding hands and twirling around as they laugh and whisper to one another. They’re all very young, I notice, ranging from only maybe five to twelve years. The cool, thick air makes their breath visible, and I wonder what on earth they’re doing out here in the middle of the night. And why Y/N isn’t with them. 

I grin ear to ear when I realize they must have been feeling mischievous and snuck out of the home, much like Joshua and I would do as children. For no reason, other than feeling a sense of freedom and rebellion that only came with escaping from our house while our Father was fast asleep.

I watch as the littlest one begins to try and climb the thick, low branches of the tree, making it fairly far up before her sisters take notice, but do little about it as they continue dancing and playing in the shadows. Her agility astounds me, for as little as she is. 

But my impression is short lived, as I watch her lose her balance and topple off the branch onto the ground below her, immediately shrieking out in pain. Her sisters rush to her as I can hear her cries through my thin walls, and I contemplate on whether or not I should go to them. I don’t know them, I hardly know anyone here… but I can’t let her just lie there in pain if she truly has injured herself.

I step into my boots and rush out the door, hearing her sisters begin to cry along with her as her tiny voice shrieks. I pick up my pace as I rush more quickly to them, finally reaching the circle they’ve made around her. “Hey there, excuse me… My name is Jacob… is everyone alright?” I say before I approach them gently, not wanting to startle them too much in the darkness. “Where is your caretaker?”

The oldest one rushes to me, taking my hand and pulling me over to the scene. “Please help us, it’s Lottie, she fell! She hurt her arm!” she cries, gripping my elbow as I realize things might be worse than I’d thought. I gently kneel beside the girl and take a closer look, seeing that her wrist is already swelling. 

“What’s your name, again?” I ask her as I offer to take her arm. 

“L–Lottie… it hurts re-really baddddd,” she wails through loud cries, but she lets me take her injured limb. It’s most definitely sprained, and already bruising. I gently manipulate my fingers across her bones, thankfully feeling no break. 

“I know it must hurt, but you’re going to be just fine. Why are you girls out here so late? Why have you snuck out–”

“Please help her, mister!” the girls cry, just as scared for their baby sister as she is for herself. They must know they are going to be in trouble, too, for sneaking out past their bedtimes. 

I feel conflicted as I look around, debating on whether or not I should call for someone else, or if I should take the responsibility of carrying the girl back to the house. No one knows me here, yet, and seeing a strange man carrying the little girl could look badly on me. Her wrist continues to swell as she cries, and the girls all begin to panic.

“Lottie!” I hear a familiar voice off in the distance, traveling across the grounds and directly through my heart. “Kit, Marian, Evey… you girls step away from that man immediately!” She isn’t happy, just as my internal thoughts had presumed. I quickly rise from my kneel on the ground and stand, not wanting to startle her any more. “You get back from them, do you hear?!” she yells at me as she rushes across the yard. 

Still just as fiery and beautiful as ever. 

When she finally approaches, she puts both of her hands forcefully on my chest, pushing me backward until I stumble into the dirt. “How dare you! Who are you?!” she screams in my face, not caring a bit that I’ve fallen down. I watch as she rushes to Lottie, mumbling quiet concerned words to her as she assesses the scene. “Leave us be, get out of here, or I’m calling for Mr. Drayton!” she pushes her hand at the air behind her, telling me to vacate quickly. 

She gathers Lottie in her arms as she spits disciplines at the other girls, her tone deep and frustrated as she yells at them. 

“No no, Ma’am, please forgive me, I heard them outside playing and I watched her fall from the tree. I heard her crying and thought she had hurt herself, I’m so sorry, I just thought I could help,” I try and explain myself as I stand back up. 

She looks to me with a grit on her features, her jaw clenched tightly as I see the fire burning in her eyes. Worried, of course. 

“You’re a stranger, you shouldn’t have bothered–”

“No, Ms. Y/N, he was trying to help me, he tried to make me feel better, don’t yell at him,” Lottie explains through sobs. 

“We don’t know this man, children, you mustn’t talk to strangers!” Y/N barks back at them. “Back to the house, all of you!” she yells with a snap of her fingers. I watch as the other three little girls scurry across the grass, Y/N and Lottie trailing behind in the heavy fog. I stand unmoving as I catch sight of her glancing back at me for just a second, likely memorizing my face for whatever wrath I will succumb to tomorrow. 

I retreat back to my bed as I relax into a dissatisfied grunt, realizing that that couldn’t have gone worse.

—

It's a knock at the door that wakes me from my slumber. The sun is shining brightly through the dirty window and instinctively I pull myself up from my warm bedding to check for danger. As I peer through the glass I can see the figure of two people, and without a doubt one of them is Y/N.

I quickly pull on my trousers, tucking my hair behind my ears quickly before unlatching the door. I have no time for my shirt, but I don’t think that matters much as the knocking grows louder. A rush of nerves fill my body as I open the door, but the second I see Y/N it all disappears. 

“Mornin’,” I say, greeting Y/N and Miss Lottie.

“Good morning sir, I’m sorry to wake you at such an early hour, but Lottie here would like to say something to you,” Y/N answers, ushering Lottie closer to the door. 

I’m surprised to say the least, but more so I am sad to see the small girls’ wrist bundled up and in a splint. She seems shy, her cheeks turning pink as she begins to speak to me. I decide to meet her at eye level, crouching down before her as I rest my arms on my knees. 

“Sowwy we sneaked out of Daddy’s house and woke you up in the middle of the night,” she says, her sweet voice like honey to my soul. 

“And,” Y/N urges, nodding to the girl. 

“And fank you for trying to help me feel better about my arm,” she finishes, looking up to Y/N for her approval. 

A smile overtakes me, “Don’t be sorry for getting yourself injured on accident. Just be sorry that you couldn’t sneak back into bed without being caught.” I wink, earning me a big smile from the young miss. 

I let my eyes meet Y/N’s, a smile now on her own face. My eyes flick back to Lottie as I examine her splint. “May I?” I ask, hoping for permission. Y/N nods and I begin to adjust the splint so that it may sit more comfortably on her small arm. I stand quickly, stepping back inside to grab my old handkerchief, nearly useless to me now. 

I fashion a makeshift sling to hold her arm, relieving some of the pressure as I tie it over her shoulder. “There, not you won’t hurt it any further. Does it feel alright?” I ask her. 

“Yes sir. Fank you mister…”

I stand, dusting off my hands as I answer her. “Kiszka. But you can call me Jacob.”

It’s then that I take in the sight of Y/N in the full morning sun. Her hair tied back with a ribbon, and a beautiful dress, much nicer than the ones I’ve ever seen back home. 

Lottie begins to tug on Y/N’s skirts, looking back behind her as she hears her sisters playing off in the distance. “Can I go now, I want to play tag,” she asks Y/N, looking at her with longing eyes. 

“You may, but you must be careful with your arm. Do you understand?” she answers, adjusting Lottie’s braids. 

“Yes ma'am. I will!” she shouts, scampering off towards her sisters and leaving me and Y/N alone for the first time. 

I stand there in my doorway, doing my best not to stare at Y/N or be obvious about my infatuation with her in this new time. Her eyes meet mine, slowly they drift down though, and it’s then I remember I don’t have my shirt on, and I suddenly feel warm under her gaze. 

Though I may be warm, I can see her breath in the air of the early morning, the sun not warming the earth just yet. 

“Aren’t you cold?” she asks me, still eyeing my naked torso. 

I smile at her and shake my head, “No ma’am, I’m warm blooded. Always have been.” 

Out of politeness I step inside and grab my shirt, pulling the laces tight around my neck, before tucking it into my trousers. Her eyes never leave me though, clearly fascinated by me.

She pulls them away once she has noticed that I’ve caught her, quickly changing the subject as her cheeks grow flushed.

“Thank you– For trying to help little Lottie. The girls like to sneak out in the middle of the night and pretend they are runaways. This isn’t the first time I have chased them down late at night.” She smiles, and I find myself nearly swooning over the sweet sound of her voice, still a little raspy, just as I remember it to be. 

“Oh, it’s no problem ma’am. I apologize for overstepping. I didn't know the extent of her injury and I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt worse,” I say, continuing our small talk as I take her in fully, just as she does me. 

“You know,” she pauses, “I saw you near the stables yesterday. Are you a new hire on property?”

I nod my head as I answer her, “Yes ma’am, just started as a farrier, helping out Elijah.”

“So then you would say you have an affinity for horses?” she confirms. 

“Sure do. I grew up with them,” I reply. 

I see her features soften, and a smile threatens her lips before she stifles it back. “Then you best get to the stables. I do believe they have already started their morning, and Mr. Drayton does not fool with tardiness.”

I quickly realize she is correct as I hear a horse whineigh in the distance. 

“Yes, I should be on my way. Thank you,” I answer, pulling on my boots and grabbing my hat. I pull my door shut as I step down beside her on the wooden steps. 

“Oh, and Jacob,” she calls out, causing me to spin around. 

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I also feel as if I should apologize for shoving you into the dirt. That wasn’t very ladylike of me,” she answers, looking a bit defeated. 

“You were protecting the girls. Never be sorry for that,” I answer confidently, tipping my hat to her as I take one last look before heading off to start my day. But as I walk away I can feel her eyes burning into my shoulders, and I resist the urge to turn back,  for fear if I do, my work shall never get done. 

—

“Aaagghh! I’m definitely going to have to go into town for some new boots, now!” I hear Elijah shout from the next stall over. “Son of a bitch!” 

I grin to myself as I adjust my hat and lean my rake against the wall, peering over to see what he is on about. I find him leaned over and cursing, scraping off a heavy bit of horse manure from the bottom of his boot. The heel has come completely off of the rest of the shoe. 

“Did any get on your foot, mate?” I ask, trying to contain my laughter. 

“Yes, of course it got on my foot, you nimwit!” he yells as he continues to try and clean himself, eventually giving up and waddling outside to the water troughs. 

My eyes follow him out the stable front doors outside into the yards, and the most beautiful sight catches my eye, Ms. Y/N and the children following alongside her. They’re headed right our way. 

“Afternoon, Ma’am,” I hear Elijah say as he tips his hat and passes her, “and little Ma’ams…”

My heart is in my throat as I watch her approach from under my hat, clasping her hands behind her back as she takes in the order of the stables. I try not to make myself known, keeping to raking out the old straw as I stay quiet. I haven’t seen her in days, and I can feel my emotions swirling as her proximity tightens in on me.

“Good afternoon, Jacob,” I hear her sweet voice greet me, still hiding a bit in the shadows as the girls run around freely. 

I clear my throat. “Oh, good afternoon, how is everyone today?” I ask, my voice shaky. I watch as little Lottie rounds the backs of her legs, her arms gripping around them as she hugs her. The wrist she injured is still wrapped, but she doesn’t seem to be as bothered by it as she was before. “Not climbing anymore trees, I presume?” I wink at her. 

“No, no more trees for quite a while,” Y/N laughs, running her hand along Lottie’s curly hair. “We actually thought we would stop by for another reason… We have a proposition for you, Sir.”

My interest is piqued, and I’m sure my expressions show it. I lean the rake against the wall again and extend my hand for them to follow me into a larger room of the stables. “Do tell?” I ask. 

Now, Lottie and Y/N are hand-in-hand as we walk, and I can’t help but swoon at the visual of the relationship the two of them obviously have. I know that she cares for these girls as if they are her own. 

“Well, for months now, Lottie has been saying how she wants nothing more than to learn to ride horses, but we’re being burdened by one problem,” she explains with a lull in her voice. 

“Besides the fact that she’s still so small…?” I jest, bulging my eyes at Lottie, making her skitter off into the corner.

“She’s actually very, very scared of the creatures,” Y/N whispers. “I told her there was nothing to fear of them, though they are giants in her eyes. She’s intrigued by them, but I think she just needs a little assistance in the getting used to them department.”

I bite my tongue into the corner of my mouth. “Aha, I see.”

“So, yesterday she said that she knows that Mr. Jacob works with the horses…and…”

I nod quickly as I take a deep breath. “I understand. I’d be more than happy to help her become more comfortable around them.”

I watch as Y/N’s face lights up, her eyes sparkling in the bright afternoon sunlight. “Oh, really, Jacob? Would you? If you have the time, of course…”

I ignore her formalities, instead going to the corner that Lottie has hidden herself in. I squat down to her level, watching as she cowers away just a bit. I slap my dirty hands against my trousers, and give her a reassuring smile. “How is your arm today, Miss Lottie? Not hurting too badly anymore?”

She slowly shakes her head. “Not so bad, now,” she answers quietly.

“Good,” I say, standing back up and offering my hand to her. “Come on, I hear you want to meet a horse.” 

I feel her tiny hand slip into mine, and I take this as a move in the right direction, step one of overcoming her fear with her. I walk with her along the stable openings, the horses leaning their heads out one by one as we pass.

“This one here is Fitzgerald, but we like to call him Fitz. He’s young, just like you. Full of energy. And this is Copper, she’s very fast.”

“How fast, Mr. Jacob?” she asks, squeezing onto my hand. 

“So fast that you can hardly see her as she zips past you! Quick as a lightning strike!” I explain with animation.

“And this is Frasier, Barclay, and Piper… and this one, this one is my favorite. Her name is Cecily.” I take my time introducing her to this last one, the one that I am trusting the most to try and let Lottie ride. 

“Cecily,” she repeats back, a bit of a lisp on her tongue. 

“That’s right. Cecily is twenty-four years old, if you can believe that,” I say. 

“My father purchased her when I was one year old,” I hear Y/N behind me, her voice gentle and reminiscent. I pause as I watch her run her hand along the animal’s nose. “The first horse I ever rode.” My heart swells again. She has a love for them in this life, too.

