#i say as i am under a weighted blanket and am starting to become aware of feeling trapped

[buck-yyyy]

why are two of my worst fears receding gums and losing my hair and not like- death or snakes like normal people

[chaiinscribes]

Hi!

This is Chai's P5R/shuakeshu sideblog. My main is @xachyn. I'm also on AO3 and twitter.

I'll post writings/WIPs/links to my AO3 works here. Shorts (<1K) will be posted here exclusively, while anything longer will be on AO3. Summative tags will be added, but check the link for the full list. Spoilers for P5 Vanilla & P5R should be assumed.

NSFW is usually tagged, but minors and antis DNI. Just block me, I'm not bothered :)

Fic Masterlist (under cut)

Future Tense Rated G / 2k words Post Canon, Established relationship, Moving in together, Akechi & Morgana bonding hours.

“You know, contrary to what others may think,” Morgana chirped, “I’m not at all opposed to your relationship.”

“I didn’t realise I had to seek your approval,” Goro said dryly, and tossed the more expensive option into his basket. He didn’t need to ask who hated his presence around Ren either, but he’s at a point where he wasn’t particularly interested in the validation of others.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Morgana said, tail flicking against Goro’s ear impatiently, “It just means that I actually want this to go well.”

---

Paper Tiger Rated T / 3.5k words Post Canon, Pre-relationship, Discussions on existentialism and love

"Love is not some wondrous spider silk. The only thing that proves we are alive is the pain we feel, the blood we bleed when we are cut.” Goro exhaled, the weight of old irritation laden in each word. Silence reigned in the car, interrupted only by the navigation’s cool reminder to keep right for the next fork.

“Have you changed your mind on that?” Ren’s voice was so soft Goro almost missed it at first.

The problem was this: even with the weeks he had spent parsing through everything that had happened in the last few months, in the aftermath of Maruki’s reality, Goro was still unsure of what to make of things. Like waking up from a heady, dizzy dream whose vestiges still lingered on the edge of his mind like fog.

---

Redamancy Rated T / 8k words Post Canon, Pre-relationship, Road trip, Ensemble Cast: PT, Existential Ennui, Homesickness, One Bed

[Joker Lover Week 2023: One Bed]

It struck him then, how much more aware he had become of the unfathomable depth of his own loneliness. Ren had thought he understood it before, in the quiet silence of sleepy Inaba growing up, in the days after his assault sentencing when people stopped acknowledging him on the streets. But this? This was more akin to the early days of Maruki’s reality, the realisation that he will soon be not just left alone, but left behind.

He didn’t really want to be on this boat anymore.

-- In which Ren angsts about having to return to Inaba, his friends shower him with love, and Goro is Goro.

---

memento mori Rated T / 6k Slight canon-divergence, Shido Palace Arc, Angst with Optimistic Ending, Outsider POV (Sojiro Sakura), Akechi & Sojiro bonding hours, Akechi & Sae bonding hours

Sojiro resisted the instinctive urge to start brewing a cup of coffee for him, shaking his head to clear it of the myriad thoughts seeking to creep in, “so what is this, then? You’re looking for penance?”

“I am not interested in such mundane notions.” Akechi scoffed, folding his hands before him on the counter neatly. “Consider this testimony to be my insurance. My last will and testament, so to speak.”

-- In considering the prospect that he might die before his revenge was complete, Akechi decides to implement a back-up plan.

---

Caramel Rated T / 17k Mostly canon compliant, Slow-burn, Food as a metaphor for love, Getting Together, Emotional Hurt and Comfort

Behind the counter, Amamiya Ren looked up to greet him as he entered, his gaze softening the moment their eyes met. The smell of fresh coffee and curry permeated the air, a warm blanket that repulsed and comforted him both at once.

“Hey,” Amamiya said, his voice just barely perceptible above the white noise of the television, “welcome back.”

Goro smiled in greeting, hopeful that the involuntary relief he felt wasn’t immediately obvious. He hated this - hated the easy comfort of the space, hated the way it was so easy for him to forget the simmering anger inside him, hated the way the mental weight of his life’s work slipped off his shoulders, forgotten at the cafe’s doorstep the moment he stepped through the threshold.

-- In which Ren is insistent on feeding Goro, and Goro (eventually) learns to receive love.

---

ad idem Rated E / 3k Somnophilia, PWP

“Are you fucking sleeping?” Goro whispered incredulously, feeling the soft rumble of a snore reverberating into him, “are you fucking molesting me in your sleep?”

---

Oh, Summer Child Rated T / 4.5k Post canon, humour, getting together, akechi's birthday fic

“Akechi,” Kitagawa started, heralding the beginning of the end, “I would like to paint you.”

-- In which Goro receives the love that he doesn’t expect, and one that he does.

---

The Graveyard Draws the Living Still Rated T / 7k Canon compliant, angst, unreliable narrator, character-study, pre-relationship, eventual happy ending

Every morning, Akechi Goro is killed.

No, that's imprecise. He doesn't like the passive tone, doesn't appreciate the implication of murder as something merely occurring to him, so he tries again.

Every morning, he kills Akechi Goro.

---

[comfortbucky]

hey hey! can u do some fluffy bucky about having to share a hotel room w u and there’s only one bed!!!! and he’s trying to be respectful n stuff but man does he have the fattest crush on u! thank u <333

HEY HEY YES OMFGGG THE ONE BED TROPE (ur mind😌🤝)

i’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE I DIDN’T EXPECT IT TO COME SO SOON

𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗱, 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗼𝘁𝘀 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚

pairing: bucky x fem!avenger!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers BABYYYY, angst, fluff

A/N: i almost always write about tfatws!bucky in mind but let me try and branch out by writing about avenger!bucky hehe

i hope u enjoy🥺💗i absolutely loved this prompt and loved writing this!!!! (it is almost 4am for me as i am posting this :) i’m insane :))

this oneshot will not be following the canon timeline!

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Stick to the plan, Y/N.” Steve’s voice came through over the intercom. She rolled her eyes at his warning. He always seemed to be extra cautious with her, making her feel like an unimportant member of the team, and this mission was no different.

“I got this,” she said, completely ignoring his request and charging headfirst at the enemy. Her brash decision resulted in her receiving a heavy beat down, ending up with a split lip and fractured ribs.

Needless to say, Steve was pissed. He and Y/N developed a close friendship over the years, during his search for Bucky. She was oftentimes the one who would stay up all night with him, looking for any trace of Bucky’s existence online. She’d become one of the closest people in his life, which is exactly why he was upset with her, endangering her own life.

After the mission, he confronted her at the base camp.

“You could’ve gotten killed!”

“But I didn’t,” she snapped back. “And the mission was a success anyways, so I don’t get why you’re so mad right now.”

Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“It’s reckless behavior like this that’s eventually going to get you killed, Y/N.”

Bucky walked into the room and immediately regretted his decision as soon as he laid his eyes on Y/N. He’d come to foster an animosity towards her, after seeing her close friendship with Steve. After Bucky joined the Avengers, he noticed how much time they spent together, and jealousy started to fester within him. Steve was the only person he felt comfortable being around in the tower and she constantly took him away from Bucky. Everyone else seemed to have an aversion to him, or so he assumed. He never gave anyone the chance to get to know him, locking himself up in his room most hours of the day. Bucky didn’t think anyone would want to get to know an ex-assassin, especially one that killed the Tony Stark’s parents. She was the one thing that kept Steve away from him and he despised it. So Bucky did what he did best and avoided any sort of interaction with her.

Steve looked at Bucky and suddenly, an idea popped in his head. He had noticed how closed-off Bucky had been since joining the Avengers and refused to let Y/N be alone, worried that she might make another brazen decision. He hatched a plan to kill 2 birds with 1 stone.

“Bucky,” Steve said, making his way over to him. “You and Y/N will be assigned to the same room tonight.”

Bucky choked on his own spit in response and Y/N began to protest.

“You’re not serious, right?” Steve turned to face her with a stern expression.

“You’re not giving me any reason to trust you to be alone.” She let out a defeated sigh and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Why me?” Bucky asked, trying to figure out how he ended up in this situation.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Because I trust you, Buck. I need you to do this for me.”

Bucky could see the desperation in Steve’s eyes and reluctantly nodded.

Steve was able to obtain another key card to the hotel room that Y/N was assigned to for the mission. He forgot to take into account the logistics of the sleeping arrangements, leaving Bucky to find a single bed as he entered Y/N’s room.

Bucky froze, his right hand on the door handle, keeping it open, his left hand by his side, holding his duffel bag. He racked his brain, trying to figure out what to do, when Y/N’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Relax,” she started, motioning for him to come inside. “I’ll sleep on the floor, alright?”

Y/N knew that Bucky didn’t like her, despite Steve trying to convince her otherwise. It hurt her feelings a bit, especially after she’d learned so much about him through both Steve’s stories and the time she spent tracking him down. He was such an important person to Steve, her close friend, and Bucky hated her. At first, she figured he was shy and wasn’t ready to open up to anyone else, especially after all the trauma he endured. But she realized he actively disliked her over time, with Bucky always leaving the room when she entered or ignoring her offers to hang out with her and Steve. Eventually, she gave up on reaching out to Bucky, as she only seemed to upset him further, no matter what she did. She figured it was for the best.

Bucky stepped into the room and shook his head.

“Bed’s too soft for me anyways, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbled.

Y/N shrugged in response, knowing that Bucky would be too stubborn to try and argue against. She turned around and picked up the phone, calling the front desk to ask for extra blankets and pillows. When she hung up the phone, she turned back to Bucky to see him nod in thanks.

The rest of the night was silent, as they both prepared for bed, taking turns going into the bathroom to wash up and change. While Y/N was in the bathroom, Bucky arranged the extra blankets and pillows into a makeshift bed on the ground, something that he’d done countless times before. Y/N exited the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt that covered her shorts, and placed her toiletries bag in one of the hotel dresser drawers.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” Bucky grunted in response, grabbing some clothes and a bag headed for the bathroom.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he stated, just before shutting the door behind him. Y/N scoffed at his comment, gently climbing into bed, in an attempt to not further injure her ribs. She winced as she tried to get into a comfortable position before settling to sleep on the side of her unaffected ribs.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom to see Y/N lying on her left side, her back towards him. He assumed that she had already fallen asleep and quietly crawled into his makeshift bed.

Approximately 10 minutes had passed, when he heard her sniffling. At first, he thought the noise was coming from outside the window, but he traced it back to her. He remained lying on his back for a moment, deciding whether or not to say something. Bucky sighed before speaking.

“You okay?” Y/N immediately stiffened upon hearing Bucky’s voice. She was hoping that he wouldn’t hear her crying, despite his super soldier hearing abilities.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied back, her voice wavering as she spoke. Y/N hated how weak and pathetic she sounded in that moment. Her fractured ribs made it hard for her to breathe and the adrenaline, that was previously shielding her from the pain, had faded, leaving her to lie there in agony. On top of that, she also felt that this mission solidified her belief that Steve had little faith in her ability to be an Avenger. The last thing she wanted to do right now, was to confess her insecurities to Bucky.

Bucky’s attitude softened, hearing Y/N’s voice crack when she spoke. He knew she’d gotten hurt due to her own, dumb, decision during the mission. Bucky quietly pulled his blankets off and stood up, leaving the room without saying another word. As soon as the door shut, Y/N burst into tears. Bucky did exactly as he’d done in the past many times before, leave. She wasn’t sure why this time upset her more than the rest. Probably because she knew that he was aware of her crying and he’d still chosen to abandon her completely.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, causing her to stop crying. Y/N listened to Bucky’s footsteps growing closer, and felt the bed dip under his weight as he sat on the edge she was facing towards. She peered over the blanket she was covering her face with, to see Bucky facing her, holding a bag of ice, wrapped in a towel. Bucky’s heart sank at the sight of her glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks in the moonlight.

“For your ribs,” he spoke softly, gesturing to the ice bag in his hands.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Y/N took the bag from him, attempting to slowly sit up. She closed her eyes as she grimaced, and suddenly felt a hand on her back, helping her up. Her eyes opened to reveal Bucky, with a soft smile on his lips. She silently thanked him again, placing the ice bag on the right side of her ribcage.

“Thought you hated me,” she mumbled, keeping her gaze down on her lap. He furrowed his brows, keeping his eyes on her.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Well, you definitely don’t like me.”

Bucky paused at her comment, thinking about his next words, before responding.

“I don’t like that you take up all of Steve’s free time,” he grumbled, causing Y/N to quickly look up at Bucky, his eyes averting her gaze. Her face fell, immediately realizing why Bucky had treated her so coldly all this time. He just missed his friend.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her in response. “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t expecting her to be so kind and understanding, even coming up with multiple points to argue back at her. He realized then that he didn’t know her at all, but that he wanted to now. In an instant, she became an entirely different person. He studied her eyes and wondered if they had always sparkled like that, if her cheeks were naturally rosy, or if her lips had always been so pink and plump.

His expression softened and he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he muttered, tearing himself away from her gaze to look down at his lap. After a moment of silence, Bucky stood up to return back to the floor.

“Stay.” The words left Y/N’s mouth before she had time to process them. Bucky froze and turned to face her. “I mean, if you want to, of course. Just figured the floor must be super uncomfortable for you.” Y/N felt a blush creep up onto her cheeks and kicked herself mentally. She looked down at her hands, regretting the words she spoke, before feeling the bed dip again. She looked up to see Bucky. He smiled and she almost melted at the sight.

She shifted over, putting the ice bag on the nightstand, as Bucky crawled into bed next to her. The two rested on their backs, both staring at the ceiling in silence. Bucky remained at a respectful distance away, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Y/N turned on her left side, her good side, to face him.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

Bucky turned on his side to face her before responding.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

A strand of her hair had fallen in front of her face and Bucky, instinctively, reached out a hand to tuck it behind her ear. Immediately, he regretted it, about to pull his hand back when Y/N took her hand and placed it on top of his, guiding it to rest on her cheek. He cupped her face in his hand and she leaned into his embrace. Bucky felt his heart rate increase as she moved her body closer to his, wrapping the arm she used to hold his hand on her face, across his side. He shifted towards her as well, wrapping his arm around her body, bringing her closer to him.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, nervous that he might have somehow misinterpreted the situation. He hadn’t been with a woman in such an intimate way in years and had no idea what he was doing. Y/N looked up at him and nodded, before snuggling her face into his chest and Bucky felt a wave of calm wash over him.

“Can you stay here tonight?” Y/N mumbled, her face pressed into his chest. He chuckled at the vibrations from her voice and kissed her temple, smoothing her hair back.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to, honey.”

[lavendermin]

from sea of flowers, garden of eternity | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2k

genre | pwp, fluff, light angst, brief smut

note | glaze lily spirit reader, you are also in perpetual pain I’m sorry

“Xiao…” he hears your voice meekly call.

The adeptus is already on his feet before you can fully enter the room, his eyes quickly focused on you. He scans your body language diligently, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. It’s become a routine by now.

“Are you…?” His voice trails off when you shake your head apologetically. The slight strain in your smile doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m alright for now. The pains haven’t started yet. I think I’m set for another few hours, a day if I’m lucky,” you reassure him. “I just— wanted to check on you.”

Xiao gives you a blank look, one you recognize as confusion. “Check… on me…?”

“Just to see how you’re doing,” you clarify with a shy smile. As you make your way to sit on the bed, you gently pat the space next to you.

There’s a slight red upon his cheeks as he chooses to take up your invitation. The bed dips under his weight, and words do not need to be spoken to know both your minds drift briefly to past trysts that took place where you sit.

“I’m heading out to patrol the area in an hour. If you need anything at all, speak my name,” Xiao announces quietly. It’s a brief awkward silence as he rigidly sits next to you—tense almost. You answer him with a simple nod, hands absentmindedly rubbing little circles on your legs to ease the tingles of pain that slowly resurfaced.

Conversation was scarce the past few months you were placed into his watchful guard. The relationship you both harbored was a blurred line you tried not to think about too much for fear of over-complicating it.

And with your entire being, you could say you came to the unfortunate doom of falling in love with him. The emotional distance he kept oftentimes only confused you as much as your own emotions left him puzzled and a little flustered.

He kept you alive. That was the simplicity of the details Xiao was given. Perhaps it was a favor he was doing you, but he diligently carried it out with all the steadfastness of a contract bestowed onto him by the former Lord of Geo.

—

“I’m sure you are aware of the situation near Qingce Village,” Zhongli had brought up upon summoning Xiao several moons after the stirrings of a slumbering god.

Though the situation was previously dire, all was settled—Xiao knew this as a fact, for he was the one that swiftly took care of the aftermath of a dormant god’s power seeping through the earth. So, the battle hadn’t ended then…

“I was careless—“

Zhongli cut him off, carefully setting down his cup in its saucer. “On the contrary, this was in no way able to be foreseen by you. The world has a way of ending and raising new questions, just as easily as it provides answers to those who seek them.”

On the small garden table, Zhongli’s eyes trail to the glaze lily that sits in a small decorative vase. Unlike most, this lone flower is fully bloomed despite the time of day. It glows ever so slightly—weakly almost.

“You are aware that glaze lilies grow in the Qingce area, and there are a few wild outcroppings that shy away from prying eyes,” Zhongli starts.

