#look growing up in the middle of the woods just does something to you

[ghost-bxrd]

I’ve been getting really into magical stuff recently and also DC so I’m just gonna drop this here:

Fae Dick Grayson

F A E

okay so fae stories are special to me because I grew up on hearing pagan folklore and fairytales about fae and fae adjacent creatures as good night stories so hooo boy yes I adore that trope! (I mean, I made Dick a Banshee in my fic Shuck so… hehe)

Anyway, Fae Dick Grayson! There’s just so many things you can do with it ✨

Robin appears from one day to the next, following in Batman’s shadow like a mischievous sprite, so honestly rumors have been going wild about him since day one. Robin actually being something non-human doesn’t really come as a surprise!

The fae folk are known for being awfully good at blending in with regular humans when they put their mind to it, the only thing that puts them apart (in most stories) is their otherworldly beauty, and Dick Grayson? Well, he’s definitely got that in abundance.

Just sometimes, when the light reflects off a surface in just the right way, when someone pours a glass of water and you happen to look right through the spray, or when you think you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye and you spin around— but there’s only Dick Grayson, even if a second ago you could have sworn you saw eyes where there weren’t supposed to be any; colors that aren’t supposed to exist; feathers where only skin has any right to be.

And, gods, all the talking. Dick is terrifyingly good at talking to people without actually saying anything, to the point where you walk away from the conversation feeling utterly drained after spilling your entire life story but when you think back on it— you can’t remember him ever telling you anything about himself. You know there were the usual pleasantries of “hi” and “nice to meet you” and “how are you doing?” but anything beyond that just kinda… seemed to spill out of you? It’s very strange. It’s very unnerving. By the end of the evening you other convince yourself you’re overreacting or you simply push the incident out of your mind altogether.

And there’s another thing about Dick. His name.

He only ever introduces himself as Dick Grayson/Robin. Never Richard. Never. Especially not Richard John. Names are sacred for the fae folk, names have power, so while Richard John Grayson may not be Dick’s true name, he treats it as such to honor his parents. None are allowed to use it. None except Bruce or Alfred on special occasion.

Of course, Dick’s “true” name isn’t exactly a secret so when someone does happen to use it… well, Dick may be… other… but he’s still intrinsically good in a way many of his kind don’t have the patience to be. Dick judges on a case by case basis, just like his parents and Bruce taught him. And usually people do not mean it maliciously when they use his name so he kindly corrects them and that’s that. But oh man, if they still insist on calling him “Richard”? Well..

“Oh no, it seems your credit card is being declined, sir!”

“Sheesh, you tripped over a root? In Gotham?!”

“What do you mean ten birds flew into your window last night? You live on floor level!”

“Dude I’m telling you that rash doesn’t look normal.”

“I… don’t think crows are supposed to follow you like that.”

It’s little things (most of the time, unless you really pissed Dick off) but they keep piling up, slowly driving you insane. You feel like you’re being watched, but it’s just a bird sitting on the window sill again. You feel like someone moved all your furniture just slightly to the right even tho you checked all the cameras.

The fae are kind, but they are also vindictive when crossed.

(Thanks to Bruce, however, I think Dick’s bouts of “vengeance” rarely go much farther than that though.)

Dang ok that ended up being an entire rant… wow. Anyway, yeah. Fae.

[hedgehog-moss]

Last Sunday in October, a story in five parts :)

i. The guy who owns the pasture next to mine took his cows back to their winter lodgings the other day, and told me I could let my llamas eat what was left of the grass if I wanted. That was sweet of him but his pasture's fence is cow-proof, not llama-proof, so I had to wait for a sunny day, so I could sit with a book nearby and keep an eye on the llamas Pampe. Today was the day!

Pampy looked happy about this unexpected change of scenery and started grazing peacefully, meanwhile Pampe started with exploring the whole pasture, including the patch of woods at the back, hoping to find a flaw in the fence.

(Note Poldine below, desperately running after her mum so she won't be left behind if Pampe does find an opportunity to escape)

ii. I found some impressive coulemelles in this new pasture (I don't know any mushroom names in English sorry.) I cut one to take to the pharmacy and ask if they're the good kind (here with my hand for scale)

They're also known as nez de chat, cat's nose mushrooms, in some regions...

I found some girolles nearby last year, but not this time. The llamas seemed to be on their best behaviour so I thought after lunch I'd go look for mushrooms farther away in the woods, down by the torrent, instead of watching them all day.

Poldine, watch your mother.

I asked Merricat if she was volunteering her services as a llama-sitter (it looked like it)

—but she suspected I was going home where the fire is, so she followed me. (I don't make a fire on sunny afternoons, though... she had to nap in my cardigan instead. Not as good, but a tolerated second-best option.)

iii. I took Pan with me after lunch so he wouldn't encourage Pampe in mischief, and he was uncharacteristically audacious in his frolicking! He doesn't like water and he's usually quite prudent when we're near the torrent, even scolding me if I climb on mossy rocks, but today he was jumping from one slippery rock to the other very boldly.