“Then that is somethin’ you and Lottie will have in common, hm?” I say, leaning into her just a bit. I watch as her cheeks brighten with pink as I make a point to let my eyes linger on hers for just a second too long. 

“Come on, Lottie,” I say as I grip under her armpits, lifting her to eye level with Cecily. “See? She is very sweet, even Ms. Y/N will pet her.” 

Lottie feels terrified in my grasp, but she bravely lifts her unbandaged hand, hesitating as she decides if she wants to touch her. 

“Go ahead, she won’t hurt you,” I encourage. And finally, she lets herself make contact, earning a sweet huff of air from Cecily’s nose. Lottie giggles loudly. 

“Would you like to ride her?” I ask, placing her back down on the ground.

“Nooo, no! I don’t wanna! I’m too a-scared!” she cries, whipping herself away again to hide behind Y/N’s skirts. 

I hear Y/N exhale a rough breath. “Well, this was progress, at least. She’d never even go near the stables before, let alone touch one of them. This is a big step forward–”

“What if I walk along with you?” I coyly interrupt her, looking back to Lottie. 

She snarls her nose. “If I ride one, can Ms. Y/N ride one, too?”

I look back to her in question. “We can saddle one for her, too, and you can ride alongside her, perhaps?”

I watch as Lottie thinks through the options I’ve given her, before confidently stopping on one. “Hm, no, I wanna go with you, Mr. Jacob.”

I laugh along with Y/N, opening the door to Cecily’s stall. “Alright, it’s settled then. Though I don’t know many good trails around here, I am still very new, you know… But I’m sure Ms. Y/N does.”

She smiles, “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to show you around if you’re going to be the one keeping our horses healthy.”

I put the finishing touches on the saddles and help Lottie up onto Cecily, still a bit nervous but less scared than before. “Hold on tight, with your good hand, just there. Perfect.”

I swear the old mare recognizes that Lottie is nervous as she gently trots around the field, carefully stepping over rivets in the ground from the plows. “See, Lottie? Not so bad huh?” I press, glancing at Y/N trailing behind with a soft smile on her face. “And you’re doing it all by yourself.”

“Not so bad,” she quietly replies, and I can tell her expression has softened. 

“Y/N, this way?” I ask, pointing to a clearing in the hedgerow. She nods and I walk the horse forward into the coverage of trees, giving us a little shade as we maneuver the worn-in trail. We go along for fifteen minutes or so and I listen to Lottie go on about the trees, her sisters, and Cecily, answering all the questions I can while knowing that Y/N could answer them better than I could. 

“Ms. Y/N, did you name her? Or did Grandfather?” Lottie asks, turning a bit to see her on her own horse. 

“I didn’t name her, she was still just a baby when she came to us, and I wasn’t yet old enough to talk. Do you like her? Are you still afraid?” Y/N asks. My heart is thrumming as I listen to her speak, soft and understanding. 

“I’m not so scared anymore, but I still don’t wanna do it by myself. I want Mr. Jacob to go all the time,” Lottie says, avoiding my eyes but still making me blush.

We round back to the stables and I help Lottie off her horse, watching as she scurries away back to her sisters. “I did it! I rided a horse!” I hear her squeal with excitement as she rejoins them, her wrapped arm flying into the air above her head. 

As I begin unsaddling, I feel Y/N at my side, her presence beginning to feel more and more familiar to me now. It’s as if just the energy she emotes is recognized by mine, meshing together in our own space in time. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jacob, I can’t explain how appreciative I am that you took the time to help her, she seems so much more at ease with you, I could never even get her to go near them,” she says, pushing her hat back on top of her head. 

I turn, adjusting my own brim to shield the sun, allowing me a more clear view of the face I’m falling more and more in love with as the minutes tick past. “The pleasure’s mine, Ma’am. I hope she wants to return, and learn more. I’ll give her my time as often as I can.”

The smile that ticks at the corners of her lips makes me forget how to breathe as her eyes search mine for something else, suddenly. She huffs an inhale, almost as if she is second-guessing her words. “I notice you have a way with people, Jacob, but even more so a way with children. And I believe that’s a trait that is very admirable in a man.”

I fight down a swallow, trying to stand firm as my knees want to buckle beneath me. “Thank you, Ma’am. I do enjoy watching the world from their perspective, seeing things so much larger and so much more unimportant than we do. Paying attention to only what’s in front of them, instead of what will come next. It’s refreshing, you know,” I respond, biting my lips in as my eyes scan her face. I watch as her eyelashes flick rapidly, likely experiencing the same shift in the air as I am. 

“Yes,” she whispers, clearing her throat. “I–I will see you next time?”

“I’ll be here waiting, Ma’am,” I reply, tipping my hat her way as she turns, giving me a double-take as I watch her drift back off toward the girls.

—

Several days pass with no sight of her, and I begin to wonder where she’s hiding. I’ve not seen the girls either, the property eerily quiet for this time of day. I check for them every night on my walk to supper, passing the main house on my way.  Tonight though, I walk with Elijah and do my best to not seem obvious as I look for any sign of the girls or Y/N. 

We can smell the food a good few minutes before we reach the Dining House, and I can feel my stomach start to  rumble with hunger. I haven't eaten since breakfast this morning, skipping lunch to finish polishing the leather saddles. My feet start to carry me faster as the smell of supper gets stronger, and Elijah matches my pace. 

“Eager for supper?” he asks, shooting me a grin. 

“Yessir, always.” I respond, pulling open the door to let him enter. 

We both enter the line, and as we make our way towards the serving table I see her. My brow furrows in confusion and Elijah must have noticed. 

“Ain’t usual for her to be in here,” he pauses, “Must be some good reason.”

I nod my head in agreement, but when I watch the smile on her face grow as she serves the food, I find a smile appearing on my own lips. 

A nervous flutter fills my belly as I step up to her, holding out my plate as she scoops the rice dish onto it. It’s not something I recognize, but it smells like heaven. 

“Hello Jacob,” she grins, sneaking me an extra half serving. Her eyelashes dust her pink cheeks as she suddenly seems bashful. 

“Hey there,” I answer with a smirk, “Wasn’t expecting to see you in here this evening.”

She nods as her tongue wets her lips, “No, no. You’re right, I convinced Harrell to let me try a new recipe tonight and it was only right that I serve it as well. Was hoping to get everyone's true opinion on it.”

Shock fills me as I look at her, “You made this?”

She nods a shy nod as she scoops the dish onto the next man's plate. “I did. I hope you like it.”

I want to answer her but before I can get the words out, I am at the end of the serving line and she’s moved on to the next person. I make my way towards the table Elijah selected for the night, setting down my plate as my mind reels about her cooking. 

“I’m just as surprised to see her as you are,” he smiles, taking a large bite of his food. “She is never in here with us.”

“Yeah, she just told me she made this meal and wanted to help serve it.”

“Well I’ll be sure to let her know what I think,” he says, as I take my first bite, and as I taste it, I know that if I wasn’t already in love with the woman, I sure would be now.

—

With my belly full of Y/N’s delicious meal, I feel myself starting to grow tired. Today was a long day, and one of the horses got ornery on me. I know that once I return to my quarters I will fall right into bed and sleep straight through ‘til morning. 

I feel an elbow nudge at my side, startling me from my tired daydreaming. I see that Y/N has joined me at the table, finally finished with her duties. 

“Well, did you enjoy it?” he asks, twiddling her thumbs together in her lap. 

“Best meal I’ve had since I’ve been here, swear it.”

She smiles at me through closed lips, her eyes twinkling in the dimness of the room. “Would you like to go somewhere with me?” she asks. 

“Me?”

“Yes you, I want to show you something.” she confirms, her eyes never leaving mine. 

I turn to look at Elijah, who is already looking at me with a grin. He raises his eyebrows and turns back to his conversation, silently telling me I should go. As I turn to look back at her I nod my head, “‘M all yours.”

—

The air has started to cool significantly since the sun went down, and I now find myself unrolling my sleeves as Y/N and I walk. I have yet to walk this path since I have been here, never finding myself on this side of the property. It’s quite beautiful, a long winding dirt path that is leading up towards the wooded area of the grounds. 

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I ask, flashing her a small curious smile. 

“Only the best place on the whole property. My favorite place in the world, I think,” she answers, pulling my arm as we take a right at the fork in the path. The moon is shining through the large oak trees, a silver blue cast landing on her face. Our arms are now intertwined, and I feel my heart start to beat a little harder at the contact. 

“We’re almost there now,” she continues, gripping my arm tightly as if I could fly away at any moment. 

A few minutes later we are approaching a beautiful pond, surrounded by Oak trees filled with low hanging spanish moss. The moon reflects onto the lake a perfect round circle in the rippling water. She leads me to a tree close to the bank of the pond, perching herself on a soft patch of grass. I sit down next to her, letting my legs stretch out and crossing them at the ankles. I lean back on my hands to match her position, feeling the soreness of my body from today's work. 

“This is a very beautiful place,” I say softly, breaking the silence.

“I’ve come here since I was a child,” she answers, her tone soft, matching mine. 

“Tell me about your family,” I say, turning to look at her as she fiddles with her braid. 

“I wish there was more to tell, but sadly there isn’t. They aren’t here anymore.”

I swallow harshly, “Mine either.”

Her eyes quickly dart to mine, “I’m so sorry, Jacob.”

“Do you think you will have a family one day?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I do, but I don’t believe it will be of my own choice,” she answers, causing me to furrow my brows. 

“Why’s that?” I ask, wondering what she could mean. 

“Well,” she pauses, looking towards the moonlit pond, “I believe that Mr. Drayton has plans for me.”

I feel my blood start to heat, “What sort of plans?”

She lets out a long, pained exhale. “I was to be married to Charles. Mister Drayton’s only son. He and I were courting when he was drafted for the war.” she pauses, swallowing hard. “He never came back, passed on in battle I was told. Mister Drayton was very angry for some time, though he allowed me to move to the property to be with the family. It’s how I came to care for the girls.”

“I see.” I breathe. I’d never heard of Charles in my time here, so this came as a surprise.

“One night, Mister Drayton was on a drunk. He wasn’t fairing well with Charles’ passing. He told me I was to give him the heir to his fortune, whether it be Charles or him, and with Charles gone, I knew what he was insinuating,” she pauses. “Thankfully he has never spoken of it again, and I do my best to avoid him in the home.”

“Y/N, that’s– He can’t do that. What about Mrs. Drayton?” I stumble.

“She can only bear girls, apparently. Though I don’t know how true that is,” she murmurs. “I believe that Charles and I– We could have–I did love him…”

“I am very sorry for your loss, Y/N,” I say, truly grieving for her and her situation. 

“Thank you, Jacob. Though much time has passed now, and I have finally begun to feel something again after all this time,” she says, turning to me and resting her head on her shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

I feel my cheeks heat with diffidence as I take in the beauty of her face and the authenticity of her words.  I reach for her small, soft hand, and bring it to my lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her palm. “I as well, Miss Y/N.”

We sit there for a few still minutes, watching the turtles come to the top of the water. I feel content in her presence and I believe she feels content in mine. She is beautiful in the lighting, and I yearn to tell her so, but I think it inappropriate after all she has shared with me tonight. 

“It is getting rather late,” I say, looking to her. “I should get you back.”

“One of the other housemaids is tending to the children tonight. I was hoping for you and I to take this walk this evening,” she answers with a sweet smile. 

“I am very glad we did. Thank you for showin’ me this place. It’s very peaceful.”

“Could I walk with you back to your quarters?” she asks, taking my hand as I help her up from our grassy spot. 

“If you’d  like, though you do not have to,” I answer, hoping she will choose to join me. 

“I’d like that very much,” she says, as she grabs my chilled hand and begins to pull me back down the walking path. 

—

Far too quickly we reach my living quarters, the conversation between us flowing so naturally it’s as if she's waited for someone to connect with in this way. I hang on her every word, memorizing every facet of her face as she speaks so freely to me. It’s only when we reach my door that I remember how exhausted I truly am. 

“Would you… would you like to join me inside? It isn’t much to look at, but it is warmer there,” I say shyly.

A gentle smile parts her lips as she softly shakes her head, “No Jacob, I must get back to the main house. I don’t want to be caught by Mr. Drayton. He tends to wander the main floor at this hour.”

“I understand, you must go then,” I say, feeling a sharp pain ripple through my abdomen. 

“Are you alright?” Y/N asks startled, reaching for my arm. 

“Yes, yes,” I lie, “Just weary from the day's work. You go, and I will be seeing you, alright?”

“Thank you, Jacob,” she smiles, pulling her hand from my arm, and lifting her skirts to run towards the main house. 

I watch until I can no longer see her before stepping inside my quarters. Quickly I remove my shirt to see what has pained me, and what I find is something I was warned of. My burn scar is fiery red and angry. My first signs that my time here is beginning to tick away. 

Remembering Seraphine’s warning, I quickly find my bag of personal effects and reach for my book that is to be my guide to my next jump. I open it swiftly to the next page, and much to my dismay, ink has begun to spread across the page. “Damn it…” I mumble, feeling a rush of anxiousness run through me. The words are not yet visible, but I know that in a short amount of time they will, and my time here with Y/N will be done. 

—

Two Weeks Later

It’s been a fortnight since mine and Y/N’s first walk to the pond, and since that night, she’s joined me every evening since, pacing around and wasting our time together. We’ve been talking and getting to know one another, and I take my time in knowing that in this life, her personality feels so eerily different, yet her soul is just the same. I can’t help but notice that her body language has changed just a bit… almost as if she is becoming more and more comfortable with me as the days pass. I’ll never overstep the boundary, though my hands are aching to reach out and touch her. 