His gloved finger reaches out to tenderly graze the petals, and at once the flower closes up. The petals take on a dullness, and visibly they start to wilt in small patches.

“The reasons are uncertain, but rumor spread around the village of a wandering ghost that followed the moon aimlessly. A spirit born of glaze lilies appeared after the battle that took place near there. It seems the power seeped deep into cracked earth among the flowerbeds.”

The young adeptus remained quiet, taking in the information. What exactly did this have to do with him, he wondered?

With a hint of apprehension, Xiao asks, “This spirit—has it taken on a malevolent nature?”

Instead of answering straight away, Zhongli wordlessly stands and makes his way back indoors. Xiao obediently follows, curious of the nature of this spirit.

“Nothing of the sort. However, these glaze lilies fell victim to the corruption of your karmic debt and at the same time were nurtured by immense adeptal power. There is a wavering balance that must be kept, for her body is as fragile as a flower’s and cannot withstand the depletion and shifts of adeptal energy.” With graceful steps, Zhongli stops before a door. “No other adeptus has successfully remained compatible with the energy she needs. So far it has only brought excruciating pain for her, and I fear she may die at this rate.”

With a silent nod, Xiao processes this information. His gloved hand is unmoving on the door handle.

“What are the terms of this contract,” Xiao silently asks, amber eyes trained on the door in front of him.

“My time has long passed to give you a new contract, Adeptus Xiao.” Zhongli chuckles fondly at the serious habits of the adeptus before him. “This is a choice I am giving you. It may take centuries for her body to adjust to the adeptal power she now harbors. If she is compatible with you, it is up to you to decide whether you supply her with your adeptal energy, otherwise she may not make it past next week.”

Xiao remains quiet for a brief moment before speaking softly, “Her body is tearing itself apart…”

“Correct.”

There’s something in that fact that stirs feelings Xiao isn’t used to in his chest. He accepts, and the first memory of you that adorns his mind is one that clenches his heart in a way he rarely experiences. The pain that twists and contorts your face as you desperately heave, body seemingly tearing itself apart in a way the naked eye cannot see.

You’re a beautiful tragedy born of moonlight and sweet soil. And in that moment when your eyes meet his, a single tear rolls down your cheek. He cannot fathom the thought of letting your life end as quickly as it began.

The door behind him clicks shut, and he takes your fragile life into his hands.

—

The lights of the house are dim—a subtle golden glow against a comforting darkness in the blanket of night. A meadow of glaze lilies surrounds the little cottage in a sea of fragrance. A prominent mark of your abode.

The little house defended by mountains is secluded, one which Zhongli sent to be made for you while your body stabilizes.

And though the exterior is tranquil, within its walls come soft pants and gasps. Xiao’s brows are knit together in concentration as he ruts against you.

“Please—Ah…nnh a–again,” you beg against your trembling body’s protests.

And he wordlessly complies, folding your legs until your knees are practically at the sides of your head. His hips pick up the pace and his thrusts become desperate, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. The moans you let out are loud—obscene as he fills you up until you’re overflowing. The pains have long subsided, and you choose to let him overcompensate in giving you the energy that will get you by another few days.

In the serene calm of night, the tranquility is drowned out by the squelching sounds of your bodies meeting each other through desperate thrusts as both of you are sent over the edge. His name falls from your lips in a melody Xiao has grown addicted to. For the nth time that night you come undone beneath him, your essence stabilized.

There’s a swelling warmth in your chest that blooms like spring meadows as Xiao buries his face in the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears are a bright scarlet and though he tries to control it, he is still left a breathless mess as he rides out his orgasm.

“Is it…enough?” Xiao asks between pants, his cock still buried deep within you.

He’s still twitching within you and your entire body shudders with delight at the feeling.

“You… haah—can keep… going if you want,” you offer weakly. There’s a dazed look in your half-lidded eyes that makes Xiao’s chest squeeze. “‘M full but you’re still…”

Hard.

You glance down to where you two are still joined together, the view of his come leaking out of you shamelessly sending heat between your legs again. The tips of Xiao’s ears turn bright red though he tries to remain composed.

“I’ll be fine. You should get some rest to preserve the energy longer.”

He pulls out and ignores the way your eyes look away dejectedly. Before he can stand to go, your hand gently tugs him back down. Xiao allows himself to be pulled against you, his head resting in the valley of your naked chest.

“Stay with me for a bit?”

Xiao doesn’t answer right away, and your heart leaps when he lets out a little sigh and agrees.

“Alright.”

The minutes tick by in tranquil silence. Both tired bodies ignore the sticky feeling of sweat and sex. It’s a feeling you’re both quite used to by now.

“Xiao?” you start quietly after a while. He hums in response, your fingers running through his dark hair soothingly. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is soft, self-conscious almost with the fear of rejection. But you were beyond a breaking point. The feelings were welling up in your chest like a high tide as you felt him tense up at your question.

Sex was common—quite often as a means of easily transferring adeptal energy to you. And because it was a painful process to take in, you found that this method dulled the pain through the twisted pleasures and mixed sensations.

But that’s all it was— a means to keep you alive. You could never say there was a time Xiao kissed you and he always showed restraint in touching your body more than necessary. His bodily needs were never foremost on his mind and he would never tell you how his hands ached to roam your body, how this arrangement became an illusion of a different reality he couldn’t have. And so he locked away his emotions for his own sake.

Xiao lifted his face from your chest, his golden eyes wide with momentary confusion—perhaps even shock. And your face… those wonderful sparkling eyes that glistened with glossy tears on the brink of rolling down your face. He wished he wasn’t the reason you were crying.

In an instant he propped himself up on his forearms, feeling you lightly tremble beneath him from holding back the urge to cry. A quiet hiccup left you as you were overwhelmed by bottled up feelings all at once, his thumb gently brushing your tears away.

“Why?” was all he asked.

Though it was a genuine question, his actions remained tender and calmed the anxiety that gripped your naive heart.

“Because I love you—because I think I love you.”

Quietly you hiccuped beneath him and Xiao gently rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Then love me if it makes you happy,” he responds softly. The tears that twinkle down your face like falling stars are gently kissed away by his soft lips. “I’m with you until the day I die, and if loving me makes living less painful for you then use me as an anchor to reality.”

Your soft crying is hushed as Xiao presses a tender kiss to your lips. It’s short and just enough to bloom your heart with newfound emotions you had yet to experience. Perhaps you reminded the adeptus of himself in a simpler time—naive, innocent. For that, he took pity on you, and also fell deeply in love with you though he would not know it for a long time.

Simply put, he wouldn’t allow himself to know it.

The flowers that surround the small house glow and dance in the night breeze. They bloom with your newfound knowledge—heartache.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.10

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

The day shift gives you ample time and opportunities to walk around the castle. Within a week, you come to know every chamber and pathway you hadn’t previously crossed, intimately.

At first, you pictured making your escape through a weak point in its fortification. The walls are ancient; You would have bet money on one of its parts having given out in the passing of centuries and gone unnoticed. Now, you know such a thing doesn’t exist. It doesn’t really surprise you that Alcina has made sure the exterior is in the same excellent condition as the interior.

But it is a problem.

The walls are too big for you to scale. If there are any stepping points, you can’t see them from within. You tried over and over to at least peak out into the back yard, but the shrieks and growls of monsters had you immediately changing course.

You don’t know what those things are and you’re not eager to find out. According to the older maids, there are more of them deep in the dungeons. It is only a rumor, of course, since nobody has ventured down there and returned to tell the tale.

Which, taking the window bars into account… leaves only one way out.

The front door.

You are aware that Lady Dimitrescu and the daughters all have a key on them. You know from Cassandra those are the only copies. Nothing enters or leaves unless one of them allows it.

There is not a snowflake’s chance in hell you’re getting Alcina’s key. She will murder you on sight. Bela won’t do anything to disappoint her mother, so that rules her out, as well. Daniela is the one most likely to misplace it or be persuaded to give it to you, but the girl is as unpredictable as she is sly and you won’t risk your wellbeing for a distant chance.

That means…

Cassandra is the only way out, isn’t she…

-

-

You lay low and await an afternoon where the cold is downright bone-piercing. As warm as the castle is, with fireplaces burning everywhere, you can still feel the stinging kiss of the outside frost every time you so much as go near a window.

And it all comes full circle right back to the start; You in front of Cassandra’s bedroom door, trembling with anxiety like the very first time. It is oddly fitting, in a way, that the story of the two of you ends where it began.

For a moment, you almost marvel at how long ago it feels, now. But there is no time nor space in your heart for sentimentality anymore. You stand at the point of no return.

And you cross it as soon as you turn the handle.

Cassandra’s bedroom is softly illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace. You walk forward cautiously, slowly, almost as if you’re expecting a landmine to go off at a single misstep. Except –well. A mine would be far more merciful. Just an explosion and then nothing. If Cassandra wakes…

You try not to think about it, lest your muscles lock in place.

Underneath the heavy covers of the bed, you see her, cocooned, pale fingers clutching tight at the blankets. It is too early for her to wake. She is deeply asleep, you tell yourself, simultaneously praying she doesn’t open her eyes.

You make it to her vanity, soundless. Her amber-jeweled choker and the necklace she and her sisters wear are neatly arranged, yet the key you’re looking for isn’t with them.

Shit. You inwardly curse, your hand shaking from the nerves. It means she’s put it in the drawer of her bedside table. It means you have to go next to her, to literally put your fingers in the sleeping wolf’s parted jaws and hope they don’t clamp down.

Easy, right?

An unsteady exhale later, you move further in and carefully kneel by the small furniture. Keep your eyes on the prize. Keep—

But you make the mistake of looking to the side.

Cassandra’s expression is not relaxed in sleep like how you remember it from the time when you would wake her up. Instead, her brow is furrowed, the line of her mouth pressed thin. She’s shivering, you realize, either from the cold or a nightmare or both. Shadows dance across her beautiful face.

Your first instinct is still to reach over and soothe her. You hate it, but you’ve accepted you won’t be over whatever it is you feel for her in quite some time.

It is not your place anymore to touch her, you remind yourself. You cannot ease her through her fears now that she has become your own.

With a clenched jaw, you force your body through the motions of opening the drawer and taking the key within.

At last. Your freedom is in your grasp.

And yet.

Shouldn’t you be happier about it?

Cassandra’s voice nearly knocks the air out of your lungs when it reaches your ears, faint. “No… please…”

You forget how to breathe for a couple of seconds. When your wide eyes shift to her, though, you realize she’s merely talking in her sleep.

Leave. Leave while you can.

But your chest constricts when you hear her sob. “…don’t leave me here… please…”

And out of all the possible things she could say, she utters those words and smashes your glass heart with a sledgehammer into a trillion pieces. The shards cut into you and it hurts—

You pause at the door. The corners of your vision have started to blur.

And then the world snaps, sharply, back into focus when her tone changes;

“…Alexia…?”

Your eyes lock, hazel to amber-grey, for a split second.

You run.

-

-

You don’t think you have ever ran this fast in your entire life. But it’s different now that it is about your life.

Adrenaline rushes throughout your bloodstream. You’re not thinking, just acting. Just fleeing.

Death, in the form of a black swarm, closes in on you with every rapid heartbeat. Cassandra is faster –she can fly and you’re only human—and at this rate you won’t even escape the corridor, much less the castle.

Flies break ahead of the rest and attach themselves to you. The sting of their bite at your nape and arms nearly has you howling in agony. She meant it when she said she would kill you herself. Not that you doubted it. Not for a second.

Because if Cassandra can’t have you, she will make sure nobody will.

You didn’t want to hurt her back the first time, but the stakes are too high now. You grab the nearest solid antiquity in your panic and throw it with all your might against the nearest window.

Glass shatters and the temperature plummets with it. Over your shoulder, you hear her scream. More out of rage than pain.

The flies biting at you drop to the floor, grey and paralyzed. You hear her shout pierce through your eardrums like a gunshot as you dash towards the turn—

“You won’t ever get to that door, Alexia!”

From the corner of your eye, you notice a blur coming towards you and instinctively drop down. A heavy thump later, your frantic eyes fly to the wall to see her sickle embedded halfway through a painting. If you hadn’t reacted in time, that would have been you.

Still, she can’t cross the hallway now, so you scramble to your feet and run while she takes the long way around. Question is, will you make it to the front door before she does?

It becomes a race where the winner takes all.

You practically jump down entire sets of stairs in your struggle for survival and you have no clue how you do it. You just know you can’t slow down for even a second.

The castle feels ten times as large as it actually is. By the time you descend the last staircase and the sound of buzzing insects grows in volume, the entrance is within sight.

You reach for another decoration and smash another window. Cassandra slows down, forced to materialize out of the swarm before she can’t will her body back together at all.

You shove the key into the lock and turn it.

Cassandra fights through the rush of frozen air, taking step after weighted step towards you—

“I won’t…let you leave here…alive.” she hisses, her teeth bared at you, skin growing too pale yet eyes blazing.

“I’m done being your prisoner.” you say back, voice hoarse and raw…

And you open the door. Steps taken backwards carry you away from her faster than she can make it to you. You can see her pain and her frustration, but they cannot compare to your own.

Your wounds ache from the frost.

Cassandra seems just about ready to leap at you even if it will certainly mean something very bad for her—

Until a black blur shoves her a dozen meters back. Bela’s back stands between you and Cassandra’s cracking form. Daniela soon lands off to the side, looking between the two of them.

“Get out of the way, Bela!” Cassandra snaps.

“It’s over.” Bela replies, a grave finality to her voice.

Your breaths are coming out in harsh puffs of smoke. You still have trouble believing that you did it. That they can’t follow anymore. You did it.

“Nothing’s over!” Cassandra snarls and lunges for her elder sister.

The blonde, deadly calm, grabs her by the neck in a choke-hold and drags her closer to the nearly-extinguished warmth of the fireplace. The way Cassandra thrashes in her arms is downright heartbreaking.

Daniela looks at you, almost saddened, then back at her sisters.

“Shh. Calm down, Cassandra. Let go. Mother will be here soon. Don’t let her see you like this.” Bela says. “If you’ve any parting words to say to Alexia, say them now.”

You’re shivering. The cold nips through every layer of clothes you’re wearing to bite straight at your flushed skin. But you don’t move further away. You wait. Why am I even waiting, though?

Realization slowly sinks in, you can tell from Cassandra’s expression. Beyond the wounded pride of the apex predator losing a fight to a rabbit… she understands that she will never see you again.

Bela releases her and steps away, adjacent to Daniela.

“You’ve earned your freedom, Alexia.” Bela speaks under her hood. “Nobody’s ever managed to escape, before. Respect.” In another life, maybe her and you could have been friends. Maybe.

“So you’re really… leaving?” Daniela’s lower lip is slightly jutted into a little pout. “I… who will I use to get on Cassandra’s nerves, now?”

“I’d say it’s been nice, but.” you speak up between pants, birthing forth puffs of smoke. “I was taken from my home and sent here as a slave, so.” You can’t help the bitter grimace.

Cassandra’s chest is heaving, yet she isn’t looking at you. It doesn’t look like she has anything to say to you, either. But you have words for her, because you need to get this out at last, you need to be free of this weight or you will never really have escaped this nightmare.

“Even as your captive, you know what I fucking thought? You three can be so beautiful when you toy with the idea of basic human empathy. I don’t know what you saw our time as, Cassandra, but I was genuinely attracted to you. I wanted to be together with you. At some point, I was even happy!”

You’ve inhaled so much icy air your lungs probably won’t be doing great for very much longer but God, this is so cathartic. And so enraging that she’s not meeting your eyes now, at the very end of it all.

“Look at me! I care for you, deeply, but I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to live in a cage as a pretty sacrifice, with you as my jailer. I can’t. You don’t know how psychologically destructive it is. You don’t know what it feels like!” you end with a hitched shout.

You hear the ominous sound of heavy heels hurriedly descending the staircase. “By Miranda! What is going on— Cassandra?!”

All three daughters freeze up for a moment.

Then Daniela touches her head as though she’s having a migraine and Bela shuts her eyes tightly, shoulders tensed. And Cassandra… drops on her knees to the floor, gasping for oxygen, clutching at her temples.

Bela shakes her head to snap out of it. Daniela still looks dazed and afraid… but Cassandra is nearly crying—

And then, in her panic attack, she whispers; “Don’t abandon me like they did, Alexia.”

You don’t know who she means or what you’re doing, until you’ve dashed back inside and gathered her chilled form into your arms, tight. You keep her there like you wish someone had held you during your storms. It doesn’t matter that you’re so much weaker than Cassandra, when what haunts her is too powerful even for her to face.

Alcina extends her claws as she advances on you.

You could probably still get away if you make a run for it, but where will you even go, when your heart is right here with the woman in your arms? The world beyond the village died for you a long time ago. The village died in a literal sense.

You wanted to be free. But freedom and being with her aren’t mutually exclusive. Why did it take me this long to figure it out…?

Alcina is too close now. You turn to kiss Cassandra’s hair for what may be the last time. You do not let go.

Bela and Daniela step in front of you.

Alcina gives them a warning, narrowed look.

“Uh— you know what, I just stepped forward because I saw Bela move. Haha, nevermind.” The redhead retreats once more. Maybe you’d roll your eyes at her if you weren’t bracing for your execution.