Tonight after our walk, Elijah has joined me in the stables for a nightcap. We can see our breath as it floats over the air, and even though I have been around the cold, I have never really had to live and work in it. 

“I’ll bring you a pair of my spare gloves tomorrow, got sheep’s wool on the insides. Keep your hands from blisterin’ in this temperature,” Elijah offers, noticing the dryness of my hands. 

“Appreciate that, friend,” I reply, rubbing them together. 

“Mmmhm,” he goes on, passing the whiskey bottle back to me. “Can’t have Ms. Y/N noticin’ your hands rough on her, now, can we?” he jests. 

“Elijah… Now…” I scold him as he laughs at me. 

“Gonna get in over your head, boy. Better watch yourself. Mr. Drayton may not show his face much, but he ain’t none to bother with. I can assure you of that,” he warns. “Don’t want you to be the one causin’ trouble in his paradise.”

I take another sip of the spirit and take a deep inhale, watching as the stars begin to debut themselves in the sky. “Trouble always finds me. I’m used to running from it. The hard part is deciding what kind of trouble to stick around for.”

He studies me as silence falls between us. “You love her?”

I dart my eyes to him. “I barely know her, Eli. How can I love someone I hardly know?” I hope that I am a better liar than I am a friend. Little does Elijah know, our friendship is destined to be short-lived, and his apparent judge of my character as of late is spot-on.

“‘Cause I see that look in your eyes whenever she’s ‘round. See your face shade, your hands jitter. I may be well past my prime, but I know a man in love when I see one.” He cackles again as he pushes my shoulder, taking another nip from the bottle.

I shake my head at him. “You’re drunk, Eli.”

“And what of it, kid?” he smiles. 

Just then, we’re interrupted by the ghost of an image running across the front doors of the stables, rushing past without even a pause. “What in God’s name was that?” he asks as we both stand to rush to the door. In the darkness, I catch sight of the billowing skirts of a woman’s dress rushing through the high grasses of the field. “Is that Ms. Y/N?!”

“It is,” I breathe, frozen in place as I watch her run for her life.

“Speak of the devil…” Elijah whispers, and within seconds, I am running behind her, following her across the grasses and into the field. I have to run at full speed to catch up to her, and it is only when I get close that I can hear that she is crying. 

“Y/N,” I yell after her. “Stop!”

She finally slows her pace as she hears me behind her, folding herself in half as she crouches down into the weeds and grasses. As I finally reach her, I hear her wailing… her face full of terror and tears as she tries to make herself calm. My heart falls. Something bad has happened. 

I kneel beside her and place my hand gently on her knee, her dress scuffed up and dirty from the muddy ground. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” I ask, desperate to help her. 

“Mr. Drayton… he–he’s drunk…” she cries. Her hair is falling from it’s usual perfect braid, messy and in her face as it sticks to her tear-soaked cheeks. Her voice is barely audible from her cries. “He finally tried to–to take his chance…”

“What chance, Y/N? What did he do?” I ask, pushing the hair from her face to get a better look at her.

All she does is look up at me, an emotion worse than fear written all over her. “Did he hurt you?” I ask. Her face falls as her hands grip onto me, using me to hold herself up. 

“He tried, but I broke free, I ran,” she says. “He almost… He nearly…”

I feel a rage billowing up inside me, one that I have never really felt before. And I realize in this very moment that I’d go to the end of the earth to find that man, and do whatever it took to make him feel the fear that is radiating from her, right now.

 “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” I whisper.

“No, no you’re not, Jacob. You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she demands, her voice suddenly deep and commanding.

“Where are the girls?” I ask. “Are they safe?”

“Yes, yes,” she sobs. “They’re with their mother in Virginia.” I study her face as she tries to clean herself up, wiping her tears and fixing her hair as I still keep a firm grip on her shoulders. 

“Go back to my quarters. Run. Go inside, lock it behind you.  I’ll be right there,” I say. Her eyes peer up to me, and I swear that I see the entire universe in them, just like I did that day at the dock. 

“Alright,” she whispers, and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue. She wants to go. I help her get to her feet and I lead us out of the grasses, sending her off quickly toward my quarters. I rush back to the stables to find Elijah trying to busy himself, probably confused as he watched us in the field from afar. 

“Saw her head back your way, son. Why’d you come back here?” he laughs. 

“This isn’t a time for laughter, Eli,” I say as I finish up the duties I had half-ignored earlier. The whiskey is long gone from my system after that rush of nerves. 

“Oh,” he says, now full of concern. “Is… is she alright?”

I don’t answer, instead I give him a look that I know he will recognize. He takes my glare as it is, nodding in understanding. “I’ll take care of the rest of this, son. Go on. Go to her.”

Within minutes I am back to the line of small, run-down buildings under the iron oaks, rushing through the drying mud to get to my own. I step up on the singular wooden step, seeing that she has lit a candle inside. “It’s me,” I say quietly as I knock on the door. I hear her rustle inside before the lock is being undone and the door is slowly swinging open. She’s wrapped in my blanket, slowly pacing around the place as her eyes stay trained on the floor. 

I turn and lock the door again behind me. I’d long since let the fire burn out, so I take my time in relighting it, adding my breath to the few still-burning embers to create a flame. I throw four or five logs on and make sure they catch before turning my attention. She’s still pacing behind me, and I wrack my mind trying to think of what to do, what to say. What do I even say?

After the fire is lit, I feel it beginning to warm the air around us quickly. I take a seat on my bed, watching as her back repeatedly turns to and from me. Her anxiety is making me nervous. 

“Y/N,” I finally whisper. “Come here, come sit.” I put my hand to the bed beside me, knowing that if I am going to even begin to comfort her tonight, I first need her to relax just a bit. Easier said than done, I already know. 

She pauses a second, her thumbnail between her two front teeth. Finally she comes and sits beside me, letting out a shaky breath I know she has been holding since she got here. I know she is terrified, I know her mind is on another plane, entirely. Slowly, I feel her head crane sideways to rest on my shoulder, and her breathing even out just a bit. I bring my arm around her back and shoulders, pulling her in just a bit to let her know that she can relax. “It’s alright, you’re safe here. I’m not goin’ to let anything else happen to you.”

I hear her sniffle through a cry, but this one sounds different than her ones in the field. This one sounds as if she has let her demons fall away, letting the light of clarity overtake her. “You can stay here as long as you like,” I offer. I feel her head nod on my shoulder. 

Then, like all of the stars align, her arm wraps up and around me, and I feel her face bury against my neck. I shudder at it, my skin burning as I feel her breath lay hot against me. 

“Thank you, Jacob,” she whispers, pressing her lips to the skin right below my ear. I know she can hear my heartbeat, there is no way that she can’t. My body is swirling with a fondness that I’ve found only in her, a warmth that only she can bring to my chest.

We stay this way for a few minutes as I feel her body start to soften against mine, and her fear begin to slowly subside. I know that soon, we will have to move from this position, especially if I want to continue to be the gentleman that I am. 

“You can have the bed, I will take the floor,” I suggest, moving from my seat. 

“No–” she says quickly. “No… I–Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too cold, you’ll freeze to death on the floor.”

I stand and meet her eyes, glowing just like the embers in my fireplace. “Then where do you suggest I sleep, Ma’am?”

Her face flushes as she brings her lips into her mouth, wetting them slightly before she speaks. “By me, of course. For warmth…”

All the air leaves my lungs, and I’m positive I couldn’t form a coherent word, if I tried. “Warmth…” I repeat.

She nods. “Would be a shame for either of us to… freeze…” I swallow down my emotions as she stands from her seat, letting the blanket she’s wrapped in fall back to the bed behind her. Her hands crawl to the center of her robes that are tied at the front of her chest. She pulls the tie, letting her heavy cloak fall to the floor, as well. She’s standing before me in much less clothing than I thought I’d see her in, tonight, but the last thing I’m going to do is argue it. She steps closer to me, and I can feel my nerves begin to bubble up inside me again. She turns slowly, pulling her hair to the side. “Help with my corset?” she asks, peering over her shoulder. 

My fingers tremble in rhythm with the pounding of my heart in my chest as I think about her inquiry. I can’t deny her, who would I be to not help her? With shaking hands I take the ends of the light blue ribbon between my fingers, giving it a light tug to free the bow and knot. It’s funny, knowing in the back of my mind that I have already done this once before, that day on the dock. In another life, in another time, completely…

I loosen the ribbon and gently pull it, watching as she is able to take a full, deep breath after being freed of her confines. She lets the corset fall and she kicks it away, slowly turning to face me. I know the look on my face is surprising to say the least, but the way that the firelight ignites her features makes me fall for her all over again. So ethereally beautiful, so tempting in an uncountable amount of ways.

She shivers harshly as the warmth from the fire hits her skin. “Would you like my… coat…?” I ask her, realizing the question is stupid as soon as I say it.

She laughs through her nose, shaking her head side to side. Her hands climb up to undo the buttons of my coat, slowly pulling them free one by one. My heart is in my throat, and I hope that she doesn’t notice my growing anxiousness. Her hands are barely touching me, and I can already hear my own breath becoming ragged. She pulls the jacket from my shoulders and I toss it to the side, my eyes never once leaving her face. Her fingertips slip underneath the straps of my suspenders, pulling them down to my sides one at a time. She’s moving so slowly that I could scream, but at the same time, there’s nothing I would want to last longer.

Next she begins to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, slowly still as she uses care to undo them. I feel a chill rush through my body at the touch of her hands on my barren skin, mixing in with my growing need for her to touch me more. “See, you’re cold, Jacob,” she says quietly. 

“Your hands are like ice,” I mutter, my words sounding like mush in my mouth.

“Not for long,” she reassures me, pulling my arms free from the sleeves of my shirt. I watch as her expression changes, seeing me without any covering for the second time. She pulls the chain that hangs around my neck, straightening it so that the silver charm is settled in the center of my chest. “Where did you get this?”

“My brother made it for me,” I choke out, the memory of Joshua’s face racing through my mind for a split second. 

“It’s beautiful,” she says, still running her hands along the chain, her fingertips barely dusting across my skin.

“Are you sure you do not want the bed, Y/N,” I ask rhetorically, trying to break free from the mesmerizing feeling of her touch. 

She nods. “I’m sure. I want you… with me.”

“You do?” I ask, again. 

“Yes,” she breathes, releasing the chain. She brings her face close to mine, her the tip of her pointer finger resting on the underside of my chin. “I have for weeks…” She pushes me backward, and I try my best to not stumble as I kick my boots off, leaving them laid across the floor. 

She crawls backward into the bed, slitting her legs under the covers as she leaves them half-pulled back for me.  I grab the blanket she had let fall behind her to cover us, as well, and against every nerve ending in my body telling me not to, I slide in beside her. I feel her shiver as the heat from our bodies meets, warm and welcoming as we rely on each other for it. She presses into my side as she shudders through it again. “Are you okay?” I ask, pulling my arm around her. 

“I am now,” she breathes. 

Her head comes to lay beside mine on my singular pillow, and I turn my face to meet hers. I can tell the both of us are having trouble steadying our breaths, and I can feel my hands burning to reach out and touch her. Like she can hear my thoughts, her hand reaches up to rest on my chest, her skin a bit warmer than it was before. 

“Your heart, Jacob. It’s pounding,” she says. I swallow it down, suddenly feeling confident. 

“Of course it is, I’m lying beside you,” I say, watching as her eyes scan my face. The glimmer of the fire reflects in them, only making them harder to look away from.  “You’re– I’m enamored by you.”

“But, I’m nothing but a nurserymaid,” she answers, smiling just a little. 

I shake my head, letting my hand land on her cheek as I whisper, “No, you’re more than just that. You’re the most desirable being that I’ve ever encountered.”

I hear her inhale as her lips press quickly to mine, light and feathery at first as she lets them linger for only a second, before pulling away. She studies me again, and when she finds that I’m not denying her, she leans in again, this time with a bit more conviction. My hand that was resting on her cheek now cups her jaw as I kiss her back, my entire body burning with a heat that the fire beside me must envy. Her lips are softer than any flower petal I’ve ever held, and her touch is more edacious than any hold I’ve ever felt. I let myself become blind in the moment, realizing that every passing second with her is not promised for long. 

I can taste her already. Sweet and just a little bit spicy as I take the initiative, letting my tongue begin to explore a little further. I hear the quietest whimper fall from her lips, and a surge of desire floods me. My muscles begin to become rigid in my body, and I give in to the temptation, removing my hand from her cheek to the back of her head, gently pulling a handful of her hair into a loose fist. Then I let it travel from there to her shoulder, then down her arm, then to balance on her waist. I feel her hips move into me as her lips part further than they have yet, urging me on as I feel her body pressed up against me. 

I watch through hooded lids as her hands drift up to unbutton the top half of her gowns, revealing herself completely to me. I pull away for a second, and I feel my eyes bulge as I hiss through my teeth. Her tits sit so perfectly, and she’s displaying herself to me on a silver platter. My body tenses with want again as I feel myself growing harder for her. Her hands move from her buttons to tangle ferociously in my hair, pulling and entwining her fingers as I hungrily dive in for her again. This time the sound that falls from her lips is audible, and I can hardly contain myself as I let a pitiful moan fall, myself. 

“Fuck… You’re…” I manage to say as I roll myself to lean up on my elbow, and my knee slots between her legs. Her hand pulls on my arm to bring me in closer, and her hips grind down onto my leg.  My hand harshly grips onto her hip as I help her in her motions and pull her down on me, wanting to feel her just as badly as she probably feels me.