“Bela… step aside.” Lady Dimitrescu’s tone leaves no room for disobedience.

The eldest daughter lowers her head and hesitantly opens the path, as well.

Alcina casts a deep shadow over you in her massive height and giant claws. You lock eyes with her briefly, with the last, flickering cinders of your courage. Then you shift your face down into Cassandra’s shoulder and prepare to be skewered through. Her fingers clutch you almost painfully close to her.

“As for you…” there’s a growl in Alcina’s voice that makes you cower in terror.

Except...

The horrible pain you expected takes a little too long to come.

“…you have backbone, little human, I will admit.” Is that… is that a smirk you hear in her tone? “And my daughters do seem to want you around…”

…What?

Cassandra slowly pulls away from you to look up at her in disbelief and you dare to open your eyes. The claws are still uncomfortably close to your face.

“I will take responsibility for the damage, mother. Just, please, let her stay with me.” Cassandra says.

“…Hm. Very well. I expect the windows repaired by dinner.” Alcina gracefully pivots and just like that, takes her leave.

You and the sisters are left there, unbreathing, unmoving, wondering what just happened.

“Too cold. See you at dinner.” Daniela is the first to speak up. She rapidly waves and disappears like she’s being hunted by an army.

Bela glances at you, then at her middle sister. “We need to talk. But later. For now, defrost.” She, too, disperses in a swarm of flies.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically vulnerable, looks into your eyes and brings a crystalline hand to your cheek. The soft way she does it, it may as well be the apology she is too proud to voice. You both lean towards each other, resting your foreheads together.

You have a lot to talk about. But there is time.

[sunmoonandeddie]

edge of the devil’s backbone

pairing: knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader

word count: 4,918

summary: Your knight has sworn to protect you always, even if that means committing a grave sin.

warnings: Smut, cussing, violence, murder, angst with a happy ending.

a/n:  Lol I really hope you enjoy this.  Bucky is kinda dark but??  Not really???  Also, I suggest listening to Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars while you read this.

It’s midnight when he slips into my room, Selene’s soft light guiding him to the bed where I lay, dozing peacefully amongst my mountain of pillows.

A slumber he hates to disrupt, but knows that he must.

To leave me without a word, without a goodbye and a promise to return one day when he can, would be the utmost betrayal to the delicate heart he holds in his hands.

“Princess,” he whispers.  Slinking through the room like a cat, he manages to not make a single noise loud enough to wake me.  It is not until his fingers gently brush against my cheek that my eyes flutter open.

“James?  What’s going on?” I ask, brows furrowing as I slowly push myself up on my elbows.  One hand holds the blanket to my chest, as though it’s anything he hasn’t seen before.

James is… familiar with my nightgowns, to say the least.

“I have to go,” he whispers, his hand shaking as he cups my cheek.  “I have to go before they catch me.”

“What?”  I lean into his touch instinctively, not even thinking about the strange wetness on his fingers that I feel.  “What do you mean?  What did you do?”  When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize what he means.

James’s white undershirt is stained with blood, the hot liquid smeared across his cheek like it is on mine now.

Letting out a squeak of alarm, I rush to look him over, trying to find any injuries to speak of.  “What happened?!  Are you okay?!”

“I killed him.”

I freeze, my hands pressing against his body through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Despite the chill of the oncoming winter, he is so, so warm.  Even with the knowledge he has given me, there is nothing I want to do more than drag him closer and make him cocoon himself around me to keep the cold away.  There is nothing that could ever make me not love him anymore.  Even murder.  I would still run to his embrace and spend the rest of eternity in his arms.

A foolish dream, considering our stations.

Even though James does love me the way I love him, my father would never allow a union between the two of us.  James has been my personal guard since I was young, barely five years old.  A peasant boy granted the honor of training to be a knight because he had found me after I had been kidnapped by bandits and kept for a ransom.  He’d just been fourteen at the time, and braver and smarter than my father’s entire army.

But no, none of that matters.  According to father, princesses must marry princes, who will make good kings.

Anyone with any sense could see that James was worth more than every prince and king put together.

“You killed him?  What him?” I ask, rushing to get out of bed to grab a rag.  I wet it carefully before moving to his side to gently clean off his face.  Even though I want answers, that doesn’t matter as much as getting him presentable again.

But he pushes my hand away, his sea blue eyes glimmering with something that causes a pit to form in my stomach.  “My princess…  My love…  I have to go,” he says, taking my hands in his and squeezing.  “I killed Prince Brock, and they will know it was me come morning.  I have to go…”

“James, don’t be ridiculous,” I scold as I try to start cleaning him off again, tugging to get his ruined shirt off.  “You need to change.  We’ll make it so they’ll have no idea it was you.”

James whispers my name, his bloody hand coming up to cup my cheek as though I am made of glass.  “They will know it was me, and regardless if they didn’t, the king would still pin it on me…  My affection for you is not exactly the world’s best kept secret…  And we both know how the maids like to gossip…”

Tears prick my eyes, and I shake my head desperately.  “No.  No.  You cannot leave, I forbid it!” I say, clutching onto him desperately.  “James, you cannot leave me.  Please, don’t leave me.”  My throat is suddenly dry and tight, my heart pounding within my chest so hard that I am sure I will not make it out without a few broken ribs.

A small price to pay if only my knight will stay by my side.

“You have stayed by my side for sixteen years, do not leave me now,” I order, trying to put on my most commanding voice.  I have been practicing for when I eventually become queen, but it has never ever worked on my most precious knight.

A choked laugh tears from James’s throat.  It’s harsh and broken, a far cry from the usual melody that I chase after.  “My love…  If I do not leave now, they will have me in the gallows by noon,” he says quietly, his forehead pressing against mine.  “Or worse, on the chopping block like a hen ready for the feast.”

I try to push the images from my mind, tears freely flowing down my cheeks.  “No.  No, they won’t know it was you.  Please, don’t leave me…  Or at least take me with you…  Please…”

“I need you to promise me something, princess,” he says as both his hands hold my face, his calloused thumbs rubbing against the tender skin under my eyes to get rid of wayward tears.  “If they catch me…  If I am sentenced to death…  Do not watch.  Do not watch them hang me or draw and quarter me or behead me, whatever it is, I forbid you.  Do you hear me?  I said, do you hear me?!”

“They can’t kill you, I won’t let them,” I sob, still somehow trying to get him to stay.  “I’m the princess, they have to listen to me.”

I have not gone a single day without seeing him in over sixteen years, and I do not plan to now.

But it seems as though there is nothing I can do to stop him.

The silk of my nightgown slides against my skin as I trace his features with my fingers.  “Will you come back to me?” I ask desperately after he denies my request another time.  “Once it is safe, will you please come back to me?  Come home?  I cannot live without you, without knowing you will come back to me one day…”

“I will,” he says reassuringly as he takes one of my hands and presses kisses over each fingertip, each neatly trimmed nail, each line in my palm.  “I will…  I swear to you…  But I could not let him live after today in the garden…”

“I am not angry with you,” I whisper reassuringly as I watch him, trying my best to memorize even the smallest of details.  “You swore to protect me… from anyone and everyone…”

“And I shall always keep my promise.”  He says it with such conviction, with such a fire in his eyes.  He always had, which is partially why I am not surprised that he punished the prince for his crimes against me.

When it comes to my safety, my happiness, James is the judge, jury, and executioner.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A growl rumbles in his throat as he pulls me closer, letting his eyes shut as he allows himself the comfort of knowing that Prince Brock had not gotten far enough to truly hurt me, to permanently mark me.  “I told him that nobody who touches you without your permission gets to keep their hands.  He didn’t believe me until about an hour or so ago,” he grumbles.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can’t fight the giggle that erupts from my lips.  “My hero…,” I murmur as I look up at him.  As my eyes meet his, I am reminded that he needs to leave.  “I will miss you…  Please…  Try to find some way to write to me…”

“I will,” James says, his nose nudging against mine.  His blue eyes sparkle with tears as he swallows around the lump in his throat.  “Steven knows I am leaving…  He knows what I have done.  He is the one you can trust with your safety now, the only man I trust with your life, and he is outside your door now.”  Chapped lips press against my forehead for a lingering moment.  “I will write to him, and he will get the letters to you.  I swear on my life, princess.”

“Before you go…”  I take a deep breath.  “Before you go, will you grant me a kiss?  Just one…”

It is a request he does not think hard about, grabbing my face and kissing me so gently I think I may wither away from the sheer tenderness.  “I love you,” he says, stealing another kiss from my lips, over and over again.

It seems that now that he has started, he cannot stop.

Or will not.

I will not argue either away.

“I love you…  I love you more than words can say, James,” I say, fingers tangling in his long hair.

“I must take my leave, my darling… my dearest,” he breathes out.  “Before dawn comes and the lark sings…”  He stands, his weight disappearing from the bed, and a pang hits my heart.  “You must get sleep, my sweet nightingale.  Once they realize what has happened and that I have disappeared, they will question you for hours, I am sure, if not all day.  But rest well knowing that when you wake, I will be safe and waiting until I may come back for you.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I hold onto his hand for as long as possible.  “I cannot watch you leave,” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You don’t have to, my love,” he says soothingly, pressing a kiss to my hair.  “Rest…  I will be home to you before you can even miss me…”

His hand slips from mine, and I do not hear him leave the room.  “James, please don’t leave me!” I say as I open my eyes, thinking he was still there.

But he had slipped through the door without a sound and left me alone in my cold bed.

My dearest,

It has been a month since I left you, and it has been the hardest month of my entire life.  I did not have the time to write to you until now because I was unable to get my hands on some parchment and a quill, and I had some trouble finding some place where your father and King Alexander could not reach me.

I cannot risk telling you precisely where I have had the luck to find myself, on the off chance that the letter is intercepted.  I cannot see why it would be, as it is carefully hidden with a letter written to Steven, but considering the man that I know your father can be…

Well, I am aware that I shall not need to explain more than that.

What I can tell you is that the sea here is beautiful.  The journey here was hard, filled with storms and a tumultuous sea, but it was worth it.  Though, it would be much better if you were with me to see it, my love, but you already know that.  Seeing the sun rise on the blue water—Water clearer than any I have ever seen before!—made me hopeful for the first time since I left your side.  In fact, the dress that you wore to your father’s last birthday feast is the exact shade of the sea here.  The soft sand reminds me of the gold trim, the white diamonds embedded in the leather…

Do you see what you have done to me, my love?  I miss you so, my heart longing to see you again, to hold you, that I have started to wax poetic about your gowns.

I cannot start on the way the flowers here remind me of the scarlet rouge you use to stain your cheeks and your sweet lips or I shall never stop.  But, I have dreamed of your lips each night, of the way that my name falls like a prayer, of the way you told me you love me…  I dream of kissing you again.  More mornings than not, I wake with tears on my cheeks because of the need I feel to have you close again.  I had waited for so many years to finally tell you how I feel, despite knowing the way we both felt it, and the night that I did, I had to leave.

It feels like a tragedy from one of those books you like to read so much.

One of the sailors on the ship guessed that I had left a woman behind that had broken my heart, and he told me that time would heal the gaping wound.  It was all I could do to explain to him that I had been the one to break both of our hearts, and that time could do nothing because I am counting the days until I may run to you again.

Time may also do nothing because of the depth of my adoration for you.

I wish that I could tell you where I am so that I may receive a letter in return.  I hope you do not regret what happened the night I left, the kiss.

I hope you will still want me, still love me, when I return to you.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been a year since I have seen you last, since I left your side, and I fear I am on the verge of dying if I cannot get a glimpse of your sweet face soon.

Despite writing to you every few weeks, I feel as though there is so much more I can say.  Every tiny little thing that occurs during my days, I wish to tell you.  I wish to tell you so you do not think that I am at the taverns, flirting with every wench that I set my eyes on.  Despite the way they bat their eyes, they can do nothing to even catch a glimpse from me because I am always picturing you.

Have you thought of me since that night?  I imagine you have had to, since I am writing to you and I am sure that Steven is getting these to you.  He may be a dunce in some things, but he is generally a capable man.

When I saw you in your bed that night, slumbering so peacefully, my first thought was that you looked like an angel.  I had been worried that I would be scared to touch you, to even set my eyes upon you, after what I had done.  But all I felt was reassurance that I had done the right thing.

I still cannot apologize enough for leaving you alone in that garden for so long.  Despite knowing that it technically wasn’t my fault, considering that the king had called for me to discuss the journey back home, I am wracked with guilt.  I should have had a servant fetch Steven to take my place while I was gone before I left.  But, I was naïve enough to assume that the palace guards that were present in the garden would protect a princess, even from their prince.

Coming back and seeing you so upset, panicking as he gripped your soft, sweet body hard enough to bruise…  I had realized when I looked at you that you thought I had abandoned you.

I hope you know that no matter where I am, I have not abandoned you.  I could never leave you forever, my dearest.

Your handkerchief no longer smells like you.  I had swiped it from your room as I left, needing something to comfort me on my journey.  I sleep with it pressed to my nose so that I may see you in my dreams.  But now it has lost your scent, and I have been on a search to find the perfume that you wear so that I may buy a bottle and need not worry about it losing your scent again, but alas, I have not been able to come across it.

I fear it would not smell exactly like you anyway, my love, and I would simply be disappointed.

I have pressed a few more flower petals to send to you, but I may not be able to send them again for a while, as winter will be here soon.  Even in this warm kingdom, it brings a chill that withers the flowers and crops.  Until then, I shall send you as many as possible.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been two years to the day, and I can only pray to whatever gods that I will be able to be with you forever soon.

Did you get my present?  I snuck into the palace after deciding that I couldn’t wait much longer to see you.  Even if I was not able to speak to you, just seeing your angelic face as you slept gave me a moment of peace.  My heavy heart was lightened.

You may need to hide the letters I write you better, it only took me seconds to find your hiding spot.  Of course, your father doesn’t know you as well as I do, so he most likely won’t think to check behind your mirror.

The necklace I left on your pillow is inlaid with pure opals and diamonds.  I had never heard of opal, I must admit, until I found my way here.  It is a great source of pride in this kingdom.  I knew the second I saw it that you would look absolutely stunning in it.

Perhaps you will wear it on our wedding day.

Every day I grow fearful that your father will find another suitor for you and force you to marry him before I can make it back to you.  I know how adept you are at avoiding the princes and lords that he shoves in your direction, but what can I say?  To see you with another man, even if you did not truly wish to be with him, would kill me.

I have been on a ship again for the last few weeks, so unfortunately there is not much to write to you about.  But please, know that you are in my thoughts every moment of every day.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

I have just gotten the news of your father’s passing.

I am on my way home to you.

All of my love,

Your James

I sigh as I sit on the throne—my throne.  Mere hours before, I had been crowned as the new queen of my kingdom.

The scepter is heavy in my hand, the cold metal seeming to burn my skin.  How can I do this on my own?

My father raised me to be a queen, a wife, but not to rule.  I was raised to be the queen to a king, to support the man I end up marrying as he rules the kingdom.

But the only man I will ever marry is not here.

Steven is standing beside the throne, his hands clasped behind his back.  He has been good to me the last few years, as I have waited desperately for the day that my love, my true knight, will come home to me.  “You are troubled,” he says quietly as the both of us watch the nobility dance in magical patterns that draw the eye and lift the spirits.  “You should be excited, Your Majesty.  Today is a day of great celebration.”

“He isn’t here,” I say.  It’s all I need to.  His last letter is pressed against my breast, hidden inside my gown.  The necklace he left for me is heavy around my neck, the precious jewels glinting in the light.  “He said he was coming so where is he?”

The prince that had been seeking my hand before my father died is present, his gaze continuously finding me as he slowly works his way closer.  Over the past weeks, I’ve been able to avoid his advances with claims of my grief.

As if I could ever truly grieve a man as cruel as my father.

“It is possible his ship may have been caught in a storm,” Steven comments, trying to soothe my anger.  He has seen how unstable my emotions can be when James is not close by.  “He will be here.  You know he will, my queen.”

I am growing more and more annoyed as I realize that I will soon be expected to join the dancing.  But dancing is the last thing I want to do without my love there.

Beside me, Steven tenses, and I watch as his blue eyes flit around the room.  “Interesting…,” he says under his breath, almost too low for me to hear.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.

“It appears that your latest suitor has disappeared.”

What?  Brows furrowing, I look around the room, pointedly searching for Prince Quentin for once.  Sure, he is a handsome man, but his blue eyes are forgettable when I compare them to James’s.  “Well, perhaps he found some maid to consort with in the gardens,” I say with an eye roll, quickly giving up on the search.  “It is not as though he is getting any sort of connection from me.  Let him have his fun.”

Steven snorts, his head dipping for a moment.  “I think it is time for you to join the dancing,” he says simply, in a tone that makes me wonder what he has up his sleeve.

He knows something that he is not telling me.

“Fine,” I say with a glare in his direction, getting to my feet.  I hand my new scepter off to the servant who has immediately rushed to my side, the song currently floating in the air coming to an end.  A new one begins as I step into the fray, easily joining the dance.

I am so swept away in the swirling skirts and joyous laughter of the crowd that I do not notice the man that had joined the dancers on the other side.

Passing from partner to partner, I keep a fake smile plastered on my face and absentmindedly nod with everything that is said to me.

“It has been a long time, my love.”

My eyes snap up to focus on the man whose arms I have just been passed into, and my heart stops inside of my chest.  “James?” I breathe out.  My eyes well up with tears just at the sight of his loving face, his sea blue eyes sparkling in the bright light of the ballroom.  “James, is it really you?”

His smile is almost blinding, and I realize that his own eyes are glassy as well.  “It is me, my princess.  Or should I say, my queen?”  Despite the rest of the people around us switching partners, he refuses to let me go, his hand tight on my hip and the other holding my hand firm.  “I saw your coronation this morning.  You looked radiant.  You still do, my dearest…”

I barely notice the world around me as I watch his tongue flick out between his teeth to wet his chapped lips.  “You were there?”

“Of course I was,” he chuckles, his large hand squeezing my hip.  “Do you really believe that I could ever even risk missing your coronation, sweetheart?”  Feeling the crowd’s stares, he leans in a little.  “Meet me in the garden in a few moments.  By the gazebo.”

Twirling in time with the music, my heart sinks as I am passed to the next partner and the next.  My hands are trembling with the fear that he could disappear again.  Logically, I know that he won’t.  But after spending so many years away from him…

“Go,” Steven says after I finally break away at the end of the dance.  “He is waiting for you.”

I don’t need to be told twice.  As I make my way to the corridor to slip out to the gardens, I have to reassure several servants that I am alright, but just escaping for a fresh breath of air.

The gazebo he told me to meet him at is further back in the garden, out of view from any of the palace windows.  His dark figure stands at one of the railings, looking out at the ocean.  The necklace around my neck burns as I take a moment to look at him, really look at him.  His hair is longer than it was when he left, and stubble lines his face.

Did he shave just for me?

I like the thought of him preparing to see me, nervously checking his appearance in the mirror.  Perhaps he bought a new jacket and waistcoat in his excitement.

“James?”

He turns to look at me immediately, a smile brightening his face, and I feel as though I am a teenager again, fresh with the feelings of love and adoration.  “My dearest…”  He does not waste any time as he pulls me close, his lips slotting against mine and his hands roaming over my body.  “I have missed you…  I have dreamt of you each night.”

And I know that anyone could come out and see us at any moment.  And I know that the gossip would run rampant and the possible alliance with Prince Quentin’s kingdom could crumble.

But I do not care.

I have been craving his touch for years, praying to the gods he would come home and hold me just as he is doing now.

“I need you.  I need you, James,” I say as my hands tug at his jacket and push it off his shoulders, going for his waistcoat next.

Thankfully, he does not argue.  “You’ve dreamt of this as much as me,” he says in relief as he unties my corset enough to tug it down to reveal my chest to him.  James chuckles as he catches his letter as it falls.  “You kept this so close to your heart, my love.”  Seeing the letter only makes him more ravenous, his lips attaching to my neck as he works his breeches down.

Pain runs through me as he sits and pulls me on top of him, finally joining our bodies together, but I don’t take the time to care.  The glory of finally being with him is far greater than any pain I could ever feel.

We are so tangled that you cannot tell where one of us ends and the other begins as he moves me, taking his pleasure and granting me my own.

“You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at my neck.  “That sorry excuse for a prince thought he could touch you.  Thought he would ever be worthy enough for you.”

It suddenly occurs to me that his arrival and Prince Quentin’s disappearance were correlated, and I see a drop of blood on his white undershirt.

It tears a moan from my throat.

The knowledge that a man as powerful, as strong, as my knight would protect me in such a dangerous manner, so desperately, sends a jolt down my spine.  The fact that he is willing to go to the ends of the earth, to commit such a sin…

It is delicious.

The dagger he must have used glints in the low light of the moon as it rests on the stone floor, having fallen from his breeches when they’d been torn down.  The sharp edge is crusted with a dark red, almost brown substance.

“I am all yours.  I have always been yours, my knight,” I say as my fingers tangle in his hair and pull, our lips locking.  “I love you.  I love you so.  I cannot breathe without you.”

“I am never leaving you again.  Never.”  His teeth grab onto my lower lip as he picks up the pace, grinning as he glances down to watch my body.  “Fuck…  It’s even better than I dreamed of.  I love you so much, my queen.”

My release is fast and hard, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I cling to him, my nails scratching at his back and creating a rip in his shirt.  “JAMES!”

James is quick to follow, his hips jerking as he reaches his peak and spills inside of me.  “Perhaps you will become heavy with my child,” he whispers as he steals another kiss, tenderly fixing my dress before helping me stand and dressing himself.  “Perhaps we will have a little prince or princess on the way.”

“Well…”  A smile spreads over my face as I cup his cheeks, running my fingers over the dark stubble.  He would look so delectable with a beard.  “In case you have not been informed, I have been made queen…  And I decree that you are to be my king.”

A laugh bubbles in his chest as he pulls me close once more, dipping me low and kissing me something fierce.  “Your wish is my command, my dearest.”

[westmoor]

the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

--

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

--

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

--

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar​ @elliestormfound​ @justjess94​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @honeysuckletook​ @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

[anotherslasherblog666]

Hi have you done slashers with plus sized partners yet?? (and if you wanna do hcs could you include billy lenz ♥) thank you!!! N I love your writing!!!

Slasher with Plus sized Partners! I am so happy to do this cause I am myself a midsized gal lolol

Warnings: Some NSFW, mentions of mental states/ illness.

Brahms Heelshire: -I already HC that this mans is VERY MUCH into pluses sized figures. He's seen them in paintings and loves the shapes and curves the body naturally makes

-So when a new plus-size/ Curvy nanny comes in, he is immodestly imfatuated - Probably wouldn't be able to contain himself and would start stealing clothes/ undies even before you would unpack. When you sleep he can't help himself but touch himself while you rest. He really wants to hold you close to him. Feel the warmth and pressure of your body. -HOWEVER, where you two are finally face to face, he won't know what to do with himself. He'd probably run away back into the walls due to shyness

-But once his shyness/akwardness subsides, be prepared to be grabbed at 24/7. He loves everything about the way you look. And skimpier the outfit you wear around the house, the better in his opinion. If your cold he will give you his sweaters or just use himself as a blanket to keep you warm

-When making love, he will kiss all over your body, especially your tummy area, he LOVES IT, he doesn't have a specify body part that is his favorite, he loves EVERYTHING -He will never allow you to talk ill about the way you look, he honestly might cry if you come down too hard on yourself. So if you don't want Brahms crying or yelling at you about it, knock it off.

-You'd better only accept the delivered from Malcolm outside the house cause Brahms will get very jelouse if any man looks your way, will always throw a fit over it. Bubba Sawyer:

-BIG BIG BIG MAN HIMSELF - Bubba knows he's a big guy but that's honestly never bother him about himself. He usually just sees people as meat/ a meal for his family

-But on someone else, he thinks its honestly very attractive. Especially if you got a bigger butt, THAT is what makes him all flustered - Bubba though is a gentleman and will never grab or touch on you unless you ask him too! If any of the family tries, he gets VERY upset and will take you to your shared room and lock you up there for your safety.

-If Bubba is really really in the mood, he will rub his errection up against your butt, its very soft he can't help it. That or on your thighs, put on some stockings/ thigh highs you're not leaving the bedroom all night

-If you feel down about yourself, he won't really understand why you're upset about your body, but he will still comfort you cause your sad. Lots of kisses on your body to show how much he loves you!

Thomas Hewitt: -Just Like Bubba a BIG MAN and is very aware of it, but he likes that about himself, he has a barrel chest and big arms, a lot of muscle under the fat

-He likes a partner with more meat on them, he feels better about rough housing with them. Favorite parts are their cute tummies. When he bends over to give them a hug form behind, he'll take handfuls and give it a squeeze, same with the thighs

- If ANYONE even his own family says anything about how you look, he will drag them down to the basement and threaten to hang them on the hook. Even Hoyt, who learned the hard way that grabbing at you resulted in a broken hand.

- If you start to come down on how you look, he will pick you up and say how light you are, and swing you around till your laughing in his arms.

-If you want to lose weight, he probably will let you help with the harder chores so you can build muscle with him, but try to skip a meal on him and he WILL get upset. If he finds out you didn't eat all day, Thomas will drag you to the kitchen and with him for Luda Mae will make you food. Though they don't always have much, family always eats.

Billy Lenz: -Billy is.....Billy. He has never really had a partner so if anyone gives him attention (bad or good) He's going to jump at them full force. You're probably going to have to beat him off with a stick to get some space.

- Billy will notice how you look compared to your roommates later on in the relationship after he mentally starts to become aware of his surroundings. But he will aways prefer you over them, they all look frail to him.

-Billy always like how warm and soft you are, it calms him down when you hold him, especially if he is about to have another mental break. When he's feeling lonely from staying in the attic, he will crawl down and press himself against your body as closely as he can to feel that warmth he loves so much.

-When you two are having sex, be prepared for him to want to fuck every part of your body. He really likes the way you feel on dick, he will ejculate all over you. Sorry he won't help you clean up, it is what it is.

-However, if Billy catches you in the shower, he will join you and want to wash you all over. He loves the water runs down your body and really likes it when its suddsie all over

-Billy also really likes if you wear tight outfits, if you really wanna rile him up, get some panties that are missing the crocs area, you won't even be able to model them off, he'll be tackling you over to have some fun. Hope you like it!!

[babydaddyleorio]

Can I get a Angst oneshot of cherry number 5 and Gender Neutral reader please if you want or can.

(I hope I did this request thing right)

Have a good day or night stay safe and happy pride month!

Happy pride!

Cherry had done everything in his power to cover his tracks so that nothing could ever be traced back to him.

He had made sure to shield his body in an all black cloak with a mask across his face as he snuck off the palace's grounds, he had given himself an alias whenever he chose to skate since It was forbidden for royals to do so, and he even met with his lover in the most discreet places that no one should have been able to find. He had done everything imaginable to ensure that nothing could ever tarnish his name, and yet somehow, all of his efforts were now seemingly futile.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Cherry scowled deeply as his eyes fell on the bothersome man in front of him, trying his best to maintain his composure and awareness. The man in question was no other than his right hand and he had so rudely barged into his office, demanding Cherry’s attention to discuss an important matter that just couldn’t seem to wait. Ainosuke Shindo, Adam for short, stood beside the chair opposite of Cherry with a grin that can only be defined as devious adorning his lips.

“There have been rumors circulating amongst the servants, rumors of the Lord escaping the palace late in the night.” Adam tauntingly paced around the office with his hands clasped behind his back and Cherry’s eyes vehemently trailed him as his accusing words began to register. “They say you’ve been sneaking off to duel commoners in skating tournaments, knowing full well that the practice is strictly forbidden.”

Adam paused his movements and sharply turned himself to face Cherry. He slowly lowered his body down to grip the edge of the desk dividing him and Cherry, a grimace now present on his face.

“Does any of this ring a bell to you, your Highness?” Adam asked forcefully and Cherry simply reached over to grab his fine china, calmly taking a sip of his Chamomile tea before answering the arrogant man towering him.

“No, I am afraid that does not ring a bell.” Cherry answered while blankly staring and Adam laughed dryly under his breath at his obvious lie.

“Is that so?” Adam retorted before taking out a manila folder and dumping the contents of it all across the desk’s surface. Cherry remained unscathed as the laminated documents fell before him and he slowly glanced over them, squinting his eyes once he realized they were all pictures.

Pictures of him to be exact.

“These photos here tell a different story, Lord Cherry.”

“What is it that you exactly wish to gain by doing this?” Cherry asked, his voice becoming slightly annoyed as he pushed the pictures of him participating in the local tournaments away from his view.

“End your acquaintance with Y/n.” Adam declared while leaning closer to his Lord, but Cherry only narrowed his eyes in response.

‘Ah, so that’s what this is all about.’ Cherry thought to himself as he took note of Adam’s request.

Adam had never liked that you and Cherry were having romantic relations with each other and he so desperately wished to end the entanglement as soon as the secret relationship sprouted. Adam viewed you as mere filth and didn’t believe you had a worthy enough status to ever be seen with the likes of Cherry. Adam gritted his teeth just thinking about you being together, partially because he knew Cherry could have better and partially because that spot you had in Cherry’s heart should have been his.

“You must have lost your head, Adam.” Cherry glowered menacingly and leaned himself closer as well, so close that there were just mere inches between the two. “Mind your place.”

“End it, Cherry.” Adam demanded coldly, losing all the formalness he had prior to this moment.

“And if I don't?” Cherry challenged with a raised eyebrow, frowning deeply as he continued to stare down Adam.

“Then I will have no other choice than to leak these photos and ruin your entire career.” Adam spat with his fingers gripping the wood so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Cherry closed his eyes at the unfavorable situation he had found himself in. He could have continued to protest against the incriminating evidence, but Adam did unfortunately have the upper hand right now. Cherry sighed loudly before slowly glancing back up to the fickle man awaiting his response.

“Very well.”

“Really?” Adam blurted incredulously, shocked that Cherry actually agreed to his terms.

“Yes, I will end my relations with them.” Cherry affirmed, although the weight of those words left a bitter taste lingering along his tongue.

“Excellent.” Adam exclaimed before turning on his heel to leave triumphantly but not before gathering the photos up and taking them with him.

Once Adam was completely gone, Cherry loudly banged his fist against the table, causing the warm tea to spill across his desk. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration as he considered the stakes at hand and wanted nothing more to strangle Adam for even pulling a stunt like this. Cherry was torn between protecting his current position of power or choosing the love of his life and it seemed like the former was gradually becoming his only option.

“Carla, send me a carriage.” Cherry hastily commanded into the air before pushing out of his seat and storming out the door.

X

“Y/n, open up. It’s me.”

Cherry waited a few seconds before hearing your feet shuffle against the floor and multiple locks turn in unison.

When you finally opened the door he saw that you were all dressed and there was a suitcase standing behind you. Cherry raised an eyebrow in question and wondered where you could be going at such a late hour.

“Going somewhere?” He asked curiously while taking note of how stiff you looked standing in the door frame.

“Yes.” You responded curtly, voice more distant than usual.

“Where to?” Cherry tried to pry further, now even more confused that his suspicions were correct.

“Away.”

Cherry’s lips frowned at how dismissive you were being and he tried to step closer into your home, but you blocked him before he could get the chance.

“Cherry, I think It is time we end this.” You blurted out loud and Cherry froze in his spot once he heard those words leave your mouth.

Wasn’t that his line? He thought to himself as he saw the indifferent expression blanketing your face. Cherry wasn’t going to go through with Adam’s demands and he had actually come here to make It clear that you would always come first, although now that you’ve said you wanted to depart, he wasn’t sure If his plan still was in motion.

“For what reason?” Cherry asked insultingly and you avoided eye contact with him before continuing.

“It is for the best.” You whispered and Cherry got in your face, latching his fingers onto your chin so you could look into his furious eyes.

“Like hell It is.” He swore, glowering down at you. “What has caused this sudden change?”

“Dammit, Cherry! We just aren’t meant to be together!” You shouted and to Cherry’s ears It sounded as If you were trying to convince yourself of that statement as well. Once you realized your emotions were beginning to get the best of you, you took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tight feeling growing inside of your throat.

“I got sent a letter.”

“A letter?” Cherry questioned in confusion, wondering why that mattered now.

“Yes, and It stated that I have 24 hours to evacuate the premises before drastic measures would be put in place.” You confessed and Cherry raised his eyebrows in surprise before anger gradually consumed his being.

“On what grounds? Where is it, let me see!” Cherry demanded and tried to move past you but you blocked him from entering again.

“They had pictures in there as well.” You hissed while furrowing your eyebrows deeply. “Pictures of us together.”

Cherry felt himself begin to see red, seething at what was happening to you and him.

“So what? That’s just it now?” He voiced bitterly and you started to laugh at his questions, not realizing that tears had begun sliding down your cheeks.

“Yes, this is the last straw! I am sick of going through this, Cherry.” You exclaimed with a frown before turning your head so your eyes were no longer on him. “It’s best that you leave now.”

“I refuse to leave until we sort all of this out.” Cherry protested, moving his hands to try to wipe your cheeks but you swatted them away just before he could touch you. Cherry angrily clenched his fists and flared his nostrils before moving himself into your face.

“Didn’t we get in this relationship knowing that they wouldn’t approve of us? So why now, why are you so scared now?” Cherry was fuming as he shouted those words at you and you flinched once you heard how strangled his voice was becoming.

“It is different now, since when did you not care about your career as being our Lord? If word got out we were meeting, It would stain your image and legacy as well as have you seen as a dishonor. Are you really willing to risk throwing it all away for a mere relationship?” You challenged although the tears that were still falling steadily from your eyes betrayed how you were trying to come across.

You swallowed thickly before moving your eyes to Cherry’s face, staring at him solemnly through your blurry vision.

“Is our love really worth that much to you because it doesn't mean shit to me anymore.” You yelled and Cherry abruptly moved back at your outburst, too speechless to say anything in return.

You shut your eyes and squeezed them tightly before stepping back into your home.

“Goodbye.” You mumbled and slammed the door in Cherry’s face. Cherry stood on your porch with a far away look grazing his face and stayed motionless in his spot with his gaze never leaving your door. Cherry didn’t remember how long he stood there in the cold night, but he did remember the sudden feeling of his lips quivering as he felt his heart being broken into a million pieces.