For a split second I find clarity, thinking back on the situation with Mr. Drayton that got her here, in the first place. I pray that she doesn’t feel uncomfortable, or for some reason that we must do this in order for her to stay with me. I pull away quickly, my hand still resting on her hip, my thumb dangerously close to her heat beneath her dressings. “Are you sure you want to be here? After everything tonight–”

“I don’t want to step foot into that house ever again,” she cuts me off. We stare at one another and I realize that we’re both out of breath, panting and heavy in the throes of our want for each other. Like she really wants to drive her positivity home, she takes my hand from her waist, pressing it to her barren breast. I pause before I let my hand grip on to her, and the feeling is unlike anything I’ve felt in a long, long while. 

I decide to give in to her want for pleasure, and I begin massaging, my hand paying a special bit of attention to her more sensitive places. I grip her nipple between my fingers and kiss her harder, her body falling harshly onto my leg again as she searches for some type of relief. “God, Jacob...” Her motions are driving me wild, and I beg the heavens above to show mercy on me and my impure actions. I’ve never been a religious man, and it seems in this life, neither is she, but when your mind is stuck in the purgatory between manners and a lust heavier than anything you’ve ever felt, you begin to wonder if you need to apologize to someone for it. 

Thankfully, my life is now a permanent purgatory, and deciding whether I go to Heaven or Hell isn’t up to me, anymore. 

“Touch me, Jacob,” she breathes, and I swear that even if God’s army was fighting against me, I still wouldn’t be able to tell her no. 

I pull the blankets even higher around us, and the fire beside us cracks, sending sparks up into the air. Quickly, my hand manages to creep under her garments and between her thighs now thick with the heat we’ve created. My mind swishes with desire as my hand searches, taking my time to caress her, feel her, tease her…

Finally I find where I was looking for and I slip my hand beneath her underwear, quickly sending my middle finger between her folds. God, the sound that comes from her is enough to make me want to come undone, in itself. She’s dripping with wetness, covering my finger like sun warmed honey. I want to taste her, I want to feast on her and have her calling my name over and over, but I know that will have to wait for another time. 

Her hands are still gripped tightly in my hair as I watch her expressions turn up into the most beautiful pleasure, spurring me on to work her through every single bit of lustfulness she’s felt for me. I hear her voice bellow out with a shudder of her stomach, and I know I’ve found her sweet spot. “Yes?” I ask her. 

She nods quickly, “Yes,” she breathes, biting onto my lips as I continue rubbing circles onto her. “Yes, please, please…” she cries, panting through her words. She’s so deliciously desirable as she lets herself be vulnerable with me, and I fear that my emotions and want for her will never be satiated. Ever. In this lifetime, or any other. And I haven’t even made love with her, yet. 

I let my finger slowly enter her, and I begin pumping it inside her, watching as her jaw falls completely slacked. “Jacob…” she cries, my name in two syllables. 

“M’right here, my love… right here…” I coax her, feeling no resentment in using that word with her, right now. My finger is buried deep inside her, and I feel her walls squeezing tightly around it. Our bodies are burning together, and I swear that I have never heard anything as sweet as my name on her lips. Her fingernails are digging into my skin as her hips begin to grind on my hand, viscous and ragged and messy as she searches for her peak. “Kiss me, Y/N,” I beg, “I want you to let go, and I want you to kiss me through it…” 

Her lips crash onto mine again, this time with a want so furious I contemplate begging God to just let me go to Hell, if this is what I get to experience, there. Her tongue buries itself in my mouth as she licks up all of me that she can, knowing that the taste of me will be her downfall, too. She begins whimpering into my mouth, quietly at first before it builds and builds, echoing off the walls like a song sung by the archangels. I feel her whole body tighten as it hits her, pitiful and writhing as I feel her on my hand. My strands are pulled taut in her hands as she cries through the comedown, her lips still pressed forcefully to mine as she shakes.

Finally her body relaxes and my hair loosens in her grip, and I watch as her eyes peep open and see my face for the first time after experiencing her own version of a miracle. The way her gaze bounces back and forth from each of my eyes, I briefly wonder if she is deciding whether or not she’s made a mistake, but as her hands grip my face and she kisses me again, I know that my suspicion was unwarranted. 

I remove my hand from her undergarments and lift her body, twisting her so that her back is to me, now. I cuddle myself into her hair, breathing in her scent and committing this version of her into the very depths of a memory that I won’t get to keep. My first time making her come for me, an experience that I never thought I would get to have in my other life. Neither of us say a word for a very long while as I make myself comfortable against her under the warmth of the covers. 

“I was going to run away,” I hear her voice cut through the quiet of the night, startling me from what was near-sleep.

“What?” I ask.

“I was going to run from this place, from Mr. Drayton,” she says. “Start my own life my own way, do things on my own accord. But now, now I think I feel a little differently.” She turns her body to face me as I stay silent and wait for her explanation. “I’ve developed feelings for you, Jacob, feelings that I wasn’t sure I would ever have again. Not since losing Charles in the War…” 

“No,” I interrupt her. “You can’t stay here, if you’d already had your mind set. Especially after what he could have done to you tonight… You should go. You should go as soon as you can.” Even though my love for her has grown tenfold in the past hour, there is nothing more I want for her than her own happiness, and if that happiness doesn’t include me, then so be it. 

“What about you?” she asks. 

I stop and think for a second, realizing that the only thing tying me here, is her. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?!” she beams. “You’re not joking, Jacob?”

I shake my head, a smirk finding my lips. “I’m not joking, Y/N.”

“How? What will we do?” she asks. 

I roll to my back, staring at the wood-slat ceiling above us and letting my mind fly away to a reality only I can create. 

“I’ve got a plan.”

—

Seven days have passed. Seven days of repeating the plan to each other over and over in the quiet of the night. I feel certain that she can do this, and I hope I have instilled in her the confidence she needs to carry out this plan. Elijah knows what to do, and I have spent the last week preparing him to take over my role. The nights have been long but I know they will be worth it. 

Today she will run. She will take the last steam boat set to depart at half past four, and I will join her when Elijah gives me the word that it is safe for me to join her. My things are packed and ready, and Elijah has given me an advance in my payment to last me for the next few weeks. Called it his parting gift for teaching him my ways. 

The day seems to drag on, and I check my pocketwatch far too often. Time seems to be moving in slow motion as I count down the hours until we run. When the clock hits four I feel the nerves start to settle in my stomach, and my mind begins to run through worst case scenarios. I fear Mr. Drayton will see her attempting to leave and trap her. 

My burn has begun to pain me daily, the ink in the book becoming more and more legible. I quickly make my way to my quarters and grab my belongings, closing the door behind me for the last time. I return to the stables and find that Elijah seems to be just as nervous as I am, his knee bouncing up and down as he watches the tour guests make their way back to the steam boat. 

“It is almost time my brother,” he says in a low voice. 

“Have you caught sight of her yet?” I ask, biding my farewell to the horses I have grown rather fond of.

“Not yet, but soon I reckon,” he answers with a tip of his chin. 

I reach into my pocket, double checking that I have her ribbon. I am doing this for her, and I cannot leave this time without a reminder of her. A light blue ribbon to add to my book. A place marker to be sure I remember her in every life. 

“I want to thank you, Elijah,” I pause, “I couldn’t have done all of this without you.”

“It has been my pleasure, and I wish you a prosperous life in the future, wherever that may be.”

I smile at him, little does he know just how fitting his words are to my situation. 

“She’s there,” he says, “She is at the dock. I see her.”

I feel my body begin to tremble at his words. She's done it. 

“It’s your time now, friend,” Elijah says, standing and extending his hand to me. I shake it in thanks, the both of us saying everything we need to say, wordlessly. 

I grab my bag and tip my hat to him as I slip out the side of the stable house and begin to make my way to the ferry. I keep my head low and try to blend in with the folks around me. They are dressed way finer than I am, and I hope that doesn’t make me stick out to others. 

My breathing grows heavy as I make my way down the dock, knowing that I should be able to find Y/N at the very back of the boat, just as we planned. The moment I step onto the boat I feel home free, though I know that is not the case just yet. 

I make my way through the small crowd of people, offering thanks as they let me pass, and as I reach the very back I find her, sitting on a small wooden bench with a suitcase in her hands. Her head is down, just like I told her, but I could recognize the gleam of the sun on her hair, anywhere. 

“Y/N,” I breathe, taking a seat next to her. “We made it.” 

She turns to look at me with eyes full of hope, and slowly a smile spreads across her face. I brush my lips against her cheek as I kiss her, her hand reaching for mine. 

“Everything is going to be okay, I made sure that no one followed us. We should depart soon.”

“Thank you, Jacob. Thank you,” she urges, squeezing my hand tightly in hers. 

I feel the boat begin to pull away from the dock and the relief rolls off of me in waves. No one is going to stop us. We are finally free. 

“The girls,” I breathe, suddenly remembering the reason I was able to speak with her in the first place.

“I wrote them. Each of them. Left the letters under their pillows for them to find. I will miss them terribly but I know I have taught them well.”

“I know you have. They were lucky to have you,” I confirm. 

“They were going to be my little sisters, I’m happy I was able to be that for them for as long as we had…” she says, pursing her lips. 

About halfway to the city I turn to look at her. The hope she feels is contagious, though she doesn’t know of my plans. I wish I could stay with her.  I hardly slept last night as I tossed and turned with anxiety over it. Every day my burn scar hurts worse, andI know that at any moment I will leave this time and find myself in the next. I know this will hurt her deeply, so I say nothing of it. I know she will be safe now, and she didn’t notice as I slipped the small bag of money into her suitcase. I won’t need it, but she will. 

Her body has grown more and more relaxed over the last several minutes, and as I turn to look at her, I see she has fallen asleep on the sidewall of the boat. I know it’s time. I know what I must do. I have saved her from Mr. Drayton and a life that she was running from. I loved her the best way I knew how in this life, and now it is time for me to move on to the next and do the same, whatever that may be. 

With one final kiss to her cheek, I grab my bag and move away from her, remembering her only by the blue ribbon in my pocket. “Don’t miss me, Y/N… I will see you again soon.” It  is the hardest thing to do, walking away from her, but I know I must go.

I find myself in a small corridor on the interior of the boat, lined with doors and the engine room. I slip into one of the rooms, a storage closet of sorts and I know this place will work for what I must accomplish. Shutting the door behind me I take a deep breath, telling myself I will remember this life and this version of my love. I will always remember her.

I pull my book from my bag and retrieve the blue ribbon from my pocket, tucking it into the page that reads ‘Charleston’. I couldn’t bring myself to turn to the next page. I’m not ready to see where I will land, but now, I have no choice. I pull the small mirror from my bag and open it, looking at myself in the reflection for the first time in several weeks. I look gruff and could use a serious shave, but I look happy. I look determined. I swallow deeply as I turn to the next page in the book, the ink dark and clear as day now. My hands tremble as I recall the words Seraphine recited to me, and prepare myself to start all over again, in a different time. 

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

The feeling of euphoria takes over me as the words do what they were intended to do. A curse bestowed upon me, to chase my love forever through space and time. I think of my love and how I will find her in the next place. I feel the small space begin to swirl around me, my vision beginning to fade in and out as I start my jump to another world. Forcing my eyes to focus, I finally read the words on the page in front of me, and pray that Y/N will love me in this new time and place, just as she has in the past. 

.

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[mydarlingdearestdead]

The Things We Do For Love: Chapter One

"I'm Apollo." His golden hair shone in the sun's light, an almost mythical contrast to his dark skin.

"Hyacinth." He replied, offering a hesitant hand. The other man took it, but his fingertips were rough, calloused in a way that couldn’t be expected from such a man, regardless, he had a strong, welcoming grip.

"An intriguing name."

"And you."

Hyacinth’s reply was breathless. He was caught between one frantic inhale and the next, struggling to keep time with his racing heart all the while. Apollo tilted his head, as if he listened to a silent melody. His eyes fluttered closed for the briefest of moments. They opened, finally, and refocused on Hyacinth. The colour of molten gold. Of the purest instances of the ore.

Hyacinth’s breath snagged once more.

“You are just… beautiful. Exquisite.” Apollo breathed.

This startled a bout of laughter from Hyacinth.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you.” He told Apollo, who arched an inquiring eyebrow, “The West Wind has laid claim to my beauty already.”

A cloud passed above head, laying a blanket of shadow across the courtyard where they met.

A brief flash of emotion crossed Apollo’s stoic, marble-carved face.

“No man, mortal or ever-lasting, has the right to lay claim to beauty. Beauty is no more a material possession than love or music. To own something is to know it for what it truly is. If I may ask, does Zephyr know you what what you truly are?”

Though Apollo’s question rang in his ears like a persistent melody, Hyacinth glanced hastily toward the horizon. He grasped Apollo’s wrist, “Are you a fool?” He demanded, “We can’t call the gods by their names.”

Apollo held his frantic eye. He allowed Hyacinth to become familiar with the steady rhythm of his pulse. Hyacinth’s ungroomed fingernails bit into Apollo’s flesh, leaving in their wake a row of uniform, gold-streaked crescent moons.

Hyacinth moved to apologise. He sooner found himself as still as the marble columns which bordered the courtyard. He noticed for the first time the laurel wood bow slung thoughtlessly over Apollo’s toned shoulder and the quiver of arrows by his hip.

Apollo’s tone was patient as he repeated his previous question.

Dreading the eventuality of speaking without thought, Hyacinth bit the inside of his cheek. He considered Apollo’s question, eventually replying, “No. The West Wind doesn’t know anything about me.”

A slight smile graced Apollo’s lips.

“That’s what I thought.”

The pair retreated steadily to Hyacinth’s chambers, walking the cobbled paths of Hyacinth’s blissful childhood and troubled adolescence all the same.