When Cherry finally stormed back into the castle, he furiously and desperately looked for Adam. And when he finally saw him, he rushed to the man and roughly grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer so that they were face to face.

“What did you do, dammit!” Cherry yelled with tears building up in his eyes, his hands shaking drastically since your distraught face stayed ingrained in his mind. Cherry was a mess without you, he already missed your comforting voice and the beautiful smile that you wore whenever he held you close to him. Cherry’s cheeks suddenly rose as his mouth slowly parted and tears poured from his eyes at the thought of never getting the chance to have that again.

Adam looked down at Cherry since he still had him in grasp, and he couldn’t help the smirk that fell on his face as he realized that he had won. Adam listened closely as the grandfather clock on the wall rang loudly to signal a new day, a day where you were no longer in the picture.

“I just made sure you stayed true to your word, my Lord.”

[xoxopandapanda]

InuKag Week 2021: Day 1

@inukag-week

Day 1: Battle Couple

It was a long and difficult day to say the least. The baby wouldn’t go down for anything, quickly becoming irate and angry at any attempt his parents made to help him settle down. Inuyasha’s shoulders and arms were of no comfort, and he didn’t want to nurse from Kagome. He cried and cried.

Soon his parents cried with him.

Inuyasha held it together for a while, taking the babe from Kagome when she started to choke up at his rejection of her breast. “Here,” his voice was soft, barely audible over the screaming child in Kagome’s arms. “Give him to me. You get some shut eye while we go out for a walk.”

Kagome had shaken her head at first but didn’t stop Inuyasha when he lifted the bundle out of her arms and tucked it into the crook of his neck. “I’m serious,” he told his wife sternly, “get some rest.”

Kagome felt the burn of tears down her face and saw through the waterworks Inuyasha’s shoulders fall slightly. But he turned on his heel and quickly left the hut they occupied, true to his word of taking the baby out for a walk. Kagome dropped her head into her hands, not bothering to even tidy or cover herself up before falling over to cry.

She felt like such a failure, of a mother and wife.

Kagome had gone nearly two days without a few hours rest, and exhaustion quickly crept on her. She was too tired and far too upset herself to remember that Inuyasha needed far less rest than her and could handle a fussy baby for a while. Once she was rested, she would probably blame baby brain for forgetting such a vital part of her husband’s characteristics, but that was for a rested Kagome to worry about.

Sleep came to her quickly, albeit restless sleep. She kept waking and searching for the other occupants of her home, before remembering they were out on a walk. She moved in and out of awareness, not having slept alone in what felt like eons, but realistically was only two years. Her bed felt cold and the room too quiet without her boys in it.

Sunlight finally peaked through the crevices of the walls. Inuyasha had promised her that he would fill in the gaps that the aging wood had created. But that was before the early labor and dramatic entrance of their first-born son just a few short months ago. Kagome half thought to remind him of the task, but then thought she couldn’t risk his attention been separated from her and the baby.

She wasn’t ready to be solely responsible yet.

Sure, reasonably she knew she could do it. It would probably just take him a few hours to gather the straw and mud to bulk up the walls, and with his speed and strength the longest part of it would be waiting for it to dry before adding more. He could help her out during those times, but the thought of even a moment where he wasn’t beside her with his full attention on their baby was too much to imagine.

Kagome started to choke up realizing she had left him to her own worst fear last night – solo parenting.

She rubbed her eyes, and the voice in the back of her head told her “Inuyasha is his father. He is just as capable of taking care of him for a few hours, if not more so.”

She threw that thought to the wind and continued to berate herself for leaving him alone with a very upset and very inconsolable baby for an entire night.

Kagome forced herself to sit up, stiff from having slept in the position she fell over in, rearranging her clothes. She winced at the soreness of her breasts and was sure to loosely cover herself.

“He should be hungry,” she said aloud to no one in particular. ‘Hopefully’ went unspoken.

As she dusted herself off and walked to the bucket of water in the corner to get a drink, Inuyasha’s head ducked in the room, eyes scanning for her.

When he saw her, he gave her a sheepish look. Kagome panicked for a moment – did he leave the baby with Sango and Miroku? What would they think of them as parents if they just dropped the kid off when he got fussy?

Her thoughts were interrupted when he stepped into the room, a whimpering lump on his chest alerting her to the baby’s presence.

Later she would realize her panicked thoughts were more of a manifestation of her own desire to ask her friends for help but wouldn’t out of an irrational fear of judgement. That was another thing she was going to have to work out.

“Sorry to wake you, but he’s suckling on me.”

Kagome blinked, her brain still foggy and slow. Oh. Inuyasha meant the baby was hungry.

She went to grab the baby from her husband, but then thought better of it. Wouldn’t be good to drop the kid in her exhaustion trying to get herself sorted to feed him.

She put down the ladle she was drinking from and sat back down on their futon, crumpled and unmade from the events of the night before. The smell of it made her speak. “We got to air this out today.”

“Once he’s fed, I’ll bring it out.” Inuyasha stepped up into the main room and crouched beside his wife, waiting for her to be ready for the baby – who was still whimpering, but had at least dried himself out of tears.

Kagome adjusted her clothes before holding her arms out for her son – her perfect, fussy, big, loud, demanding son. He quickly latched and took off suckling, eager to fill his stomach and rehydrate after the waterworks of the last few hours.

Kagome felt Inuyasha settled behind her, his arms coming around to hold up their son with her, so her arms didn’t have to hold up the weight. Sighing loudly, she leaned back into him, her head resting against his shoulder and his chin nuzzling into her opposite shoulder. Kagome closed her eyes and started to drift of.

Okay, maybe she did drift off.

Next thing she knew Inuyasha had switched their baby on her breasts and was rubbing his wet nose into her cheek. “Hey,” his voice in her ear was a nice change from the screaming of the night before, “I need you to lay down. I’ve got to burp the brat.”

Kagome nodded, slumping over on his arm, until he removed it and let her flop onto the futon. She could hear the shuffling of his feet walking and bouncing the baby up and down to help him release excess gas. The wet blech told her that more than likely the fire rat robe was going to need to be washed.

Groggily she called out, “He did drink pretty dang fast.”

“Yeah,” came the reply, “let’s just hope he kept enough down to keep him calm for a little bit.”

“Maybe he’ll go into a food coma, and we can rest to.”

Inuyasha snorted. “If there’s a god out there, then let’s pray it happens.”

Kagome knew she should help her husband. He was probably having to juggle a baby while getting out of his clothes and then having to clean both of them up. She knew she should just get up and even if it was to wipe off their son, at least do something. But she couldn’t even manage to open her eyes to watch what she was sure was quite the scene playing out in her house.

She could say she was surprised when she was lifted up and put onto some blankets, but she wouldn’t because she didn’t have it in her to even register what was going on. Managing just a little bit of strength, Kagome saw her son on his back next to her, his chest going up and down and a very light snore coming from his mouth that also caused his ears to twitch in rhythm. He was naked which Kagome knew was probably a bad idea but couldn’t even find it in her to care.

If he soiled the blankets, he soiled the blankets. They washed.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was exactly clean herself.

Rolling to her side, she gently tucked an arm under her head and the other coming down softly to rest on his chest. The movement of his breath quickly lulled his mother into a far more peaceful rest than before.

The sun had well slid its way across the sky by the time Kagome woke up. Inuyasha was sitting in the genkan, a shallow dish of water before him and the boy in his lap. The baby seemed very fascinated by the light dancing across the surface and was enchanted by the experience.

Kagome could tell that her husband was just as enchanted by watching their son experience the world for the first time.

“Some partner I am.” Her voice was rough and gravely from dehydration. Inuyasha’s ears moved before his head. He looked over his shoulder at her, bemusement in his eyes.

“Didn’t know I married a bear demon.”

Kagome rolled her eyes at his quip. Gods help her if her son developed his father’s sense of humor. “I’m sorry for leaving you to all the work. I’m not a very good wife, am I?”

Inuyasha’s eyes narrowed, whether in confusion or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. She was too far gone in her emotions to care. “What kind of mother am I, even? I just leave my boy alone and don’t comfort him?”

Inuyasha cut her off before she could continue down her path of self-deprecation. “No one could comfort him last night. Miroku told me that babies get that way sometimes, so we’ve just got to stick together and make sure he knows we’ll be there for him.”

Ah. He had gone to see Miroku and Sango last night. Kagome felt a sting of bitterness in her chest, worrying about judgement for no reason.

“But,” Inuyasha looked back at his son, stroking the top of his head and lifting his fine sliver baby hair, “we aren’t going to win the battle unless we rely on each other and have each other’s backs.”

Kagome nearly stopped him, wanting to know what battle before she realized Miroku had probably use an analogy to get through to his half-demon friend.

Inuyasha continued. “You had my back with Naraku, and when I got injured. I had your back when you had to fight off Hobo and the entrance examples. It’s no different now.”

Kagome opened her mouth to correct him like she had thousands of times before about Hojo’s name, but her heart had other plans. “You’re right,” she spoke softly, her eyes beginning to close again now that she was comforted. “We’ve got each other’s backs. Thanks for having mine last night.”

If she had kept her eyes open for a few more moments she would have seen the color light up across her husband’s face before he turned to look back down at their boy, who was now touching the water to refract light differently, although he didn’t understand the science of his actions.

If she had stayed awake for a second longer, she would have heard her husband say, “I’ll always have your back.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Snow Covered Mountains // (F.W.)

Summary: A wintery escape with the one you love.

Prompt 41: Renting a winter cabin

Prompt 93: “You are very endearing when you are half asleep.”

Prompt 94: “How about a kiss?”

A/N: My entry into @vogueweasley‘s writing challenge! Congratulations on your milestone, I am so happy for you!! I’m so sorry it has taken a while to get to! I really did love writing this fic, it’s just so fluffy! I hope you like!!

Warnings: a lot of fluff, post!hogwarts, no angst just happiness

Word count: 2.1k

“Where exactly are we going?” Fred questions: bags in one hand as he holds the other out for you.

You smile, “You’ll see when we arrive.”

Fred goes to question you further; happy to drop the bags and question you until he’s blue in the face but you grab his hand before he can start, apparating the both of you to the winter cabin you had rented for a long weekend.

It wasn’t a large cabin, big enough for the two of you to enjoy the time away together. Fred remained speechless as you led him up the stairs to the porch, digging around in your bag for the key to the door.

Pushing open the door, you step aside for Fred to enter first. He drops the bags to one side before walking further into the large living room. A rustic feel to the room, a great couch takes up the centre of the room, a cream blanket laid over the back of it. In front of the couch, a fireplace sits unlit. Smiling to yourself you follow Fred into the living room, making a mental note to light the fire as soon as possible to warm the both of you through.

Fred moves to walk through to the bedroom, spying the queen size bed from his spot in the living room. Instead, Fred turns to you, eyes bright with happiness and love as he asks, “When did you do this?”

You shrug, “A couple of weeks ago. You came home from the shop looking dog-tired, so I spoke to George and he let me take these days for you. That night, I booked the cabin.”

Fred rushes over to you, taking your face in his hands and tilting it back slightly. His eyes run over your face, searching for the answer to a question you don’t know. “I love you; you know that right. I love you so very much.”

You cover his hands with yours, smiling up at the redhead that had occupied your heart and mind for years now, “I love you too.”

Fred beams, refusing to say another word as he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that effectively ends all conversation for the rest of the day.

--------

The morning starts deliciously slow. There was something incredibly sweet about waking up naturally, without aid of an alarm. The absence of the piercing shriek happily noted by the both of you as you stretched, reaching out for Fred across the bed.

Fred meets you halfway, humming happily in his sleep as he feels your body curl around his. Your legs slip in between his as your hand runs across the flat expanse of his stomach.

From there, the morning turned even more languid. Fred waking, kissing you immediately before rolling you onto your back where he pressed you further into the mattress. Fred in the mornings was really something to behold: sleepy smiles, messy hair and intoxicating kisses. He was a dream in the mornings.

Breakfast is late. Fred cooking shirtless as you sat at the counter, admiring the man you fell in love with so many years ago. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you twisted the ring that sat on your finger; a proposal whispered in the middle of the night; an answer swallowed by a kiss.

From there, the day is moved to the large couch in the living room. Fred falling backwards onto it, tugging you down on top of him. After years together, the position is second nature, the weight of each other being nothing but a comforting presence.

It doesn’t take very long for either of you to nod off. Fred’s breathing slows first; his fingers that were doodling aimless patterns onto your back stops, a sign that he’s fallen asleep peacefully. You follow soon after, drifting off with a hand resting on Fred’s chest.

------

Similar to the morning, you wake slowly, finding that neither of you had moved through the late morning nap. Sighing in content, you become aware of a hand playing with your hair. Turning your head, you meet Fred’s gaze. It’s soft and filled with nothing but love. He doesn’t say anything, but a small smile spreads across his face.

“You are very endearing when you are half asleep,” You whisper, tilting your face, brushing your lips against his in a manner that has Fred craving more and more and more.

Fred smiles against your mouth, conscious of the fact that you currently reside on top of him in a manner that could quickly become counterproductive to the day he has planned in his mind.

He taps your hip, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt. You shiver against him; a reaction that Fred never got sick of. He pulls back from your mouth, a smile still on his face. “We really need to get up, love,” He states, shifting underneath you, keeping a tight hold on your waist.

“Do we have to?” You question softly, the whisper of suggestion in those four words has Fred’s body under yours heating. He wants to cave; he wants to fall back onto the couch, his mouth attached to yours as his hands wander further under your shirt, brushing against your skin in a manner that will leave you gasping.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs quietly, shaking his head at your words. “I’m afraid we do. It’s snowed some more when we were asleep, and I know you want to make a snowman before we leave.”

You purse your lips, weighing up the decision in your mind. Stay warm and make out with Fred or brave the cold and make a snowman – your only aim since arriving at the cabin three days ago.

“I suppose we should,” You sigh dramatically, moving off Fred and standing from the couch.

He pouts as you move, missing the warmth of your body already. Your eyes run over his naked torso unashamedly, drinking in the sight of the man you had pledged your forever to. It was a sight you could never grow tired of, but now Fred needed to put a shirt on.

“Babe, grab a shirt and then we can head out.”

Fred wiggles his eyebrows at you; relishing in the fact that he can fluster you so quickly even after all the time together. He doesn’t argue; the quicker he has a shirt on, the quicker he can get you back to the cabin and back into bed.

------

Snow covers the ground, untouched and pure. It’s breathtaking, Fred thinks to himself as he rubs his hands together to force some warmth into them. He reaches for the gloves in his pockets, tugging them on as he turns to face you.

He stops halfway round; caught off guard by the smile on your face.

You aren’t looking at him. You’re focused on the view from the porch of the cabin. The freshly fallen snow blanketing tree branches and weighing them down; the crispness to the air and the bright sky that only promises further snow fall.

To be loved by you, Fred realises, is an honour. A continued honour that he will always take above everything else. To know that you love him just as intensely, as encompassing as he loves you has his body feeling whole once more.

There was a time, not too long ago, where he doubted everything. A time where he couldn’t tell reality apart from the nightmares that had haunted him since that fateful day at Hogwarts.

Then you entered his life as a force to be reckoned with. The friendship that he had cherished for years was rekindled when you entered the Burrow and offered him a short and sweet reality check. Fred likes to joke that that was the exact moment he fell in love with you.

But as you smile up at the sky; a peaceful look on your face, eyes shining with happiness so deserved that Fred realises he’s been falling in love with you every day since.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

That is very question he asks himself as you turn away from the view, focusing your attention on him. The very love you feel for the redhead written across your face, shining from every pore as you reach for his hand. The gloves make it difficult to tangle your fingers together, but you hold his hand just as tightly as you did that day you whispered yes to him.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

Fred remembers the very first moment he asked himself this question. The anniversary of the battle was fast approaching, and Fred could feel himself sinking to a dark place he now visits so rarely, but at one time spent most of his time there. He could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest, constricting his breathing and worrying his mind.

He remembers how you banished the very thought from his mind. How you pressed yourself against him; taking his face in your hands as you listed the ways in which you loved him. By the end of the list, you were both reduced to tears, but he had understood. He had understood perfectly how you could love someone as broken as him.

You were broken yourself. Broken but healing with the help of Fred, just as he was broken but healing with your help.

Still, sometimes he has to take a moment. Only a moment to question how he got here; how he got to this point in his life where he’s in love with someone as lovely as you and the ring on your hand to prove it.

The snow crunches under your feet as you step down onto the first step, turning back to Fred with a large smile. “Come on magic man,” You laugh, “I want to make a snowman!”

Fred cannot help but laugh along with you, following you down the front steps of the cabin and into the fresh snow. It freezes his feet, and the cold begins to seep into his bones, but when you turn to find him following you, the smile that crosses your face instantly warm his body up once more.

You haven’t strayed too far from the warmth of the cabin when you pause, spinning in a circle. “Here,” You state plainly, “Here is where we’ll build Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?” Fred asks, eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“Sebastian is his name,” You explain, bending at the knees to gather the snow.

“Why Sebastian?” Fred asks, a curious but slightly envious tone to his voice.