Apollo paused to admire many a statue or woven rug. He drew to a stop before a marble bust of the Wine God, Dionysus, laying a cautionary hand on Hyacinth’s forearm. Apollo peered at it for maybe thirty seconds in total before a bout of giggles bubbled past his lips.

“Have many of your royal advisors taken on a sudden bout of madness?” He inquired, amongst bouts of chuckles.

Hyacinth pursed his lips. He, too, turned to face the bust, teeming with poorly concealed resentment.

“Perhaps.” He replied, “How could you know?”

“This bust.” Apollo dissolved into another bout of giggles. After a moment, he composed himself enough to continue, “It more resembles an ass than Dionysus.”

This, Hyacinth conceded.

“It’s modelled after my father.”

“That… Well, that offers a flawless explanation as to why. Your father is not an attractive man.” Apollo laid a gentle hand on Hyacinth’s cheek. His thumb rested on the cupid’s bow of Hyacinth’s upper lip. “How he contributed to a son possessing your majesty, I will never understand.”

Apollo leaned meaningfully forward. Hyacinth protested meekly, “The West Wind…”

“Zephyr can no more touch us than your father.” Apollo unslung his bow in one, fluid movement, “And if he dare try, he will swiftly find himself roaming in Asphodel alongside your father.”

Once more, Hyacinth bit the inside of his cheek. He reached and brushed his fingers against the polished wood of the bow. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Laurel wood.” Apollo’s silken voice took on a shameful quality. His golden eyes fell to the floor.

Hyacinth swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Daphne.” He spoke her name with a reverence reserved for those victimised needlessly by the gods. “My father died of a broken heart.”

Apollo’s lips parted. He could not pluck the words from the cacophonous melody which he knew to be of some semblance of a mortal mind. The god of poetry, reduced to the silence of fools.

In his abundance of caution, Hyacinth retreated from the stoic god.

“I beg of you,” He began, false confidence betrayed by the tremor in his voice, “leave me in my grief.”

This, Apollo thankfully saw fit to grant him that.

Masterlist

Ao3

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren #11

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: none

Wren felt much better now that Silas had worked it out with Felix. Silas’s anxiety had been rubbing off on him the past two weeks, and he was glad that it was over. 

Unfortunately, he still had the problem from before the debacle; Silas would not have sex with him. But he had a plan. 

He’d given up on romancing Silas. Just another thing slaves were unsuited for apparently. 

There were other ways to get into Silas’s bed.

He showered and scrubbed in all the right places, and pulled on a v-neck shirt. He checked himself in the mirror, and he made sure his hair looked just right.

“You look nice,” commented Silas when he glanced up from his book. 

“Thank you, Master.” He shifted a little. It was easy to think about seducing Silas, but actually doing it was another matter. “What are you reading?”

“Some sci-fi novel.” He sighed and put it to the side. “It’s not really catching my attention, though. I suppose I should return it.” He picked up the book again.

“Want to come with me? It’d be nice to get out of the house.”

“Is that… allowed?” Silas tilted his head.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“I… I don't know. I’ve never done that sort of thing before.”

“Well, vampire towns are pretty similar to human ones. Nothing to worry about.” Silas got up to grab his shoes, and Wren hesitated before following suit. He wasn’t sure Silas really… understood what Wren was. 

He was human only in technicality. All the important parts, the thinking and feeling parts, were different. He wasn’t made to go out into town like a person was. But if Silas wanted him to, he’d figure it out the best he could.

Wren chewed the inside of his cheek, and followed Silas out the door. 

___________________

Master’s house was private with a long driveway, but it was deceptively close to town. Just past the gate was a cobblestone road, and soon they reached a row of townhouses. 

There were people milling about, children playing street games, and music coming from somewhere. Wren shuffled closer to Silas. Weren’t these people supposed to be at work and the kids at school?

Of course. It was Saturday, and he'd forgotten.

He could feel the moment they smelled him. The glance that turned into a gaze, the staring that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

The children were far less subtle, sometimes stopping their games of tag or ball to gape at him. 

He lowered his eyes properly and made sure to follow Silas exactly. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m sorry, Master, I don’t understand.”

Silas put his arm around his shoulder, and leaned in. “You don’t have to look like that,” he whispered, “as if you’re in trouble. Okay?”

“I don’t-”

“Walk next to me, alright? Not behind. And you can look up. No one’s going to hurt you, but you're acting like prey.”

“Yes, Master.”

It felt strange at first, but he quickly got used to it. More pretending, but Silas liked this kind.

Master Silas was strange, too. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but Wren knew his Master. 

Silas stood taller, flashed shiny smiles at people who knew him, and waved at neighbors. Even his words were more formal. Gone was the casual “hi” and “hey”, and “hello” and “good afternoon” replaced them.

Maybe he was pretending, too. Weird.

The townhouses gave way to a park, and then the stone stores and brick businesses. 

And to his surprise, he could read the signs.

He stopped and stared at the words. He mouthed them, making sure it wasn’t his imagination. H-a-l-l-m-a-n-’s. Hallman’s. T-o-y-s. Toys. Hallman’s Toys.

Holy shit.

Wren wasn’t sure that Silas’s reading lessons were actually working, but the proof was in front of him.

Lord and La-dy Stit-ching, Ei-leen’s A-po-the-car-y, it went on.

“Still alright?” 

“Master, I can read!” he whispered back.

Silas beamed at him, proud and pleased, and Wren’s heart fluttered.

The library was big, all white stone with columns and tall windows. The inside had plush carpets, and it was nearly silent but for a quiet murmur of people.

Silas put the book in the ‘return’ (how exciting!) pile, and went to wander the shelves.

“How about you go pick something out? To celebrate.” he suggested before strolling off.

Where to start?

He browsed the shelves in ‘my- mys- mystery’. That seemed interesting.

Wren plucked Murder on the Ori- Orient- ? - Express off the bookcase. He’d heard of this one, actually. He wasn’t sure what ‘orient’ meant, but a famous murder mystery book sounded intriguing. 

He was trying to suss out the description on the back when he felt somebody staring at him.

He turned, and it was a small child. She squinted at him.

“Your body’s weird,” she said. “And you smell funny.”

“What?”

“I said you’re weird.”

“Um-”

“Laura!” came a hushed voice, and the girl’s mother came into view. “That’s no way to talk to-” the woman glanced up at him, and Wren flushed. The woman straightened, and gave him an apologetic look.

“Laura, say you’re sorry to the nice man.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Speak up honey, human ears aren’t as- um- focused as ours.” 

“It’s fine,” he hurried, “I heard her. It’s okay.”

The little girl lit up. “Are you really a human?” she squealed, and her sudden joy gave him whiplash. “Is that why your eyes are funny?”

“I guess?” he shifted his weight, and Laura’s own eyes followed him like a cat watching a mouse.

“Laura!” said her mother, scandalized. “I’m so sorry, she’s never seen one- I mean- a human before.”

“Really. It’s okay.”

“Honey,” she bent down to her daughter, “how about we pick out a nice book about humans and we leave the lovely man alone.” Her voice was firm, and Laura seemed to pick up on her mother’s urgency.

“Okay, mama. Bye!” She waved.

Wren waved back. 

He went to find Silas. 

The walk home was much better. Smoother, now that he knew what was expected. 

It was an okay day, on reflection. Not a success on the sex front, but the revelation he could actually read more than made up for it.

He put the book on his nightstand. He’d start it another day, because quite frankly he had enough adventure. Fictional adventure could wait until tomorrow.

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[chim-aera]

the dance

you wander into the woods on a particularly pleasant evening, fireflies are dancing in the sky, and the trees thrum with some sort of primal, eldritch energy. It's Beltane, may day, the mother earth, the may queen, has her head tipped back in splendor as the sun coaxes spring from her core, and the earth spins and shimmers with the green flush of life, abundance, fertility. the air is sweet, saccharine like blackberries smeared in your pockets, on your hand, your lips, brushing them to a rosy purple laughing like Dawn, rosy fingered and grinning. they're all grinning. once you step past the sanctuary,

it's already too late little mortal, but you know that don't you?

stones stand like stoic sentinels, you set down an offering, maybe a piece of lemon cake, or a button that never stays on right, and you slip past the fraying seams of reality, into what lies beyond. laughter, dancing, wine sweetened smiles, languid grins, it's dizzying, and otherworldly, eyes, slit, cat like, fangs and rows of teeth like a predatorial fish, wings, gossamer and goose down, claws, hands, boney and double jointed, they glance at you, in all their unblinking eternal curiosity. you move, spinning, the music takes you like an overzealous dance partner, turning you around and around until you can't remember when you even started dancing. lips meet yours, sticky with honey and nectar, soft, sickeningly sweet, it's drowning you alive, you're drunk on it all already.

he notices you, a gaze sharper then briar-points, his hand grasping his chalice, long cold fingers slipped around glass. a smile tugs at his lips, flowers are braided into his hair, long, heavy tresses falling down to his waist. he smirks at you, dangerous, the game you're playing, deadly, but there's a sick little joy in that isn't there?

he asks you to dance, do you take it? a cloak like meadows, his breath earthy, wine laden, hot on your ear, on your cheek, sharp nails tease lazily along your collarbone, skeletal fingers curl gently around your throat, he feels the pulse throb there, it only makes his smile widen, creeping along his lips like a snake soon to be fed.

you don't pay notice to the danger here, thousands of eyes flicking towards you, curved mouths lopsided and hungry, watching, waiting. but he holds still, they wouldn't dare strike, they wouldn't dare play with his toy, not until he's had his fun with you.

he takes your hand, his other at your waist, or the small of your back, he twirls you around, his gaze heavy, holding you in place like a moth pinned down by a needle, still fluttering, but hopeless nevertheless. the dance continues, your body never letting you stop, you don't want to stop. you protest when he begins tugging you away from the dance floor, but he simply shakes his head, eyes crinkling in amusement,

mortals are fragile little things, it wouldn't do to see you break all this early.

the effects wear off, eventually, you feel tired, heavy, he pulls you effortlessly along like some sleepy child and you find yourself eventually pressed to his chest, folded in his embrace on his throne, his firm body, large, startlingly large, you realize that now, held fast around you like a shield, or a prison. his gaze never wavers, and he lifts your chin, long digits pried under your jaw, tilting your head back as he gently coaxes your lips apart with one finger, it teases your tongue, pushing down, silencing any startled, pitiful little sounds of protest, before something cool and metallic is pressed to your mouth and the taste far too sweet it resembles bile floods your senses. you try to choke, you try to sputter, but his grip holds firm, forcing it down, while his hand at your neck presses ever so gently into the column of your throat, making you swallow every last drop.

you're left reeling, confused, the sound of the music seems far away, yet it pounds in your ears like some distant demonic drummer, and you press yourself into his arms, nuzzle into the soft silk of his tunic, he coos, soothing you with sweet words of endearment while his touch slides down your spine.

and what do I call you, little one?

the word falls past your lips before you can even think, and a cold, slithering dread grips your soul. this was the third rule you had broken.

never dance. never eat nor drink whatever they offer. and never, never child, do you give them your name.

It's too late now, you're cradled against the chest of the Seelie Lord, he chuckles, a rich sound that vibrates in his chest making you shudder, and his fingers keep caressing your shoulders, yet it feels strange, like branches brushing against your skin, or spiders scittering beneath your clothing. your mouth tastes strongly of the wine, it sets heady in your mouth like the taste of a nightmare, yet you know this is far, far from the storybooks of lore.

you squirm, he holds you fast, two large hands clamped over one thigh, the other threading into your hair, tipping your head back, effectively immobilizing you.

he looks down at you, amused, almost pitying.

you were far too much of an easy little game.

but he's won, no matter.

you try to struggle again, but petal soft lips, sweet yet hungry crash against your mouth, swallowing any sounds from you as his fingers tangle into your hair. he rocks you against him, his hands grasping, kneading, caressing any flesh he can reach, and you can't help but lean into him. growing drunk on his attentions until you're pleading and begging like the sweet little mortal you are.

you don't remember much when you wake, all you feel is a dull throb, a need, festering inside you. you awake in a field of soft grass, mushrooms circling you like a mycloligical Stonehenge.

a fae ring, how fitting.

your hair is braided, mussed, yet not tangled, and a heavy crown of blossoms rest on your head. you can't help but bring it to your nose, your body responding to the sweet, sharp scent of earth and pleasure, and the need inside you only heightens.

you look around to find the stones, moss laden and unchanging. yet your meager offerings are long gone, was it last night you laid them there. last week? last month?

you stand but your mouth feels dry, insatiable, you feel hungry, a desire inside you untamed and wild.

you stand like a bewildered creature in the forest shade, blinking and confused, remembering his soft touch, his gentle words, his lips, his hands, prying apart your lips, tangling in your hair, pinning you flush against soft earth, gentle, all consuming, pleasurable.

you crave it.

you don't know if you can live without it now, everything you knew was faded, fuzzy like the glow of fluorescent lights. distasteful, bland.

when the sound of music fills the air you want to cry, of joy, of terror, your legs react far quicker then you do and you find yourself running, the barrier splits for you once more, the revel hasn't ended, and his throne is in view among the crowd, debauchery and revelry filling the eternal dusk.

you move towards him, strong arms embracing you, he takes you back into his hold and you feel you want to never leave. when he brings his goblet to his lips you snatch it from him, in your strange human hands, bringing it to your mouth as you greedily down it to the dregs.

you laugh, his eyes flicker with something dark, something filled with a dangerous enjoyment, but you only find charm in that.

a wicked, wicked charm.

your head swims from the wine, your mouth tastes saccharine, from his lips, from his drink.

before you know it his mouth is upon yours, his tongue licking into your own, your hands clutch his doublet, he smirks and you can feel it. you devour each other like beasts, like lovers, like fae.

when you both eventually pull away you're panting, he is not, but his eyes are blown wide with lust.

you smile, a dizzy sort of desire tugs at your senses, fills your mind and body.

this was wrong, all of it, around you horned beasts and beings, creatures with tails and cats smiles twist and move, drinking wine from each other's mouths, hands, hooves, horns. cries of ecstasy and energy. it was a dance of debauchery, to the very finest, but you simply lean back into his chest, finding a solace in it. and he presses you closer to his heart.

now the fae king watches new strangers stumble drunken and laughing, tripping like newborn fawns around the revels, the ones that wish to stay, while his lover holds their arms around his neck, watching, with the same clever, amused smile he has. they turn to you, king and consort, and a grin spreads across both lips, of the fae, and the one who's not quite human, not anymore.

so if you travel, little one, to the world of the fae, past the stones arch sentinels of cracks of mossy grey.

leave a gift and carry caution, rowan, iron, salt, and do not heed their pretty promises, do not take their balms.

take not wine nor bread nor cakes, kiss not the honeyed lips. raven eyes, and silver horns, rolling nectar hips.

take not their hands, their fervent dance, step not to beat nor tune. and when you see the High King's head don't follow him to your doom.

and if you follow my warnings fast, perhaps you can go free, but trust me child, you'll wish you had, and ended up like me.