You shrug, crushing the snow in your hands, “It’s a strong name for a snowman.”

“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” He states, “But does it have to be a man?”

“Fred,” You gasp, the beginnings of laughter curling in your chest, “Are you jealous of a snowman?”

Fred shakes his head, refusing to answer, “I was just wondering why Sebastian couldn’t be Samantha?”

You fix him with a plain look, still holding the now formed snowball, “It’s a snowman, Fred. Sebastian was the first name that popped into my head. Now, do you want to build a snowman before we freeze our fingers off?”

Fred laughs, jealousy forgotten as he bends down, gathering masses of snow to make the bottom of the snowman. The ball slowly begins to grow as Fred shifts through the snow, pushing the snowball along with a now cold hand.

It’s as he’s doing this when something wet and cold smacks into his face. He splutters, snow freezing his cheeks as his eyes widen at your actions. “What was that for?” Fred all but shouts, enjoying the sound of your laughter at the sight of his sopping wet hair that now falls over his forehead.

“For being jealous of a snowman!”

Fred holds his hands up, admitting, “Alright. I was jealous of the snowman – are you happy now?”

You smile, victorious, “Much. I’ll get to work on the middle section if you’re happy to continue with the bottom?”

“More than happy, love.”

You turn back to your work, gathering and collecting the snow to start rolling into a ball. Fred smirks as he breaks up the snowball in his hands, beginning to creep in your direction, the idea fully formed in his mind.

You screech as the snow falls down the back of your coat; soaking your jumper and everything else you wear. You turn to Fred, scowling playfully as you tackle him into the snow, straddling him as he lays in the cold. Sebastian the Snowman now long forgotten by the both of you.

“Shall we head back to the cabin?” You ask, heat alight in your eyes, love alive in your smile.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Fred whispers earnestly, “But I have something to ask you first.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Now I have to hear this.”

Fred pushes himself up, propping himself on his elbows; pure happiness written across his features, “How about a kiss?”

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @stupxfy​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @breadqueen95​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @phuvioqhile​ @moatsnow​ @missmulti​ @storyisnotover​

Fred Weasley taglist: @whiz-bangs78 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @seppys-return-to-madness @hexmione @ickle-ronniekins @oh-for-merlins-sake @somekidinacoma

[thenovelartist]

Game Over: Be Mine

Happy (late) Birthday to my friend @galaxyofconstellations​

“I swear, Adrien, you frickin’ blue shell me, I am going to kick you out of my house right now.”

The young man sitting beside her just laughed. “It’s not like I have the option of who to blue shell, though.”

“You have the option to not blue shell me in the first place.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Adrien Agreste,” Marinette growled.

He shot her a smug grin. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette huffed. To say this was out of the ordinary for her to sass a supermodel would be a lie. She’d met the man beside her a couple years ago when her best friend happened to start going out with his best friend. And then game nights between the four of them began to transpire every once in a while. And then once a month. And now about once week. However, there were times Alya and Nino, due to their schedules, wanted to ditch game nights so they could actually have a date night that week.

Just as they had done tonight.

And that was all right by Marinette and Adrien. Because they had become plenty close over the past couple years and had learned to enjoy solo game nights without the lovey-dovey couple getting all lovey-dovey on them.

“I am not kidding.” Marinette warned.

“I’d love to see you try.”

“To kick you out?”

“Yeah.”

“I will.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m not. I’ve seen you lift flour bags. I know full well what you’re capable of.”

“Therefore, you know better than to use that blue shell on me.”

Marinette snuck a glance at Adrien, who was wearing a smile that she Did. Not. Like. It was that smile that always meant trouble yet caused her heart to flutter. It was not fair that he looked extra attractive wearing that grin. Being a fashion designer, she’d seen her fair share of models. She hardly cared for them beyond being able to display her creations. Attractive men who constantly made passes at her while she fitted them with clothes were a dime a dozen.

However, the model next to her with his tongue slightly sticking out while his brows furrowed deeply in concentration could not be so easily tossed under that blanket statement, even if he had jokingly made passes at her while she tailored his outfits. Honestly, she found herself wishing more often than not that he’d meant them despite knowing he hadn’t.

“Well…” he said, shooting her a quick wink before turning back to the screen, “knowing and doing are two different things.”

“Adrien Agreste.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“About pressing this button?”

“Yes.”

He moved his finger.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oops.”

“Screw you!”

Marinette watched as the blue shell flew through the course and struck her, causing her cart to explode right before the finish line. Before her cart could even fully recover, she watched as Adrien’s cart zipped past her across the finish line.

“Winner!” he shouted, tossing his hands in the air while wearing a beaming smile.

“You mangy—”

“Hey hey, be nice.”

“Nice?!”

“Yeah.” He shot her a smile that did not under any circumstances cause the butterflies in her stomach to swirl. “It’s not becoming to be a sore loser.”

Marinette sputtered. “It is when you’re a cheater!”

“How’d I cheat? I merely used what the game gave me.”

“You strategically planned to screw me over.”

“But but but…” he began with a pout. “That’s kinda the point of Mario Cart.”

She let loose a growl before turning away from him. “Honestly, you’re such a piece of work.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

The words were said in jest. Marinette knew this. Her heart could not take it in jest. Not when she had developed a healthy crush on the man who was now behind her.

“Mari?”

Adrien’s concerned voice floated towards her, and her anger was already fading. She couldn’t stay mad at him, even if he did win this game five times in a row. She wasn’t a sore loser, but she also knew she was better than this.

“Maaaaariiiiii.”

His voice now resonated right by her ear. She could feel the couch cushion sink under his weight as he crawled across the couch to now be right behind her.

“Get lost. I’m sulking,” she snarked, turning her face away from him in hopes to hide the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, are we now?”

“We are,” she resolutely returned.

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and Marinette felt the cushion under her return to normal as Adrein shifted off the couch entirely.

“Well,” Adrien said, rounding the arm rest to place himself right before her. She had to cover her mouth in hopes of hiding her grin just a little while longer. “I do know one way to get you to stop sulking.”

Marinette froze for a second, hand falling away from her face—her smile was long gone now—as she looked towards Adrien.

He was grinning.

She began panicking.

“You wouldn’t.”

His smile only grew in responce.

He would.

In a flash, Marinette spun around, planning to bolt off the couch and out of his reach.

Unfortunately, she was not fast enough to escape. And she squealed as he began his attack.

His tickle attack, that is.

“Adrien!” she shrieked, collapsing onto the couch in a fit of laughter. She tried to wiggle away from him, but it was no use. He had crawled over the arm of the couch and was now hovering over her. “Stop.”

“Never!” he cried, wrapping his arms fully around her to hold her close as his assault on her sides continued.

Marinette let out another shriek, laughing so hard tears were forming in her eyes as she tried to wiggle her way out of Adrien’s grasp. He was now laughing along with her as he pinned her fully beneath him to the couch, his arms around her waist that held her tightly enough to continue tickling her sides. “Give up,” he cried, giggling all the while.

“I give!” Marinette screamed, still laughing as her back arched and hands pushed against his shoulders in an unfortunately futile attempt to escape his grasp. “I give! I surrender! Please.”

He held his hands still, though his fingers still lingered on her exposed skin right between her pants and where her shirt had ridden up on her hips. He propped himself up best he could and pulled her back towards him, close enough for his face to hover right above hers. “No more pouty Mari!”

“Yes, yes! Okay. You win. Stop!”

With that, he fully halted his attack, allowing Marinette a moment to breathe. Wide smile still lingering on her face, she let her eyes shut as she took heaving gulps of air that she wasn’t able to get during her tickle-induced laughing attack.

Faintly, she became aware of Adrien also breathing heavily, a short chuckle escaping him here and there. “Hey.”

She opened her eyes, only to come face to face with Adrien. “What?”

“I didn’t go too overboard, did I?”

With a heavy sigh, she let her eyes drift closed for a moment before shaking her head. “No. No more than usual.”

“Good,” he huffed, clearly relieved.

While the two were coming down from their giggle fit high, Marinette became increasingly aware of their very precarious position. At the moment, she was pinned to the couch, a fact she had already been aware of, but not to this extent. Adrien’s face was barely hovering above hers, looking every bit as handsome as he possibly could be while he laid on top of her, their legs intertwined and his arms fencing her in.

She felt all her blood rush to her cheeks that moment. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to have this affect on her. He was a model like any one of the dozens she was frequently surrounded with.

But he was also her friend. And a huge dork. And great at video games. And skilled both in the art of cheering her up and melting her heart. And and and…

And it just wasn’t fair how badly she’d fallen for him. Or how badly she wanted to kiss him right now.

“Adrien.”

“Hmm?”

“What… what if…”

She bit her lip. Just what did she think she was doing right now?

“What if I told you you did go overboard? What would you be willing to do to pay me back for it?”

He paused, distress slowly beginning to shadow his pretty features. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“I have Nino, who’s my best bro. But beyond that, the person I’m closest to… is you,” he quietly admitted. “I’d do whatever it took to make it up to you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her heart was racing as she looked at the handsome man before her, the one she’d come to care for deeply and sincerely. She knew better than to take advantage of this situation. She knew better than to be manipulative like this. And yet, as Marinette looked at him, she also wasn’t sure she cared. “Then, close your eyes.”

Without hesitating, he did just that.

It wasn’t lost on Marinette the amount of trust he put into her. He was the kind that asked “how high” when asked to jump, but only for a select few people. Everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared.

It made her realize once again just how precious that trust in her was.

Which made her rethink what she was about to do.

Ultimately, she shoved doubt aside as she raised her hands to cradle his cheeks, and he sucked in a sharp breath at her touch. They were soft to the touch yet very well defined. He was so handsome. A model through and through.

And maybe, she should stop saying such things, because what did it matter that he was a model. That was the one thing she could care less about when it came to him. Not when he had so many other qualities that shone far brighter.

Slowly, she started pulling him closer. And he came willingly. Yet, at the last moment, she froze.

In the end, she couldn’t go through with it.

“Adrien.”

“Please tell me you’re going to kiss me.”

She gasped quietly, unsure how to proceed or even answer that question. “I…” Words choked up in her throat. “I… wanted to.”

“Wanted to?” Adrien asked, eyes cracking open to match hers.

Her hands fell from his cheeks, curling together on her collarbone. She glanced away shyly. “I don’t… can’t take advantage of you.”

His hand reached up to brush aside her hair before cradling the back of her neck, bringing her attention back to his soft and sweet smile. “You’re not,” he gently assured. “Not by a long shot.”

“Then…” Marinette once again reached up to cradle his cheeks, and Adrien took that as his cue to pull her close and kiss her.

It was a single kiss, one that was a firm, lingering press of their lips together.

And in that moment, Marinette knew this was game over for her and her heart. Adrien had won again. But this time, she hardly minded.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Adrien whispered. “But… seems like you were braver than I was. It never felt like the right time, and I was too chicken to push my luck when I knew I could end up losing you.”

Words now completely failed Marinette. What was she supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to respond? “I… get… how you feel.”

Above her, Adrien’s loving smile grew. “So, does this mean I can press my luck and get a favorable answer when I ask if you’d be my girl?”

Marinette was quick to nod. “Yes.”

Adrien visibly relaxed, faint blush growing on his own cheeks. “I’m… really glad to hear that.”

A short silence passed between them.

“Second question.”

“Yeah?” Marinette whispered, her heart already over the moon and head completely in the clouds.

“If I asked to kiss you again,” Adrien said, leaning closer. “Would that answer be a yes?”

Those words wracked around in her mind for two seconds before short-circuiting everything. Forget speech, because that had become physically impossible, Marinette just grabbed his cheeks again.

Right before she could pull him down to grant his request, she could hear him chuckle softly. “I like that answer,” he whispered. “But…”

His lips brushed against hers as his voice got low and so quiet she could barely pick up on the words that fully destroyed her. “I like you even more.”

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // TWO E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of death and descriptions of it, mention of suicide (pls read with caution, ily <3).

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

CHAPTER ONE

A/N: Again, I apologize for the delay, life has been a lil bit crazy this past week. I also wanted to apologize for any possible typos because I’m working on a project but decided to take a break to finish this for you guys! I promise I’ll proofread this as soon as I get some time. Also, in the part where they’re texting, I recommend you check the texts on the Google Drive for context. Otherwise you might get a bit lost.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK OUT TE AVAILABLE MATERIAL IN THE GOOGLE DRIVE WHICH YOU CAN FIND ON THE SERIES MASTERLIST

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio @ethan-torchio-angelo @unitermoonshine @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @marriedwithmarktuan @its-afucking-mess @juststalking @goldenpeaxh​

LAST CHAPTER’S WINNING DECISION: They believe it is all real and go search for the body the finger might belong to. (The impact of this decision will be reflected next chapter).

Let the games begin. 

You had to read the last part once more, so consumed by the shock that barely any words had registered into your brain. Your hands were shaking as you held it closer to yourself. Maybe it was all part of the disbelief because you found yourself scanning the words over and over again until you had the first paragraph memorized. 

But then… then Ethan started laughing. 

Short, breathy laughs escaped past his lips, immediately followed by sharp inhales, as if he were desperate to get more air to reach his lungs. You brushed it off and went right back to reading the last few phrases that were on the very back, even said them under your breath to try and make them become real because everything seemed like nothing but a dream, no, a nightmare.

Then it slowly dawned on you after you finished reading the letter. All worry subsided and you had no doubt in your mind you would’ve started laughing too if you weren’t seeing red. Consumed by the sudden rage, you turned to Ethan and didn’t hesitate to tackle him into the ground.

In any normal instance, you wouldn’t have been able to do it, but you’d caught him off-guard, which was confirmed by the surprised yelp he let out as his back collided with the muddy floor and dry leaves crunched underneath his weight. You moved to straddle him the second you felt him shift beneath you, as if he wanted to get up. 

You looked at him for a split second. His face was illuminated by the soft glow of the red light. His distress was apparent. He was thrashing around to try and get you off him when you started hitting his chest over and over again. Your hits weren’t hard nor were they intended to cause any damage to him. In fact, he could have easily pushed you off him effortlessly if he wanted to, but Ethan didn’t even try. Instead, he let you continue hitting his chest.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You’re… a… fucking… psycho!” Each word was accompanied by another frustrated hit to his chest as tears slowly fell down your face and sobs rattled your body, “You were the only one who knew that. The only person in this goddamn school I ever—ever was stupid enough to tell it to. And you use it for one of your sick and twisted pranks? Fuck you. Fuck you!” 

Your head fell and rested on his chest as you kept on crying. However, your words seemed to pull him back to reality. Only after a few seconds of you speaking, Ethan had already rolled the two of you around until he was on top of you. 

You firmly held his stare as you tried to get him off you. For some strange reason, it sent shivers down your spine to see his eyes so full of fear. Ethan was always centered and glued firmly to the Earth. No matter the issue, he was always capable of keeping his cool, but now was far from being the case. His voice trembled as he tried to speak up, “Shut up Y/N! You’ve got no right to blame me for something that is clearly your doing. I have no fucking clue what your stupid letter said but mine said something that has me convinced it was you!”

His accusation was followed by him shoving his crumpled up letter into your face. You had to squint in order to see it better with only the aid of the red light. When you read the words placed at the very bottom, your eyes went wide and immediately looked for his in a desperate attempt to convince him it wasn’t you, but he had his head turned away. You firmly grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie so he’d look into your eyes, “I-I didn’t. Ethan I don’t like you one bit but I’d never. Not this.”

Ethan scoffed and shook his head. He got off you and turned around so his back was facing you, “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you did or didn’t do. I’m going to wash this disgusting stuff off me and report this in the morning.”

“What the hell? Are you crazy? Ethan, we're in the middle of a crime scene. We cannot leave it like this. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood because, let me refresh your mind, you fell into a fucking puddle of blood and found a finger!” You flailed your arms around furiously at his stupidity and started followed him the moment he started walking away, “What if this is real?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you, “What is real? A threat that looks like it was written by a thirteen-year-old who just finished reading The Analyst? And the blood… it belongs to an animal for all I care,” He didn’t seem an ounce convinced by the way he took a second to come up with an excuse, and he couldn’t even look you in the eyes, “Besides, what do you want us to say, huh? Oh yeah, sorry. We’re out past curfew because of reasons we can’t tell you and we casually found a disembodied finger lying in a pool of blood. Ah! And I almost forgot the most important detail. We’re being threatened with things that are not only good enough to get us expelled but also get us thrown in jail. But everything is fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, do whatever the hell you please.”

Ethan nodded nonchalantly and walked away from you. A long and deep sigh escaped your lips at his stubbornness. You wanted to scream out in frustration at how stupid he was being, but decided it was pointless to stay behind, just in case someone arrived and found you standing there, with your clothes filled with blood. 

——— ☆ • ♧ • • ♧ • ☆ ———

When you arrived back at the dorms, the first thing you did was take a hot shower as you tried to assimilate everything that had happened. Despite the water being so hot it almost burnt your skin, you still spent the whole time shivering and hugging your arms to your body. 

You had washed the blood off the hoodie in one of the sinks and still threw it in the washing machine afterwards. You didn’t know what was going on and part of you was convinced you didn’t want to know. Either way, you weren’t going to risk being roped into a crime investigation as a suspect.