[themarshesbreathe]

Breenhouse

Breathe, out, and breathe again. The soil carpet underfoot is dark, brown, and soft. It sits in a richness, evident in the buoyant feeling of it replacing its form in your absence. The ceiling is made up of glass panes - dusty, stained with dripped dew and bird droppings, held in place with white plywood sheathing - painted, chipped, rusty nailed and pretty. The sunlight comes in clearly so, flitting through the branches overhead as their leaves wave - trailing its dotted, falling path along the rows and columns of succulents, tulips, flowers and herbs living comfortable in homes of soft moulded clay. They stand on second-hand stools - not one having a pair.

A gentle breath: the clarity of new air in the warm atmosphere helps the mind navigate the depth of the variety of growth. You raise your eyes from the dirt and they take you there. Gasp. The initial walk is brisk, the rows a blur. Lime greens hover. Pale and bright beige sits stubborn. Deep, vibrant yellows and sunny red oranges stretch a vivid presence from all distances. It's a packed gathering of now-familial plants, brushing their leaves against each other, shoulder height to a small woman, creating a forest. A slow and gentle pace now. You notice the slackening stalk of orange-petal tulips as the evening sun wanes, and you notice the breeze has quickened. You see the way the mint flutters and brushes its dense, velvet leaves against itself, growing in a constant effort, exuding its steady flow of excess energy in senses the nose notices first. You watch the curling sunflowers and the depth of their blackened brown seeds. The coupling of tiny brown treecreepers, unnoticed until they peep and hop, nesting in the cranny of the corner rafters and reflecting your attention once you see them. The kindness you feel in your smiling muscles when the monstera that guard the entrance slip their broad leaves against your chest, then shoulder.

Outside around the bases of the elder Redgum trees' thick trunks, where the nettles and broken and failed branches splay across the flattened mud, coarse dirt, patch grass and bulging roots, there grow mushrooms. They grow in pockets of the wildest varieties: vivid oranges faded by time and rain; proud reds, polka dotted and sporting specks of small white animal scratches; long stalks of beige hatted standers - none of equal height or stature - and pods of dull-green-veined and pure-white-capped bloomings that grow along the scattered bodies of fallen trees. One more inhale and the breeze comes clearly.

[mrfancyfoot]

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

Fic Rating: E/Varied | Chapter 1: AO3 + Tumblr | Master List

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Chapter 13: Excel-exual "Raphael takes a peek into Evie’s precious journal."

< Previous Chapter: Ch. 12 Friendfiction | Next Chapter: Ch. 14 Scarlet >

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❤️ Thank-you for reading!! I adore all of you :3 ❤️

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Ch. Rating: M-ish / NSFW-ish Ch. Word Count: 4.5k Ch. Tags: POV Raphael; Haarlep; Character Analysis; Schemes; Unreliable Narrator; Raphael Approves

Ch. Warnings: Sexy, sexy spreadsheets; Mentions of Drug Use (medicinal, experimental [Do not try at home, never eat unknown mushrooms!]); Mentions of Alcohol and Dub-Con; Raphael’s Obsessed; Mental Health (Stress, Anxiety, ADHD Allusions, Fixations); Questionable Poetry

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Read under the cut or on AO3-

Loose pages threatened to flutter to the floor as Raphael carefully scanned the open spread of the fox’s journal with a burning curiosity.

It was brimming with notes, drawn maps, charts, musings, strategies, doodles…  Stuffed with found letters and scribbles from her travels.  Torn excerpts from books.  A deep look into the mind of the little fox sleeping away.

Her quill had been dropped between two pages, marking a thought interrupted when she had been summoned.  The Moonrise Towers.  A collection of found information and intelligence.  Their current strategy and goals for what they believed was upcoming.

He flipped to the beginning.

Entries began as daily reports and morphed into pages tracking various quests and wants and goals with reports moved to a set of pages carefully ruled into weekly sections.  Each page diligently numbered.

A pair of hand ruled calendars ticked off the days and tracked events.  Translations of dates, measurements, et cetera, between the Faerûn standard and her own.

She had a small, careful hand hidden by her admitted inexperience with a quill - it shed the shaky, uneven lines, blots, and strikes through the dated entries, gaining a smoothness with the repeated practice.  There was little flourish behind her pen, the writing appearing crisp and utilitarian in later areas.  Impeccable spelling and grammar, an advanced vocabulary - proof of the higher education he suspected despite her casual manner of speech.

The journal had seen better days and ink, dirt, and other unknown substances were smeared and spattered across nearly every page…  Some required peeling apart.  It smelled vaguely of Evie though mostly of a roil of scents from her travels.

A section was dedicated to inventory - the pages divided up into neat columns and rows with name and count meticulously tracked.  Items sorted by type with a wealth of other information noted.  When space ran out, new pages had been glued, bound, and folded onto the end.  Subsequent iterations showed changes over time, indicating what had been deemed important to her to track.  Food stores had their own section similarly formatted.  He recalled that Korrilla had made note in a report that Evie could be frequently seen taking stock of inventory.  Had she performed similar work in her past life?  This level of organisation spoke to experience he had not gathered from conversing with her…

According to her inventory, they held a few rare items of interest.  Perhaps she would be amenable to parting with them following the conclusion of this saga?

Pages here and there torn out.

Pages of recipe and document titles with-

Well, be still his infernal, bloody heart…she used reference and change codes.  From the number of them, she kept many separate, feasibly in some other journal or collection.  Noted page numbers called back to relevant inventories, reports, musings…and information she had compiled about various individuals.  What a trove!

Leading a claw down the document list, his eyes fell on one of interest: the copy of the first Soul-Sworn contract he had offered.  It was found folded at the back of the journal, as indicated, along with a few other documents that he set aside.

He knew she had made changes prior to stating her rejection but had never seen them.  A blue ink was stark against the black used for the copy.  The top right was dated and twice coded for the corresponding document number and change number.  She had struck through the signature lines at the bottom and written ‘REJECTED’ atop them.  Each strike, note, and change was initialed - EV.

He passingly pondered what the ‘V’ represented.  That could not be how she actually spelled her name…could it?  While he doubted, it was not a quirk he could put past the fox.  It was also possible that she lived by her initials.  They had gleaned no information on possible family ties through their efforts to verify her identity.

Thoughts were able to be plucked from all save the little fox.  Music.  All he and his warlock could ever hear was strange music that they had been unable to pierce through.  Some individuals were expected to have mental fortifications to protect against such intrusions, however, there was no reason to believe that Evie, who hailed from a plane where magic is foreign, would have had any such learned protections of that caliber.  An early annoyance he had to work around.  Was it a product of her tadpole?  He knew hers projected that music of her mind to those also infected - a frequent complaint within the group.  Was it attempting to transmit something else?

The more revealed of her, the more evident it became that she was abnormal in more ways than one.  An ever growing, ever morphing puzzle.

It was difficult to believe that this was the same fox who would routinely need to be reminded of the topic of discussion while they spoke if, by the Hells, anything happened to distract her.

Without her presence to distract and cloud his mind, his thoughts revisited her use.  Caging her away, while tempting, would be a waste of her skills.  It would serve well in both the Gate and his court once his takeover of the Hells was put into motion.  True talent that shared his love for order was so difficult to find!

Although…there was little need for one to leave the House for most administrative tasks, and for the ones that necessitated doing so…well, that was the job of a courier.

From this, he had to ask himself how much of the chaos surrounding the fox was of her own doing?  She had eccentricities aplenty, yet how would her group of blighted companions have fared without her reining them in and tracking all of this information?  Would they have lost their way or separated to the winds?  Would another have stepped up?  Perhaps this degree of detail was gratuitous relative to what was needed at the minimum, but she was flourishing in her role as their leader despite her flaws, as he knew she would.  Much was shouldered on this little fox.

He took up his own quill once more to add to the night’s notes, starting with her numerous contract complaints.

Finding the dossiers she kept on individuals, he scanned through them.  Much she had written was already known to him and she kept personal thoughts here to a minimum.  More reference numbers dotted the pages.  Karlach’s had notes about the infernal engine within her.  The Archdruid…the wizard…Lae’zel…Wyll…  To be expected, Astarion’s was more detailed than most.

‘Scars - written in Infernal per A.  Ask R?’

He grinned.  This gave him an edge.  They intended to ask him - for who else could she mean? - about Astarion’s scars.

His satisfaction then turned sour with disappointment and confusion.  The page reserved for himself was entirely blank.

He had almost flipped past it as the page was entitled with a sole ‘R,’ to which she had amusingly added horns.

Unlike others that she saw as outsiders and enemies to her group, there was no physical description.  Nothing to identify him explicitly as a devil.

Korrilla had more written about her.  He suspected the fox had known of his warlock’s presence well before official introductions and learning that she worked for him.  The very few references to him were marked with a simple ‘R’ and kept brief.

She referred to his House of Hope as simply ‘the House.’

Was she withholding writing down information about him?  An interesting notion.

Referring to him not even by full name anywhere - the only such individual treated so vaguely - led him to believe there was a purpose.

Haarlep, however - or ‘Harlep’ as she had spelled it - had been written about at length.  He felt a twinge of bitterness that he was able to read her thoughts on his incubus but not himself.  Her dislike of them was palpable even in ink, breaking the rule of other dossiers that were free of such biases.  Since their first tumultuous encounter, she had not cared to see the fiend again - which Haarlep had taken to moaning about around their attempts to steal glimpses and engage her in salacious conversation.

‘Won’t fucking take no for an answer.’

‘Charm effect with gaze?  Don’t think that affects me?  They’ve implied they have other means of control/coercion, though - avoid being near.  -Not touch -Effect or spell from kiss? (ew)  Maybe venom?’

‘Incubi feed off of sexual energy and probably souls.  Not keen on finding out what would happen if they got their way.  This one has some degree of transformative ability (R) - idk if all do.  They’re sparkly, so glamour?  When they have a form, that person can feel what they do (???).  How do they get the form?’

Spatters of ink dotted the page in what appeared to be areas where she had stabbed at the paper with her quill.  Her feelings towards the incubus stood out to him.  Her frustration was palpable and no other he found had earned animosity.

‘Mfker’s relentless.  Now being gross from the pool/boudoir.  Idk how they found out abt hearing.  [forceful scribbles]  Lucky guess?  R told them?  Something I did?  Refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.  No reason to trust anything they say.  Hoping they just get bored and fuck off.  Or drop dead.’

‘Bastard’s lucky they get hot water ._. ’

‘What’s their purpose @ the House?  Not treated or behave like one of the servants & seem to get far more leeway.  Not like K, either?  Def some degree of antagony b/w Hr and R, though.  Contract terms?  Just a really annoying guard?’

Ah…Haarlep had discovered her heightened hearing, taking advantage of it by teasing her from afar with, no doubt, ‘inappropriate comments.’  How naughty.  The fox, however, made no mention of this behavior to him nor had he witnessed any indications of such distractions - yet it bothered her enough to write down. She was prone to distraction, however, so would he have been able to distinguish?  How would she look with lust and obscenities whispered in her ear?

Why not tattle on the incubus and tell him of her discomfort?  She had hesitated earlier in saying that her visits were relaxing - was this why?  Certain precautions had been taken due to that hearing of hers, but it was clear now that he had not gone far enough.  It appeared Haarlep had revealed part of their arrangement.  Perhaps she was simply too embarrassed to risk revealing what she had learned?

Though…there was a thread of envy here that he was sensing.  Was the little fox covetous of what she saw as special treatment afforded to the fiend?  A new light was cast on her resentment of them.  Perhaps in denial over her desires?  Was claiming his chair due rather to feeling…territorial?

Despite her earlier words, she may be more open to his newer thoughts on an arrangement than he was led to believe.

It would seem Haarlep had a use here, after all.

On a whim of inquisitiveness, Raphael flipped back to the page about Astarion.  Nowhere was it mentioned that he was a vampire spawn.  She had not physically described any of her companions.  And now that he was deliberately seeking, he noticed there was obvious information missing throughout many of her entries.  Even Astarion’s links to Cazador, and vice versa, had been muddied through a use of misleading references.  Cunning, little fox.

The journal was a wealth of information, but she had taken care not to reveal certain identities and information.  Feasibly in the event that it fell into another’s hands - such as now.  He understood Astarion, but to include him in such care meant a greater degree of sympathy than he had expected at this juncture.  Or perhaps she did not wish for another to know a devil reserved her time?