Afterwards, you collapsed into bed. Your whole body was aching and, if it weren’t for the fact that your phone had exploded with notifications after you connected it, you would’ve fallen asleep. You lazily felt around the small bedside table for your phone and picked it up. Most notifications were just memes Will kept sending to the group chat you had. However, you’d also received a message from Ethan.

Upon reading the first few words, you already felt the urge to throw the phone out the window. He was being annoying, not like that was a new thing at all. You responded to the text nonetheless and left the phone back on the bedside table. You turned around in your bed to try and find a spot that was comfortable and cuddled deeper into the sheets. Then, just when you were about to close your eyes, the phone vibrated again. You groaned and picked it up once more. After reading those texts, you were unable to sleep all night.

——— 

You spent the great majority of the night crying and shivering despite being covered by layers and layers of warm blankets. Those few hours before your alarm sounded extended into what seemed like an eternity and you didn’t want to leave the room, afraid you’d find something like what you’d just seen at the oak tree. 

You only managed to sleep for about half an hour before your alarm went off at exactly six AM. Any other day, you would’ve snuggled back into bed for a little longer, but on that particular day, you’d jumped out of bed and hadn’t wasted a second before getting ready. You’d run out of the building to meet your friends at the dining hall, where you were currently at.

Damiano, Rory, Vic, and Will were already sitting at your usual table in front of the large window when you arrived. The curly-haired boy was practicing for a presentation while your three friends listened and made a few comments here and there on things they thought he should change. 

“Good morning everyone,” You murmured, then took a seat in between Damiano and Will, who turned to look at you and frowned, “Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” You nodded and put on the best smile you could manage. Then you stole one of the berries from his plate even though you weren’t hungry at all. 

You turned to look at Rory and Damiano, “Hey Ro, has the new phone you ordered arrived yet?” You questioned. After your conversation with Ethan the previous night, you needed to make sure it wasn’t them who had sent the text. Just the thought alone made you shudder in disgust and fear, but you just took a deep breath in and kept a soft smile on your face as your best friend shook their head.

“Funny that you ask that because yesterday I got an email from the store saying the delivery was going to take longer than expected because of the weather issues, so I gotta survive with this piece of crap for a few more days,” They sighed and placed the cracked phone on the table. You wanted to stop holding back the tears right then and there. Rory’s words were the confirmation that someone else had sent the text and you doubted it was Emilia. As much as you didn’t want to, with each passing second you started to believe the threat was true and that someone had died or was terribly hurt somewhere, and you needed to find them before it was too late to save them. 

Then you remembered another one of Ethan’s texts and had to resist the urge to get up and go search for him because you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Instead, you distracted yourself by listening to Will’s presentation practice.

You were close to nodding off at some point as he kept on speaking, “Back in earlier civilizations, it was believed that any type of illness was caused by demons and—Hey, Y/N!” You hummed softly as Will called your name. He poked you on the rib and you swatted his hand away, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled sarcastically, “I’m doing fine. I just stayed up working on a project and barely got a wink of sleep,” You let your head rest on Damiano’s shoulder and yawned.

“I wish I were that productive,” Victoria said as she played around with her food. Everyone had insisted on her eating at least a few bites even if she was still sick, “I never do shit.”

Thomas piped into the conversation, catching everyone by surprise as he took a seat next to Victoria, “To be fair, Y/N always complains about feeling half-dead from lack of sleep. I’ll never be crazy enough to sacrifice my sleep for a stupid assignment.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re one project away from failing Year 12,” Victoria laughed and Thomas rolled his eyes, “The other day I put him in charge of finishing this essay thing for philosophy and by the time I went back to check on him, he was already asleep. I honestly still wonder how we’re at this school. I would’ve thrown us out a long time ago.”

“Look who’s decided to join us today!” Damiano exclaimed with a large smile on his face as Emilia and Ethan took a seat right in front of you. It was an unusual occurrence for him to eat with you because, well, you were there and he couldn’t shut his mouth for half an hour while you ate, which usually ended in an argument that made the whole table annoyed. 

You frowned at his appearance. He was struggling to keep his dark eyes open and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. It was very apparent that he hadn’t slept much either from the bags under his eyes and his slow steps. Ethan was almost like a zombie. 

He shook his head the moment his eyes met yours and your shoulders slumped. It hadn’t been Emilia either. You got up from your seat abruptly and walked away from the table without an explanation. You desperately needed a breath of fresh air before you went insane. So with quick steps, you moved down the hall until you reached one of the open windows next to a couch. You let yourself fall onto the couch and tightly shut your eyes as you breathed the fresh air in.

“You seriously need to calm down. Otherwise everyone will start to notice just how suspicious you’re acting,” You sighed at the sound of Ethan’s irritating voice and up straight on the couch. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands and looked up at him with an annoyed expression.

“You cannot ask me to calm down after what we saw last night. When will it get into your thick skull that whatever this shit is, it’s real. Those threats were real and if we don’t do something we’re both going to end up in jail, or worse, people are going to die. We don’t know who this psycho is nor what they’re capable of doing. We need to do something now before it’s too late,” The words rushed out of your mouth desperately. The urgency in your tone and your voice quivering as you spoke made his face fall. It wasn’t often that he took you seriously, but by the look in his eyes, you could tell he was just as scared as you were and that was enough to make him shut up and listen to all you had to say.

“Shit Y/N, can you lower your voice? We have no clue at all who could ev—” Before he could even finish the whole sentence, the Head Professor cleared her throat. But your heads snapped in her direction and you gulped in fear at the thought of her overhearing the conversation.

Your heart fell to your stomach the moment she spoke, “Just the two I was looking for. I need you in my office right now.”

Your eyes went wide as you turned to look at Ethan, who already had his head turned in your direction. He nudged his head in the professor’s direction and you both followed her as she walked to her office but stayed a few steps behind.

“This is it, we���re going to jail,” You mumbled loud enough so only Ethan could hear. He hushed you and pulled you along when you stopped walking. People were looking at you as you passed by and that only made you feel worse. You loosened the tie around your neck and gulped.

“We are not going to jail unless you don’t pull it together. Now breathe and keep on walking. I’m not your fucking babysitter,” He whisper-yelled and quickened his pace. You sighed and did the same thing. It surely couldn’t be that bad, could it? You were probably just overreacting and the events of the night before had nothing to do with this impromptu meeting. 

You kept those thoughts in mind as the professor opened the door to the small office and you took a seat on one of the two squeaky chairs. The room smelled clean in a comforting way and you let your shoulders relax as you played with your fingers nervously and looked around the place. 

Her office had always been your favorite out of all the professors’. The place was always warm and during the mornings, you could hear coffee brewing in her old coffee machine in the corner of the room. There were books scattered everywhere and piled in a way that didn’t look messy but inviting. During your first weeks at the academy, when you still hadn’t made any friends, you’d go into her office and read while you sat curled up on the couch and enjoyed the warm and calm atmosphere of the place.

Things used to be so much easier back then and you had no clue how things could’ve changed so fast. Back then your relationship with Ethan was decent and you had no trouble with anyone or anything, now you were being threatened into being framed for murder and being sent to jail.

“You totally forgot about our meeting today, didn’t you?” She asked calmly as she poured coffee into one of her cups, filling the room with the delicious and strong scent. The professor pushed her long dark hair out of her face and straightened out her uniform before sitting down opposite to you, “You looked quite shocked. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”

Ethan sat there, speechless, just like you. But then realization hit you and you realized you were just being paranoid and stupid. She’d told you about this meeting weeks in advance. It was supposed to have something to do with your chance to get the sought-after 100% scholarship to study your career at The Oakes. 

“Nothing important whatsoever,” You replied quickly and sat up straight as you placed both hands on your lap. Ethan copied your actions and tied up his long hair with the black elastic that had been on his wrist.

Your eyes followed the professor as she dumped a small spoonful of sugar and mixed it around with the dark liquid. You couldn’t help but notice her hand shaking as she poured the milk and even spilled a bit of it down the side of the cup. 

She cursed under her breath and apologized as she got up to search for a napkin. With furrowed eyebrows, you shared a look with Ethan, who shrugged. 

“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m quite distracted today, but let’s continue. Shall we?” She smiled sweetly and opened up one of the folders on her desk as she sat back down. She grabbed two papers from inside and placed one in front of each of you. 

You picked it up and examined its content. It seemed to be some sort of permission slip, “So, as I’m sure you both know, our academy offers a program for all our brightest students that gives them the opportunity to continue their college studies with everything paid. You two are the people with the highest grades amongst the whole generation. The semester is—.”

Her words were interrupted by a few quick knocks on the door before a professor pushed it wide open. He couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands and playing around with his tie as he spoke, “The council wants to have a meeting, professor.”

“I cannot do it right now, I’m—”

“They want to have it now.” 

The professor turned to the two of you nervously and laughed awkwardly. She stood up from the chair after quickly pushing it back, “I’ll see you another day, okay? Meanwhile, please send a scan of that permission slip to your parents and have them sign it, as soon as possible.” 

Once both professors were out of sight and had closed the door, leaving the two of you alone, Ethan spoke, “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit. Neither one could stop shaking. I say we go and try to listen to what the council members are saying,” You suggested and stood up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit back down.

“We need to go back to the oak tree first. Y/N, if this is all real and there’s something going on, we need to find that body before they do,” He said firmly. Both his tone and stare were serious and you could tell that there was no way in hell he’d take no for an answer. Instead of arguing, you agreed and walked out of the office right behind him, but then you paused as his words registered into your brain, “Why do we have to find it before them?”

He didn’t stop walking to respond, so with a groan you started to walk faster until you were right next to him, “You weren’t even attending the school when it happened,” Ethan began to talk under his breath, so quietly you could barely make out the words he was trying to say, “It was years ago so I cannot remember exactly how the story went. You can ask Thomas though, he has better memory than I do,”

“Either way, there was this boy who’d just gotten into college and during the secret society’s initiation, he was told to climb the highest tower at that campus but he slipped and fell like ten stories. Like I said, it was a secret society that neither the public nor the parents knew about. If the story of what had really happened got out it’d ruin the school and some of the most important students would’ve been sent to jail, so they twisted it to look like a suicide and got away with it. The only reason we know about it is because one of Will’s cousins, the duke, was involved in it all and Will told us all about it.”

“I refuse to believe that’s true. C’mon, it’s Will,” You laughed, “The same guy who convinced everyone in class that your family secretly ran part of the Italian mafia.”

Ethan only shrugged and stopped walking to knock on the door of the greenhouse. You’d left yours at your dorm that morning from how distracted you were, so you had to wait for Mr. Murphy to open up and let you through.

When he finally opened the door, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at the two of you in confusion, “What in God’s name has happened to get you two in the same place without fighting?” He mocked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as a smile appeared on your face.

“I assure you, we can both be perfectly civil. Besides, it’s for a homework we need to do. And believe me it’s the last thing I want to be doing,” You lied and walked into the greenhouse with Ethan following behind, “Anyways, we’re gonna go to the lake to get some water and—”

“I’m afraid you cannot go out there,” He interrupted. You frowned at his words and tilted your head to the side.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing you should care about, kids. Just go to class, yeah? There’s someone coming and if you want to stay out of trouble you better leave before they arrive.”

YOU CAN VOTE ON THIS CHAPTER’S POLL RIGHT HERE. THIS POLL CLOSES AT 12:30 PM CDT ON TUESDAY.

[forthiswholeworld]

for @cursed-or-not because we’re thriving on each other’s clownery (page break bc this got Too Long to inflict on unsuspecting dashes) 

They’ve had Cas back for four days when Dean realizes something is wrong.

For a paralyzing moment, he stumbles on the thought, feels the fear of it choking him as he freezes in the doorway with a mug of coffee in his hand. He watches Cas blink dazedly at Sam’s debriefing on the rugaru in San Antonio and wills himself forward, wills his mind not to go straight to darkness and loss and cosmic consequences. Cas flashes a ragged smile as Dean sets the mug in front of him, and it occurs to Dean that maybe this is less about cosmic consequences than it is humanity. 

Now that Dean thinks about it, he can see it: the circles under his eyes, the weary slope of his back-- the things Dean had attributed to resurrection rather than humanity. 

Cas is human, though, and Dean thinks he needs to remember that before he remembers that he was gone. 

Cas needs food and laundry detergent and coffee and sleep, and now that he thinks about it Dean is absolutely sure he hasn’t seen Cas touch his bed since he got back. 

He doesn’t bring it up; they’ve been here before. They’ve come back and kept secrets and spent sleepless nights trying to fix things before, and heart-to-hearts have never gotten them anywhere. 

Instead, Dean drinks three pots of coffee and waits.

It’s 2:07 AM when he hears the echo of footsteps in the hallway. He swings open the door and tries to look like he hasn’t been waiting in ambush as Cas freezes.

“Dean,” he says, voice rough and a little frantic, and Dean is reminded of the days he’d wake up to Cas blithely watching him from the foot of his bed. (The days when Heaven filled the space between them and Dean didn't understand the difference between being a human and being human.) 

He watches Cas’ eyes flit away from his gaze and smiles brazenly. “Trouble sleeping?” 

Cas shifts on his feet. “No,” he says like he’s not the worst liar in the entire multiverse.

Dean holds his gaze for another beat before breathing a sigh. “Cas.” He settles back against the doorframe to scrutinize him. “What’s up?” 

Cas swallows. His eyes trace a scuff on the floor. “It gets so quiet here at night,” he mutters, and Dean understands.

He works his jaw as he realizes. He thinks he should’ve recognized the signs. He should’ve seen the tired eyes and haunted glances and known then, because Dean doesn’t know what it’s like to come back from nothingness, but he knows what it’s like to close his eyes and see hell.

He watches Cas’s gaze flit from the floor to the wall behind him and settle just above Dean’s left shoulder, and he’s not consciously aware of deciding anything but he’s inhaling to say something, and he guesses it better be good because there’s not a whole lot he can say to heal emptiness. 

“Sleep in my room,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them it surprises more.

“Dean—” Cas starts, and Dean knows he’s going to refuse, but there’s a millisecond where his gaze catches on Cas’s and there’s something heavy in the space between them, and Dean knows what it is but he’s always refused to put a name to it.

Cas swallows as he looks away. “As long as you don’t mind,” he says, and Dean also tears his gaze away before he can do something dumb like consider the vulnerability of it. 

“Come on then,” he mutters as he heads back into his room. “You can take the bed.”

“Dean—” Cas protests like Dean knew he would, and Dean narrowly avoids rolling his eyes.

“We’ll both take it then,” he says before he can ponder the sheer idiocy of it. 

Cas hesitates beside the bed, but Dean thinks he must be either too tired or too apathetic to argue, because he swallows and steps forward. 

Cas is careful as he pulls back the comforter and settles in; he’s careful not to take too much blanket or too much space, and they both lie stiffly on their respective sides of the bed until Dean decides he can’t take it anymore and clears his throat a little obnoxiously. He hears Cas huff a laugh. 

“You said it was too quiet,” Dean says softly, and he’s grateful for the darkness because he thinks he’s wearing a damningly fond expression. 

He thinks he feels Cas relax as he mutters, “that’s on me, then.” 

The stillness doesn’t feel so stifling after that, and he hears Cas’s breathing start to even out. 

He can feel the thrum of caffeine in his veins as he watches the ceiling. Even in the dark, he can see the outline of the ceiling fan, the trimming on the wall, the chair in the corner. He can hear Cas’s breathing, feel the warmth in the space between them, and he realizes he has no idea what emptiness is. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas closed his eyes without seeing it. 

He lies awake for the next three hours, but the rise and fall of Cas’s chest is steady and even beside him, so the caffeine overdose is a small price to pay. There are no windows in his room, but if there were he’d be able to see the first hazy traces of sunrise filtering in by the time he starts to drift off. 

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

He staggers out of his room just before noon, and Cas doesn’t quite meet his eye as he wordlessly hands him a plate of pancakes, courtesy of Sam and Eileen, but Dean thinks the circles under his eyes look a little less absurd, and it’s enough. 

The next night, Dean leaves his door open. 

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but 11:00 rolls around and he’s just getting ready to turn out the lights when he hears a tentative knock at the doorframe. He looks up to see Cas in the doorway. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas mumbles, and something about his awkward stance and fragile uncertainty makes Dean’s chest ache. 

He thinks this is where he becomes brash; this is where he scoffs a laugh and brushes off this heaviness like neither of their shoulders are bowed under the weight of what-ifs. This is where he flees back to the safe side of the lines they’ve drawn. 

He swallows. “You wanna come in?” 

Cas stills. “I--” his eyes flit to Dean and then away in a millisecond. “No. I just--” 

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, and he guesses he’s being reckless instead of brash and can’t say whether it’s for the best but he can feel the thrill of it in his veins. “Get in here.” 

Cas watches him for half a beat, probably just as surprised as Dean is that he’s managed not to be a defensive asshole about this, and then he swallows. “Thank you.” 

Dean thinks he absolutely doesn’t deserve a thank you, but Cas shuffles in and hesitates at the side of the bed and before he can say as much he’s pulling the comforter aside to make room. 

Dean falls asleep earlier tonight; he thinks it has something to do with not being hyped up on three pots of coffee and the thrill of reckless, stupid ideas. He’s not sure when Cas nodded off, but he wakes up at 3:42 to the sound of gasping, panicked breathing. 