The last section of her journal was dedicated to her personal entries.  

Pages filled with doodles and affirmations.  Lines of poetry and song.  Scores of melodies.  Her thoughts and reminders on this and that.  Her voice was more casual here than in the rest of the journal.

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‘I am Evie.

I am the beat of the butterfree’s wings.

I am the dandelion on the wind.

I am the howl of the storm.

I am the erosion of rain.

I am the flower blooming in concrete.

And I am magnificent.’

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As quaint as she.  ‘Magnificent’...a lofty word.  One that spoke of a dazzling pride, unrelenting ambitions, feats of splendor, and realised dreams.  A word that played prettily on his tongue.

The magnificent little fox.

Were you truly, little fox?

He would look forward to her magnificence.

He took notice of her name written here - so the V was a separate initial…

‘Plan A: Yank It Out’

A diagram of an eye, where she believed the tadpole was, and the various detailed steps she would take to remove it.  Her thoughts on this sprawled across a full spread of pages.

‘I think DV is connected more to the slug than they have shared.  I don’t like that they are encouraging its use.  Why?  Protecting me/us from its influence - how?  Something is off about them but I can’t put my finger on what.  An uncanniness.'

An arrow was drawn from the word ‘uncanniness’ to where she had written:  ‘Like the incubus!  Glamour/fake projection?  No sparkle bc dream?  But why?’

‘Why does mine project?  If not for the mash of music, would it be my thoughts?  Still does that force connection thing to other slugs sometimes - thoughts/memories/feelings - though the others have said mine are hazy (?).  Doesn’t seem to do anything else (for the others given powers, I can see why its use is tempting).  O said mine seems weaker than others, though.  Maybe not meant to be constantly broadcasting?  Has it weakened?  Or it came damaged?  Or it just isn’t compatible with my weird brain? lol’

‘DV visiting more often.  They said my slug is weak bc I don’t use it and removing it would kill me (X to doubt).  They don't like that I'm trying to get rid of it.  They don’t like my meetings with R.  They are def reading my thoughts.  G & R couldn’t manage that.  Via slug?  Doesn’t seem to be all the time.  Can’t trust something reading my thoughts.’

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‘I don’t like things in my head,

I said.

I don’t like them red, white, purple, green.

I don’t like them when they come by dream.

I have my music, my radios of thought.

I have a crowd thinking I can be bought.

Power, protection, glory.

Trust me!

‘I can remove it!*’

Trust me.

Trust me.

I miss the quiet,

The safety of my maze.

Instead I’ve a riot,

And can’t focus for days.

It’s enough to scream,

‘Save me, o’ dextroamp-amphetamine!’

*For a fee.’

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How insightful!  Her worries, her fears, and the meandering paths winding towards the truth.  He was quite satisfied to read of her distrust in their dream visitor.  His was the only voice she should be heeding.

She ‘missed the quiet’?  Was this in reference to her music or to another force invading her mind?  Or perhaps merely to a ‘riotous crowd’ of companions demanding so much of her attention that she had none left to focus on anything else?

The last line referred to what read as a chemical compound - an amphetamine stimulant of sorts.  No addictions and perhaps not illicit where she was from - by her words - but what of medicinal use?  Korrilla had reported that the fox drank an ‘alarming’ amount of kaeth, especially for someone who outwardly despised the taste.  Perhaps caffeine was a circumstantial substitution?  Another note to research…

‘Plan B: Wait ‘n See

Why be hasty?  It’s different and there for a reason.  I don’t think ceremorphosis is it.  Or why mutate/modify it?  Unless…Super Illithids!  Not the hero origin story I wanted…  XP’

‘Plan C: Dumb Luck

Maybe it’ll just…resolve on its own.’

Raphael scoffed.  ‘Plan: Accept the Devil’s Bargain’ was nowhere written - except coded within poetry.

What hubris.

Pages of thoughts and diagrams for inventions and innovations.  A list of ‘modern’ amenities she missed so much she would find them or a way to recreate them here.

‘Self-inking pens

Stretchy hair ties

Deodorant

Bug Repellant

Hoodies

~The Internet~

Computer

Digital Archive

Phones

Vibrator

Pizza

Pasta

Ramen

Vanilla Coke

Chocolate

My teeeeeea

Penicillin

Blood Bank

A gun’

She had spoken of her plans for the pen, and it seemed she was already crafting and testing parts.  A ‘communications and archival device’ commanded the most pages.  An advanced technology for which he could see numerous benefits…should she be successful.  She frequently alluded to a device in their talks that he presumed was much like this one.

Ideas for an energy source to power the device.  A battery created from crystals that could be recharged by the user’s energy.  

‘Sounds safer than me trying to 1. find, 2. fuck around w/ nickel, lithium, etc…’

Ideas for computational coding models.

‘Hybridized model - replace mag components where possible’

‘Build in encryption.  Per G, magic comms. signals can be intercepted easily. idk if that applies to radio freqs tho? - test’

She had more than simple passing knowledge of all these components - this was an ability to replicate and create.  An ability, if proven, significantly increased her value.  It did appear that she had an aversion to magic-based components, though no notes provided explanation as to why, and she was, at the very least, consulting the wizard…  Perhaps a simple preference for that which she was most comfortable?  A device for communications that could not be intercepted by magic would be highly sought after.

Her silly idea to go the path of manufacturing goods may deserve more consideration than he had initially allotted…

Innovation created technology, advanced efficiency and order.  In the right hands, technology was power.

His confidence grew, feeling increasingly vindicated in his choice to focus his efforts on her.

The final set of entries continued in a similar vein of oddity - not surprising in the least at this juncture.  An ongoing experiment.

‘Got hit by spores from weird blue mushroom in Underdark.  Made others act odd - energetic, snappy, restless.  Made me sleepy.’

‘Collected several specimen - took precautions.  Likes to grow along the river bank and damp areas.  Seems to stay small and low-growing.  Ventral side has dark violet gills - same color splotches appear on cap after harvested when it loses glow.  H not familiar.  See if O knows more?’

‘O said no known use yet and toxic (but not deadly to their knowledge) for many to eat - stomach issues, headaches, increased aggression, blurred vision, jitters, muscle cramps.  Would that occur with microdosing?  The others did complain of aches and upset for a bit after it wore off before but they were hit by more than I was.  Use for spores vs meat?  Fresh vs dried?  Maybe G will help me test :3’

Detailed pictures of this mushroom and a small map of where she had found them.  A grid where she had begun tracking exposure, amounts taken, side effects, dates...  

A list of observed growth conditions.

So keenly interested in this mushroom - for what cause?  He considered the side effects she observed in herself thus far - drowsy, calm, headache, alert, moody…  What was it that she sought?  There were many notes but no goal stated.

A sleep aid, perhaps?  Did the little fox have trouble sleeping?

Her words before of ‘missing the quiet’ came back to mind.  She did fall deeply asleep here while left alone.  He knew her camp to be rather undisciplined.  Was she unable to block out excessive noise with that hearing of hers?  He recalled in another report that the fox had started constructing her tent further from the others…

The rest of the pages were blank but as he paged back through the journal, a note scrawled on the inside of the cover caught his eye:

‘If you are reading this, you’ve found Evie’s journal.  She acknowledges that she left it somewhere stupid, again.  Please return it.’

A laugh seized him.

A common occurrence, dear fox?

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Raphael didn’t look up as the incubus sauntered in, their nose in the air.  “Your office is beginning to smell of the fox.”  They draped themself over the back of his chair, running a claw down the ornate wood as they eyed his work from over his shoulder.  “Did she visit?  Is that what has you so worked up?  What did she do?  You have not even come to bed!”

He continued to ignore them.

“Ahh~”  Haarlep held up their fingers, pinching several strands of red fur with a grin.  “What evidence!  Now, I truly must know!  Perhaps you had her strip and touch herself here, hm?”  They loudly sniffed at the chair.  “Yet I smell nothing of her arousal,” they added with exaggerated disappointment.

Sliding a finger down his arm, they leaned closer to his ear.  “Or are you to tell me that the little vixen got a free pass to seat herself upon your chair?  She certainly made herself at home with all this fur left behind.  Or perhaps you disciplined her?  Laid her over your knee and-”

“Must you disturb me?” Raphael sneered, in no mood for their antics.  Exhaustion was closing in on him and yet he had work to complete before succumbing to its call.

They flicked away the fur and began unbuttoning his doublet.  “Must you torture me so by getting all hot and bothered and doing nothing about it?  From what I felt, she must have practically pranced around you naked!”  He shook off their wandering hands.  They gasped, “Was she naked when you summoned her?  Caught at an inopportune time?  Or may it have been…with purpose?  Is she a little seductress, after all?  Simply begging for you to take her!”

He knew it would be worse to admit that the fox had truly done nothing save place her trust in him with her vulnerability.  And he was not about to tell the incubus that she was tucked away in the House asleep.

“Just a few minutes with me and I’ll have her mewling like a kitten.  You desire her, don’t you?”  Not giving them the response they wanted, they unlatched themself from the back of his chair and rounded the desk to throw themself into the chair opposite.  “I do not understand this game you insist on playing with this one,” they whined.  “Why not just take her?  She has listened to an absurd amount of your prattling on about the history of Cormyr and Calimshan without falling asleep or begging you to stop to find it disagreeable.  I’ve seen that fluffy tail wag quite often - that means she is happy in your presence!  Flirty, even!” they pointed out as though he was unaware.

“The game is patience, Haarlep!  She is on a path towards completing the goals ahead of her.  That is the priority.  Should the opportunity for a contract present itself once more, I shall most eagerly take advantage,” he emphasized, pausing in the middle of his writing.  “Barring that, before the dust has settled after this saga, the curtain shall rise for the next.  Rest assured, the fox will be mine.”

They hopped to their feet and flung themself forward to rest their head on their elbows atop his desk, grinning ear to ear.  “Does this mean you are getting me a playmate?  You wouldn’t be going through all this effort if you intended her as just any silly little toy to break in and toss aside once you are satisfied with their image alone.”

Haarlep needn’t know that he had no intention of allowing them to have her in the way they most wanted.  “Toys have significantly less use once broken.  With the proper care taken, the fox will be tamed and under my control.  She would make a far less entertaining pet without that tongue and brain of hers.”  

“Mm…  She said she liked your poetry, did she?” Haarlep teased.  “So disrespectful, though…  But I can help tame her!  How about starting with how one must always respectfully greet their betters?  And no pets on the furniture unless commanded?  Though she can sleep with me, of course, and I can ensure that she is always-”

“Cease your attempts to interfere.  Or has Mephistopheles instructed you to sabotage this, as well?” Raphael hissed in accusation, cutting off their spiral into fantasy.  He would not put it past his father to order his spy to get in the way of something else he desired.  

With a smirk, they gave a half-hearted shrug as they flicked away dirt from under their claws.  “It's not like he would care.  After all, what's more distracting than a brand new pet to break in?”  They fell against the desk dramatically as they continued whining, “I just want to play~  Such a stubborn little foxy.  She does remind me of-”

“Hold your tongue,” he demanded.

They chuckled and looked up at him.  “Oh, Master, it has been weeks since you’ve so much as mentioned the birdie in the dungeons.  All I hear now is how the fox has done this and done that and said~  Are you so afraid that she, too, may reje-”

“Should the stubborn little fox inform me that you continue to be a nuisance, I shall honor any desire of hers to have nothing to do with you,” he threatened.  He may be unable to do away with the incubus at present, but he could certainly withhold something they saw as desirable.  And the protection from or threat of Haarlep would be quite the carrot and stick for the fox should any behavioral adjustments be needed.

They jerked up with a pout.  “Then she would hardly be a playmate!”

“Then I suggest, Haarlep, that you be on your best behavior.”

“Properly seduce her and she’ll sign anything - they always do!” they attempted to argue.  Haarlep lacked the nuance and patience for long term plans, preferring to opt for whatever was most convenient to them regardless of the end result being less than optimal as long as it was good enough.  But he strove for nothing short of perfection!  “She strikes me as a ‘cutesy romantic dinner’ kind of woman.  Go take her to one of those plays first and then a walk beneath the stars!  Sit close and whisper sweet nothings as you feed her delicacies.  Ply her with a bit of wine and she’ll be all blushy and giggly when you whisk her away to our bed!”

“Yes, a fine date…,” he drawled, “for after her current work is complete.”

“But that’s taking so looong!”  He smacked away their claw shredding the corner of his paperwork.  “Tell her to hurry up!  I think we would both much rather a cute, little, fluffy foxy than a slimy squid.  Although…I have never been with that tentacled sort…”

The very notion filled him with disgust.  He was not about to arm Haarlep with such a body in their repertoire.  “Of that, we are in agreement.  Now, away with you!  I have work to complete.”

“Mm, what tedium.  There is forever work to complete,” they sighed as they turned and slipped from the room.

❤️ Thank-you for reading!! Please consider liking & reblogging.❤️

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Coming up next: Evie has an interesting dream

[abbatoirablaze]

AOD, All For You, Chapter 2

Word Count: 934

Bucky stared at the wall, unable to process anything beyond the sniffling of his sisters and his mother. 

“C’mon, punk…”

His silvery eyes snapped to that of his best friend, “not now, Steve…”

Steve sighed and looked up to his own father who was standing at the door of the hospital room.  Their eyes met, and Joe Rogers shook his head at his son, muttering a quick ‘no.’

“Dad?”

“Let the kid grieve, son…” Joe Rogers said in a gruff voice, “old man’s not even cold…give em some time, yeah?”

“But dad-“

“Steve!” his father warned firmly.  Steve’s lips closed and he sighed, “Now’s not the time son.  There’s too much to do.”