“Cas?” He asks with a sleep-worn voice but he’s halfway across the bed, reaching for Cas’s shoulder before he can get a response or take half a second to consider how horrible an idea this is. 

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and Dean isn’t sure if it’s a question or an answer or a prayer but Cas’s breath mingles with his as he says it and something in the fragile space between them finally shatters as Cas leans into the touch. 

Dean pulls him into his chest, holds him there and tries not to let the ache of it convince him he’s going to regret this.

Cas clutches the back of Dean’s shirt like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to this world where things are allowed to make noise and wake up and see light, and Dean rests his palms against Cas’s shoulders and wishes he had the words to promise he’s holding on just as tight. 

Dean isn’t sure how long it is, whether it’s two minutes or three hours or an eternity, but Cas’s grip on his shirt loosens, and he breathes less stuttered exhales, and he rests his chin somewhere in the crook of Dean’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Dean leans slowly back against the headrest and thinks he’s never been very good at this. 

The intimacy of it is familiar—the weight of an arm over his stomach, the heady tangle of limbs, the needy warmth— that’s always come naturally to him. It’s the tenderness that gets him. It’s the brush of Cas’ breath against his neck, the softness of ten years of fear and loss and a word that Dean can’t say as easily as he should. It’s the ache where the rhythm of his pulse screams something between I want this forever and I’m so afraid.  

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

Cas is gone, and Dean’s arm is stiff and he wonders if it will ever be enough just to hold an angel haunted by empty nights. 

That night, he tells himself he isn't waiting for the knock. 

He tells himself he’s not waiting, but he hears the shuffle of bare feet in the hall and a single rap at the door and a millisecond later he’s swinging it open. 

Tonight, there’s no apologetic hesitance or fumbling for words.

There’s Cas, standing plainly in the doorway and there’s Dean, dropping his hand from the doorknob and standing too close. There’s the tilt of Cas’s head as he searches Dean’s face for something Dean knows with terrified certainty he’ll find, and there’s Dean’s gaze flitting to his mouth for a stupid, breathless moment. There’s the part of Cas’s lips and the desperate beating of Dean’s heart, the distant electric buzz of the lights and the hitch of his breath as Cas leans forward—

There’s the cluttered breath and scrape of teeth as their mouths crash together.

His lungs stutter on the drag of stubble and chapped lips and tired warmth, and because he never thought he’d be allowed to, he pulls Cas in, clutches the front of his shirt and crowds him up against the doorway until they’re pressed together and they can both feel the desperate rhythm of his pulse. Cas’s fingers ghost over his jaw and something in Dean is absolutely dizzy with the realness of it. 

He doesn’t know how long it is before Cas breaks away but he feels ready to shatter. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas says, and Dean breathes a ragged laugh into his shoulder. 

There are still things he can’t say, words that form in his chest sit and like a lump in his throat and will probably stay unsaid for just a little while longer, but he lets his arms circle Cas’ waist and murmurs “sleep in here, then,” and he has to bury his face in the crook of Cas’ neck to hide a stupidly fond smile.  

Cas breathes a soft “thank you” against his temple as Dean pulls him toward the bed, and Dean can hear the worn tiredness in his voice and thinks that might be all there is for a while but for the first time in their lives they have time, and it’s enough. 

It’s enough, he thinks, and he pulls Cas against his chest and holds onto him until there’s no empty space between them. 

[toomanyrobins]

a little birdie told me pt. 3

Summary: Y/N “Birdie” Parker left New York and her family three years ago in the middle of the night. Now, a call for help to her best friend brings her back into the fold of the Three Families and their “business”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Parker!Reader

Content warning: physical abuse, miscarriage, allusions to fertility issues, cursing, mentions of forced marriage

Word Count: 1.3k

Notes: comment if you want to be tagged!

Series masterlist // next part

Virginia Pepper Stark may have married a mafia boss, but she was no ordinary mob wife. She didn’t just stay home and raise children. Tony had involved her from the moment of their engagement and Pepper had become powerful in her own right. When she got the call from Tony that Y/N was back, she quickly had her assistant cancel her entire week. One of the maids had been sent to get a bath ready as soon as they hung up. The moment Becca pulled up, someone had taken her car and they had helped Y/N up into the house. She hated all of the fussing around, but one look from Pepper had silenced any complaints. 

The four women gathered in the bathroom as Y/N sunk into the steaming hot bath. She had undressed behind a divider and tried to hide beneath the bubbles, but it was impossible to cover everything. Bruises in various stages of healing covered her torso and upper arms. It was clear that whoever had done this had been strategic in how he had abused her. “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” Y/N snapped at them and then sighed, rubbing her brow, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like being the sad, pitied girl in the corner… or bath, in this case.”

“I don’t think you realize how awful it looks, Birdie,” Becca explained, “I didn’t realize it was so bad at the hospital. ”

Pepper brought her chair up beside the tub and started running a brush through Y/N’s hair, her mind churning. “Tell us what happened. Every detail. What’s said in here will never leave this room, but I need to know everything.” So… Y/N did. She shared every gruesome detail of the past three years. How life had been suffocating her, how lonely she had become, and the whispers of an arranged marriage. That last fact had been the final push for her to run, the hatred that she didn't have a say driving her. And then her life from the past three years including the final moments. 

All three women, especially Pepper, were surprised to hear about the arranged marriage. She was angry that such an important thing about one of her kids had been hidden. Her anger was put aside when she heard about Y/N’s miscarriage. She was well aware of the struggles and sadness that pregnancy and loss could bring. When Y/N finished her story, everyone was in a hailstorm of emotions. They all sat in silence in the steam-filled room. A knock at the door startled them all out of their musings, “Mrs. Stark, your husband called and said he and Mr. Parker are leaving the office now.” That spurred the group into action. No one had realized how much time had passed. Nat and Becca rushed to go back to their homes and Pepper helped Y/N get dressed. They put her into a turtleneck and pants, thankful for the winter weather. 

By the time they were ready, the front door opened, and they heard Peter calling for her, “Y/N! Y/N! BIRDIE!” She flew down the stairs into her brother’s arms. He wrapped her up in a tight hug and they stayed that way for a minute. Peter pulled away and dragged her into the living room. Tony went to follow after them, but Pepper held him back. The siblings needed a moment together. “Where the hell did you go? Why are you back? Why does your face look like it exploded?”

Y/N punched him on the shoulder, “It doesn’t look that bad! This whole thing isn’t that bad.”

“Rogers said you have a handprint wrapped around your neck.”

“Steve has always been dramatic.”

“Is he lying?” Y/N bit her lip and dropped her gaze. That was all Peter needed and he tightened his grip on her. “I knew it. What the hell happened to you? Why did you leave in the first place?”

“Because, for all the love you men claim to have, no one actually seems to care. It’s always your thoughts and your feelings that dictate things. I got sick of it. Unfortunately, I’m so fucked up over it all that I seem to fall into similar patterns. This time it was a different kind of control. That’s what happened to me and that’s why I left. That’s the only answer I am willing to give.” 

Y/N got off the couch and went upstairs and closed the door, flipping the lock. Once she was sure that everyone was asleep, she wandered out into the walled garden at the back of the house. The house was suffocating her and she needed a break. Y/N sat down on the bench and pulled the pack of cigarettes that were in her jacket. Her head fell back to rest on the bench, the stars overhead a calming sight. When she lifted her head again, there was very little surprise that a certain blond was in front of her. “Was waiting to see if you’d come out here.”

Her head fell back again and refused to look at Steve, “Thought you might be here, skulking in the shadows. Guess the years don’t change much.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.”

Y/N laughed bitterly, “No one has called me that in a really long time.”

“Scoot over.” He stole the cigarette from between her fingers, exhaling slowly. “What are you doing, Birdie? You’ve been gone ages and you show up looking like this.”

Y/N shifted her weight on the bench, “Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I wasn’t planning on any of this. I’ve spent four years living according to someone else’s rules. Now, I have almost every opportunity in the world and all I want to do is curl up in a ball under blankets.”

“Why didn’t you call someone?”

“I know how difficult I made life for everyone before I left. I was so awful that you guarding me was punishment. At first, I figured it was best to stay away and eventually I didn’t have the choice.”

He mulled over his next question, “If you hadn’t ended up in the hospital would you have come back at some point?” Y/N shook her head as she stole the cigarette back. The two sat in silence, the only noises being the wind through the trees. Eventually, he cleared his throat and forced her to turn her head, “I thought this was clear, but apparently not. I’ll come for you whenever you call.”

“You’re too good of a guy, Steve. Now help me up.” He grabbed her forearms, making her suck air between her teeth. 

He tugged at the fabric, “Take off your shirt.”

Y/N smirked up at him, “You’re pretty forward, Rogers.”

“I’ll take it off of you. Don’t think I won’t” 

“If you want to see the damage, you’re going to have to. My ribs make lifting my arms hard.” Steve’s eyes drifted over her torso before pulling her top off. He gritted his teeth when he saw her body. Fingers drifted along her throat and over her chest, as he took in the damage. They trailed down over her ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps that weren’t from the cold. Y/N looked up and saw an emotion she loathed more than anything else, “Please, don’t look at me like that. I’ve had enough pity today.” 

With some help, her shirt was pulled back on. Steve took a step back, putting some distance between them, “You should get some sleep. Besides, I have to go.”

“Got plans at 10 at night?”

“Something like that,” Steve pressed a kiss to the side of her head and walked out of the garden. Once she heard the roar of his bike, Y/N fell back against the bench, lighting another cigarette. Once she had reached the end, she extinguished it and went back into the house. When she looked up the stairs, she could already feel her ribs twinging and decided to sleep on the couch.

[astraeden]

[ INTERVIEW, ]

Lilith has followed this dance of suffering for too long to not recognize when a sacrifice must be made.

(But you do not want to give yourself up again. It is a selfish wish. It is a sin to the loyalty you’ve sworn to. You know that you must give something up to be someone, again.) When she moves, it is with a waver in her step. A faltering motive. She moves with a purpose that has been worn over and over again. This realm is not gracious and she cannot find the strength to revert her form back to normal. She has never truly walked before and the pain that traces up her legs, curling around the dip behind her knees, is enough to strangle her focus. Blur her vision. Steal her breath, even though it comes in wisps and there is nothing real behind each struggling inhale.

But she does not fall. Lilith stumbles forward, concentrating on the ground beneath her heels, the smell of charcoal and sweat and perfume.

Perfume?

Her strength stutters, a spasm squeezes into her throat. (You know that you are not dying. You know the grip of death too well to mistake this choke for a fatal wound. You know a lot and yet there is no denying that something is wrong.) Lilith does not believe that she has fallen until her knees hit the ground and the numbness of it all propels her forward, against the chest of a knight.

“Miss?” A voice reaches her ear but her mind refuses to acknowledge the difference of environment. This is not Corrin. This is not her home but the lady presses a hand to Lilith’s cheek and she has no other reaction but to lean her head further into the touch. “Miss, speak to me,” The voice pleads, “can you hear me? Say something if you can hear me.”

(Your tongue recites the only name you hold dear. The only name that matters now.)

“Corrin.” Lilith whispers. And it remains the only thing that sounds coherent amidst mumbles and whimpers that she lets out when the lady takes her into her arms, carrying her with a gentleness that does not fit in this world. Even as Lilith is laid upon thin sheets and wool blankets, she is unresponsive to anything that is not the warmth of a healing spell, the sight of a silver-haired lady peering down at her through lenses. Only when the burning in her throat has subsided, the voice speaks to her.

“Why are you here?” The silver knight asks, keeping her palm pressed against Lilith’s forehead.

Lilith blinks, no longer under the spell of delusion that had pushed her to detach herself from the transport wagon. “I… I am sorry…”

Silver knight only smiles sweetly, moving her hand to comb through Lilith’s locks of striking blue hair. It is not as calming as when Corrin petted her— she is not sure whether the difference is shocking. Time has been… she’s…

“We cannot keep you for long in the infirmary without reason.” Silver knight turns her gaze to the window nearest to the cot before retracting her hand. (You tell yourself that you do not miss the weight of it.) “I am Sably, a knight at the Officer’s Academy. The—”

“Yes…!” Lilith interrupts, quickly, though apology settles into the hue of her irises. “That… I am here for that. I… Corrin. Are you aware of a student named Corrin Lúngwòhng?”

Sably nods, “Miss Dragmire? Yes, of course. Though, she is not a student.” Silence splits her words for a moment. “Are you planning on applying as a student?”

(This. This is the sacrifice. Would you give up freedom to be alongside a family that has already moved on?)

Lilith struggles to nod, to move, by Moro’s word, even breathing has become harder. Sably notices, surely, because she slips her hand underneath Lilith’s back and helps her to sit up, keeping her hand on the arch of her spine as she takes a seat beside her. “Calm down, dear,” Sably says, “let us start over. Where did you come from? What brought you to the monastery?” A pause. “Was it Corrin?”

And Lilith nods, now, because it is always Corrin. It is always a swear. A promise. “Yes ma’am. We’re s—” (You remember that the world does not want you in it anymore.) “—close. We’re close. I served as her attendant back home but… conditions have kept us separate for a long time.”

There is no easy way to tell one that she died. That her body, here, is not the body that twisted into a spirit and stalked the halls of the castle with intentions too pure, too great. What led her here? Would it be selfish to answer with desire? Guilt? Whatever emotion that clings to her heart and has made a home of her skin over the past years she’s lived in Askr? Lilith knows everything of her home, of the ridges in stone and the time of gold, and yet these emotions… she cannot understand. She does not know how she should feel nor what label belongs to which flutter.

Sably hums, “You do understand that this academy is not for everyone, yes? You must be strong enough to make a place here.”

“I am,” is all Lilith says at first. Almost too confident. Too easy. Lilith blinks back the confusion and offers a smile, gentle and small. “I did apologize for my earlier falling. I promise that my body is usually stronger than this.”

That, at least, brings laughter out of Sably. “That falling of yours was quite concerning.” Her firm gaze loosens and falls down to Lilith’s hands, where they rest in her lap. “Are you a mage?”

No. “You could say that, I suppose.” Lilith’s smile softens, “I do have a mastery over a form of magic. I prefer it over physical strength. Though, that is not to say that I wish to fight. Violence is needless, unnecessary and it only fuels grief.” Lilith nods to herself, content with the information shared and the facts kept hidden. She quickly adds, “Neither do I lack in the subject of raw strength but there is a… comfort to magic that weapons do not have.”

(Only you understand this. The sound of iron as it clatters against Vallite stone, your hand restless but always still. He had called you daughter. Daughter. It is your fault. You did not kill him. You could not drive your sword into scales and flesh and press further until iron cracked against bones and muscles. You only know sacrifice because it is what you were taught. It is what you saw.

Yes. That is your weakness. The will of someone with everything to lose and the impulse of someone who would lose it all in moments. You are impulsive. You are not a child, there is no excuse for you freezing at the simple call of a name.)

“I…” Lilith blinks, furiously, turning her head to face the side opposite of Sably. “I have done things that cost me everything. And these are things that I still owe. I am not proud of my regret, since my actions needed to be done but… I could have been stronger. Smarter. My emotions redirected my judgment and...”

“You have room to grow. It’s alright, no need to beat yourself down when you have yet to even stand.” Sably comforts her with a tilt of her head, her hand rubbing circles over Lilith’s back. But then, she laughs, holding her other hand close to her face. “And, uh… hm, this question might seem unusual but it is the final one of the interview.”

“I… Wah?” Of course. It makes sense now. Realization flushes Lilith’s face a pale, faint pink. “You reworded the questions of the interview?”

“I am one of the interviewers for other applicants and you said you were thinking of applying so...!” Sably’s laugh is rough around the edges of its timbre, her voice a deep gravel of honey and silver. “Better to ask you now since my schedule is busy. Alright, last question?” And Lilith agrees with a breath taken, squaring her shoulders and pulling her posture up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, if a story were to be written about your life, what role would you have? Remember,” she adds, “it is your story.”

(You have already died before. Why waste ink on a corpse?) The answer comes naturally, almost immediate. “The side character, or sidekick,” Lilith says, keeping her gaze connected to Sably’s. “I want— no, I would be the character that stands by the protagonist’s side. Yes, there will be troubles and grief, but I’ll be there to assist whenever called for. The character who, even though they are not in the spotlight, they still get a happy ending.”

Sably stares for a moment and then nods, giving Lilith one more backrub before pulling away. “That is all. You have reason to stay here now but not for too long, just until you feel better.”

But Lilith is already sliding off the bed once Sably stands. The soles of Lilith’s shoes hover over the ground and Sably watches in amusement as Lilith gives her a polite bow. “No, thank you. I feel better already— your voice helped clear my head and the dizziness has faded.” There is a shiver of joy that trails Lilith’s skin at the sight of Sably’s smile; the confirmation that she has pleased her. That she is another person to protect. “Thank you, sincerely, Miss Sably. I do hope we cross paths in the near future. Maybe then, I can be of service to you as a repayment?”

Silver maiden bows back, “The feeling and wish is mutual, Miss… Ah, I didn’t catch your name, actually.”

“Lilith. You may call me Lilith.” That is enough.