“Thanks for being here though, punk…” Bucky said as he looked to his best friend. 

“Til the end of the line, Buck…”

“James-James I-oh, fuck…”

Bucky grunted against her ebony skin, his hips driving deep into her core.  His eyes closed as he buried his face in her neck, taking in the soft smell of shea butter and cinnamon, “Shuri…I love you baby-fuck…you take me so well…”

“Right there!”

“I need you baby!” Bucky purred, his hips keeping the same rhythm they’d been going at for nearly half an hour, “so close.  So-So close baby!  I’m gonna-”

Her back arched, pressing against his muscular chest, “I love you, James…”

Bucky came as she said the magic words.  Her legs locked around his waist, her heels digging into the firm flesh of his ass, pushing him impossibly deep into her.  Bucky’s breathing became ragged as his hips stuttered.  Her soft whimpers filled the room as her pussy fluttered around his cock, milking every bit of him from the point of their connection.  A warmth filled Shuri’s womb as his seed spilled into her. 

“I love you, Shuri!” Bucky gasped, placing a series of light kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat, “I love you, Shur…wanna marry you one day, baby…make you Shuri Barnes…we’ll be so good together…”

The young couple came down from their highs, and Bucky pulled his girlfriend close to his chest while his still hard cock kept her plugged up with his seed. 

Her hands reached up and she cradled his face.  His silvery eyes met her chocolate ones.  Their lips brushed momentarily, before she leaned her forehead against his.  She giggled when a shiver ran down his spine as her thumb grazed over his slightly swollen bottom lip. 

“Mrs. Barnes, huh?” she teased, “I think I like the sound of that.”

“Have you dripping in stones as we make babies and rule this city together!” he promised. She bit her lip again and he chuckled, “Bite any harder when I make love to you and they might be stuck like that…”

“I want a future with you more than anything, Jamie!”  

Shuri leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss.  Bucky felt his heart lurching in his chest as he told her how he felt, “I love you more than anything, Shur…”

Her smile faltered when she heard the phone chime a few times in a row. 

“That better be work!” she said firmly, their sweet intimate moment broken. 

Bucky paled.  He knew that it wasn’t work judging by the four synchronous buzzes.  There was only one woman who did that, “Baby….I-I can explain…”

“Is it something that requires an explanation before you’ve even checked your phone?”

Bucky frowned, “if it is what I think it is…then I owe you more than an explanation…”

Shuri’s expression changed in an instant as she pushed him away from her, her own heart falling into the pit of her stomach, “you’re still fucking that whore!  Aren’t you?”

Bucky sat up from his bed, too ashamed to answer the question.

“JAMES!”

“Shuri…sh-she means nothing.”

“If she meant nothing then she wouldn’t be in your phone!  You told me that you were done with them…that it was all just because of your dad passing…that you were acting out.  But you were lying, weren’t you?  This was all just some sick game!” Shuri growled as she began to collect her clothes and put them back on.  Bucky started to get out of the bed, and attempted to grab her clothes, in order to try to stop her from leaving.  When he grabbed her top, she reached for it.  But when he wouldn’t release it, she punched his arm, “Let it go.  Let me go, James!  I’m leaving!”

“Shuri…baby, you can’t leave!” Bucky began, not giving a damn that he was naked, arguing with the woman who he was just cumming in moments ago, “you can’t leave me.  I-“

“Watch me!” she hissed, cutting him off.  When he still didn’t let go of her shirt, she released it, and chose to grab the one that he’d been wearing.  Throwing the button-up on, it nearly swallowed her, but she didn’t care, “you want to fuck someone, it should be your girlfriend.  It should be the one that you were just promising a future to!  Not a whore on the side too!”

“Shuri-“

“NO!” she said firmly, “I-I’ve dealt with this for two months…I’m not saying that losing a parent is easy…nor is taking over the family business…but I won’t sit on the sidelines and watch you do this.  I won’t support it.  I’m a Wakandan…I deserve a man who would burn the world for me…not burn my world so that I fit into his.  We’re done, white wolf…I-I don’t want to hear from you again!”

And before he could argue, she had rushed out of the room, slamming his door behind her. 

[skia-inc]

flutter steps :

Last week work:

SECTION 1: Getting Started with Flutter :

1.1 - Course Overview

1.2 - Flutter Installation

1.3 - Creating Your First Flutter App

1.4 - Introduction to Flutter UI Widgets

1.5 - Organizing Flutter Code

1.6 - Working with Logic in Flutter

SECTION 2: Building User Interfaces :

2.1 - Understanding Stateless Widgets

2.2 - Adding Images in Flutter

2.3 - Adding Icons in Flutter

2.4 - Creating Containers in Flutter

2.5 - Working with Buttons

2.6 - Implementing an Appbar

2.7 - Using Row, Column, and Expanded Widgets

2.8 - Creating ListViews and ListView.builder

2.9 - Implementing a Navigation Drawer

2.10 - Adding a Floating Action Button

2.11 - Working with the Stack Layout Widget

2.12 - Creating Custom Widgets

SECTION 3: Managing State and Navigation:

3.1 - Introduction to Stateful Widgets

3.2 - Navigation in Flutter (Push and Pop)

3.3 - TextFields and TextFormFields

3.4 - Implementing Checkboxes

3.5 - Using Radio Buttons

3.6 - Working with Dropdown Buttons

3.7 - Building a Complete Form Flutter App

[silverefflux]

Sweaters

Chapter x + 0.5 of my König x Fem!OC fic, Rush

Fuckin chapter name. It's good as a standalone at this point LMAO

See Chapter List

Photo from Freepik

Summary: König takes a look at Kate’s closet.

C/W: MAJOR ANGST. MAJOR PLOTLINE SKIP. Established relationship, grieving, mentions of possible death, implications of violence, one pinch of racism

A/N: Chapter works fine alone, but is wayyy beyond the current position in the plotline. Sorry about the algebraic chapter number. While I still want my story in chronological order, I am mainly writing this for my enjoyment, and my mind is incapable of forcing itself to write in order right now.

As with my prior attempts to make multi-chapters in other fandoms, I can map out the whole plot almost instantly, but the writing itself of each chapter is so difficult. Enjoy (?) this sharp, angsty left turn though.

. . .

Possibility // Lykke Li

Dominik awoke lying face up, his limbs carelessly limp on their mess of a bed. It was the same position he fell asleep in. Like a corpse—hollow, lifeless—of which was the closest thing he felt like at the moment. The first thing that flooded his consciousness was a seeping ache on one side of his head. His eyelids reluctantly fluttered half-open. A boundless blur of white manifested itself into their bedroom ceiling; the same thing he last saw before his body surrendered to slumber.

Two painfully slow days have passed. Two days of tossing and turning in an untimed cycle of crying, then not crying. Not that he had a sense of time. Or a sense of being. His stomach grumbled as hunger crawled up to his throat, but no amount of food or water could answer for his soul craving his wife’s presence. No warm shower could replicate the feeling of her skin on his.

By now, the passengers’ and crew’s loved ones would have been storming Harrier Air’s headquarters for answers. He wished he had the strength to join them. He grew sick of watching the news too—it was all that everyone could talk about. There was no further lead anyway as to the plane’s whereabouts except the video that the hijacker sent to provoke the public.

“Captain down, First Officer down…”

If the shows weren't broadcasting replays of the same information, they were spewing senseless theories and tirades directed at anyone and anything. One of them pointed at Kate being “fairly new and foreign” as a possible fault. At that point, there was nothing more that Dominik wanted to do than to fling the remote control through the screen and into the commentator’s face, but instead he chose to simply turn the TV off.

He turned his head to the side and caught sight of her closet.

Her clothes are still in there. At some point I have to clean it—

Nein. Not unless they bring her body home.

A part of him wanted to believe that she was still alive. That maybe the terrorists were just exaggerating to add to their scare tactic. Or that, by some miracle, she was able to hold out for her life until rescue reached the plane. That is, if there still was a plane. Regardless, she was gone and no one knows where, and he wasn’t shying away from the possibility—the likeliness—that she wasn’t coming home and all he had left of her was her possessions.

With a grumble, he sat up and stared at the closet, then groggily paced towards it, mentally preparing himself to look at what’s inside. His fingers shakily gripped at the door handles, and the doors of the cabinet opened with a soft creak.

Her clothes were neatly kept in rows of hangers and columns of folded fabric. He ran his hands through the row of memories.

She wore this dress on our anniversary.

These were her favorite trousers to wear in-flight.

She would wear this coat over literally anything.

His hand stopped over the sleeve of a silken blouse hung in front of him. He closed his eyes as he brought the sleeve close to his face. Faint hints of Kate’s scent and her perfume immediately crept its way into him as the fabric softly rested on his cheek and nose.

For the first time in two days, he smiled.

But it was a bitter smile as a lump grew in his throat, a mere attempt to console himself over this meager replacement for human contact. When he opened his eyes, they were watering and his heart was racing, another wave of sorrow making its way. He leafed through the clothes lined up in hangers once more, this time with urgency, then slid them aside to reveal the rest of her clothes below. At the left corner, a stack of sweaters were safely folded away.

On top of the pile was her favorite—a knitted one that they bought together in Nuremberg during the holidays, already slightly worn out from being used and washed so often. If wearing it outside was deemed embarrassing, she would proudly wear it inside the house as a substitute for a t-shirt or a pajama top.

“It’s not just a Christmas sweater!” she would insist with her classic cackling laughter.

“It has Christmas tree designs, Katie. You don’t have to wear that all the time,” he would jokingly argue back.

He took the sweater out. Then the hoodie under it. Then the next one. Bunching them up together, he clutched them close to his chest and relished the small amount of comfort he found in Kate’s scent again. The wool from her favorite sweater brushed lightly at his lips as he held the clothes near, reminding him of what it was like to embrace her.

When was the last time we hugged?

After sorrow came a wave of guilt, and the joyless expression returned on his face.

I wish I gave a more proper goodbye.

I wish I had kissed her more before I left.

I wish I knew how much our fights didn’t matter.

I wish I was a better husband.

He wanted to cry, but his tears were close to running out that all he had left were the ones clinging around his lashes. That and the silent, crushing pain that felt like his demons pressing their muddy boots onto his heart and shattering it into a million pieces.

He crashed onto the pillows again, knees weakened by the agony. He rolled over to his shoulder, still desperately holding the sweaters close. If there was something Kate helped him do, it was hacking away at the walls that he put up so there was nothing but honest emotion expressed within the walls of their home. But honesty meant vulnerability, and with her gone, he was defenseless to his own grief.

Please come home.

If you really are dead, at least haunt me right now.

No tighter embrace was enough as he squeezed the sweaters even closer towards him. His head bowed into the fabrics as he winced, pleading with his own body to cry the pain out, but no tears were coming out. But there were none left. One would know they’re in a whole other level of misery when they’re begging themselves to cry for relief. All he had to grasp onto was to imagine what she would be doing if she was with him at the moment.

She would’ve snaked an arm around him and pulled herself into a cuddle, murmuring soft words of encouragement to comfort him. Her gentle hand would trace its way up his back and rest at the back of his neck, her thumb moving back and forth behind his ear.

He placed his hand where hers would’ve been.

When he opened his eyes, her face would be inches away, looking back at him. Smiling softly, wordlessly telling him things will be better, and that it’s okay for him to be this way around her.

“Damn it, Schatzi…” she would say in a long whine, “If you’re crying, I’m crying too.”

Then, still teary-eyed, they would giggle at them being absolute softies for each other behind closed doors. He would close his eyes and pull her close too, and slowly, things would become okay again.

Where are you, Kate?

Oh, how he missed those deep brown eyes of hers. He could fall into the pools of her irises, sinking into the depths of her being until the last sliver of light bid goodbye, but he wouldn’t think he was drowning. Rather, he would happily explore the mysterious abyss of her soul in that darkness.

It’s been around three months and two days since he last saw those eyes face-to-face. If only he was granted another chance to look at them again.

It’s been two days since the hijacking. There was still no sign of the plane. Its fuel could only last for so long. There were only two possibilities: that it landed somewhere undetected by radar and its navigational equipment tampered, or that it fell before it made its way to land. Dominik was afraid he knew which was more plausible.

If the plane crashed, I hope that she was unconscious or dead as it happened.

The thought of her suffering the way she did delivered the final blow to his chest as tears finally poured out again in sobs.

She didn’t have to suffer.

He knew that between the both of them, he was the one built to withstand that kind of torture. Not her. She didn’t deserve any of it. His hands clutched even more tightly at the sweaters as he cried out in torment, his mind calling out for her despite those around him convinced that she was gone, and his imagination convincing him that she was right next to him on the bed.

Es tut mir so Leid.

And the cycle starts again. He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, tormenting himself to exhaustion until he fell back asleep.

. . .

Translation:

Es tut mir so Leid - I'm so sorry

For the algebra chapter number, the timeline skip, the spoiler, the PAIN, I am once again willing to receive a "SILVER WHAT THE FUCK" in the comments HAHAHAHAHHA love u all

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

"I have a feeling we would indeed get along well."

✧ ── 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒 Are you Haru's Type?

"Hm~" A pleased hum rumbled in his chest as he gazed over the marked parchment while his finger fluttered upon each row and column with a curious chirp. "Well....I am certainly impressed, but unfortunately I'm not fond of those who flurry about in relationships." His hand waved dismissively before tapping upon the question mark as the forests around them fell quiet, a powerful aura thundering nearby, "Well," Haruko lifted his spear off of his back and twirled it into place. The weapon's edge was kissed with dried blood while it thumped and pulsed within his palm - his lips a smirk,

"Want to see if you can kill me, pretty boy?"