As I was taking this nice waterfall photo, I heard a very dramatic high-pitched squeal followed by a dramatic splashing sound, and when I turned around Pandolf was dragging himself out of the torrent, looking, as we say in french, honteux et confus.

I'm sorry that his bout of audacious frolicking had to end this way :( Back to frolicking gingerly for at least a couple of years... (His fur is magical though, he looks like a drowned rat at first but then shakes himself twice and is immediately back to a normal volume of floof. So his dignity doesn't suffer for long, at least.)

iv. I found no mushrooms but something even better!

I love chestnuts so much, I've been hoping to find chestnut trees for years but was starting to think they just don't grow at this altitude... But I suck at identifying trees so it's very possible I walked past them dozens of times and never recognised them when it wasn't chestnut season.

You really have to earn every chestnut, even with the crushing-under-your-boot method to squeeze them out you still have to extricate them from their burr going ow ow ow the whole time. The worst thing is when you kill your fingers opening a reticent burr and it resentfully spits out a bunch of sad deflated worthless chestnuts.

Still, I ended up going home with chestnuts in every single one of my pockets. When we got out of the woods and back on the road Pandolf and I ran into a woman we don't know (so, not a close neighbour) and we started talking about foraging and I wondered if I should tell her about the nearby chestnut spot. But those things are private. No one told me about the chestnut spot even after I made increasingly heavy casual hints about how much I love chestnuts. After a while though I started suspecting this lady knew about the spot and was on her way there. Or on her way back, through a different path. She looked shifty. So did I. It's very possible that we were both standing there in the middle of the road with our coat pockets crammed with chestnuts, making pointedly non-chestnut-related small talk.

v. I went home and started making chestnut-pumpkin soup while dodging constant coordinated chicken attacks. At first they act like they're napping on a conveniently-nearby chair, or looking the other way, and as soon as you stop distrusting their intentions, they pounce, often from two different directions.

Side plot: Pandolf spent this whole time desperately trying to catch a cat, to restore his self-confidence after falling in the torrent.

Morille went from strolling casually on top of the fence to lounging casually in the hazel tree above my head, making it look like she hadn't even noticed she was being chased, which was very frustrating for Pandolf. Nothing wounds a dog like going unnoticed.

I told Morille it would make him happy if she let him catch her, and she was like eh, fine, and elegantly jumped from the hazel tree to the top of the stone wall.

Pandolf immediately followed, poked her a bit brutally with his big nose, and then he didn't know what else to do with her once he caught her so he just wagged his tail like "Well played, cat!! It was nice chasing you" and left.

v. bis (or ter) I want to reassure Pirlouit fans (who might have noticed that he wasn't allowed to graze in the neighbour's pasture with the llamas) that he knows he's entitled to fair compensation as a donkey, and he stood behind the fence the whole time I was preparing my soup, patiently waiting for his pumpkin benefits. Which he did get.

I found some leftover chestnuts in my trouser pocket tonight, that I'd forgotten about, so I'm having stove-roasted chestnuts for dessert after the chestnut soup! Chestnuts were 90% of my dinner and were also the reason Pandolf got dinner. I ran out of dog kibble and I was thinking of giving him a hard-boiled egg and some rice tonight, and go buy kibble tomorrow, but on our way back this afternoon we stopped by our closest neighbour's house and I humbly offered a handful of chestnuts in exchange for one serving of kibble. The neighbour's dog didn't look enchanted with our offer but his human agreed. I usually trade with my chicken's eggs but this woman has hens so I'm glad chestnuts are also accepted as valid currency.

[theostrophywife]

darling, you look divine.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: eyes don't lie by isabel larosa.

author's note: screaming, crying, throwing up. if regulus looked at me like that, i'd be wetter than the black lake. please enjoy my darlings 🤎

The first symptom reared its ugly head early Monday morning. 

You were in the Great Hall eating breakfast with James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter when your skin suddenly felt like you were being engulfed by fiendfyre. The burning heat spread through your entire body, making you feel flushed and flustered. Your fork clattered against the table while you wiped the sweat off of your brow with clammy hands. 

“Are you feeling alright, love?” asked Sirius. 

You shook your head, fanning yourself. “Does anyone else feel hot all of a sudden? It feels like I’m getting burned alive.”

The boys shook their heads. Remus laid the back of his hand against your forehead. “You’re burning up, Y/N. I think you might be pitching a fever.” 

James pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and squinted. “Moony’s right. You’re sweating profusely and you look a bit peaked.” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “It might be that new dragon flu that’s going around. Maybe you should head back to the dorms, Y/N.” 

“I can’t miss class. There’s an assignment due in Transfiguration.” 

Just then, a violent cramp seized your lower abdomen. You gripped the edge of the dining table so hard that you felt the wood splinter underneath your palm. Padfoot’s eyes widened at the appearance of your claws. It had only been a month since Sirius helped you summon your Animagus form and while you still had much to learn, you’ve never lost control like this before. 

You needed to get out of there. Transforming into a giant snow leopard in the middle of the Great Hall would be very, very bad. 

“Don’t worry about McGonagall,” Sirius said in a stern voice. “We’ll cover for you. Now come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” 

Fortunately, you managed to reach Gryffindor tower with no other incidents. After Sirius escorted you back to your dorm, he barred the door with magic and promised to check up on you after class. 

The cramps only worsened. It felt like someone had buried a dagger into your stomach and was now twisting and turning it as they pleased. You doubled over in pain and clutched the poster of your canopy bed before curling up into a ball in the middle of your mattress. Not even your period cramps compared to this torment. 

When you thought it couldn’t get any worse, an overwhelming ache blossomed between your thighs and made you groan with need. You twisted in your sheets and pressed your legs together to counteract the wave of lust coursing through your veins, but it only made it worse. You felt empty and hollow and the overwhelming desire to be filled was the only thing you could think about.

This was different from the surge of adolescent hormones that you had grown so familiar with. The desire was a living thing, sinking its claws into your very being. You felt feral, animalistic. 

You burrowed into your pillows, your breaths growing ragged as you tried to regain control. A demanding knock against your door broke your concentration. You sniffed the air, whining softly as the intoxicating scent of eucalyptus, bergamot, and sandalwood overpowered your heightened senses. A part of you recalled the warning Sirius left you with. You were not, under any circumstances, supposed to open the door unless it was him or one of the boys on the other side, but the temptation was too strong. 

As the knocks grew more insistent, the scent shifted into something sharper. You felt yourself drawn to it and before long, you were opening the door to satiate your curiosity. The person standing on the other side made your stomach lurch. 

“Regulus,” you said through gritted teeth. The very presence of the younger Black brother made your entire body shake as you contended against the urge to transform. It was a losing battle. You could feel your canines elongating, making your gums feel sore and achy. “Now is not a good time.” 

In fact, it was the worst bloody fucking time. On a normal day, you could barely tolerate Regulus. His surly attitude and cutting glare certainly left little to be desired. Then there was the matter of his falling out with Sirius, which only served to heighten the tension between you. When Professor McGonagall chose to make you partners, you at least attempted to keep things civil. Whatever was going on between your best friend and his younger brother was none of your business, but Regulus had practically made it impossible to stay impartial. 

You had never met a broodier, haughtier, snootier arsehole than Regulus Arcturus Black. The pureblood prick acted like he was a prince amongst peasants just because he happened to be born into the right bloodline. Yet a muggleborn like yourself had managed to take the top spot in every class. A spot that previously belonged to him. 

To be expected, Regulus wasn’t the least bit pleased about this. He was even less thrilled when McGonagall tasked him to drop off the latest lecture notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind in class. If she hadn’t threatened to deduct points from his house for refusing, Regulus would’ve never set foot in the godforsaken lion’s den.

He pushed his way inside, not bothering to wait for a proper invitation. “Here are the notes from class,” Regulus stated stiffly. “We’re required to transform a thimble into a thestral. I suggest you read up. I’ll not have you dragging me down just because you fancied playing hooky for the day.” 

“I’m not skipping for the bloody hell of it,” you snapped. “If I had a choice, I would be in class not doubled over in pain—” 

Regulus caught you just before you hit the ground. The dizzy spell had come out of nowhere, nearly knocking you to the floor from the sheer force of its effects. As Regulus snaked his arm around your waist, you almost wished it had. His scent hit you all at once. You whimpered as he tucked you against his side, feeling the heat of his touch even under all your layers of clothing. 

The ringing in your ears subsided enough for you to hear the panic in Regulus’ voice. “Y/N, can you hear me? Are you alright?” 

You pushed him off with what little strength remained in your body. “Thank you for the notes, but I’d appreciate it if you left.”

“No,” Regulus said. 

“What do you mean, no?

“I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in French? Non.” 

You frowned, clutching your stomach. The cramps were starting again, but it was different this time. The ache in your lower abdomen was excruciating and your current proximity to Regulus only seemed to make it worse. The slickness between your thighs certainly didn’t help the matter. It was humiliating, plain and simple. 

“Get the fuck out, Regulus!” 

Regulus caught your wrist. His fingers felt like ice against your overheated skin. “You don’t want that, darling. Not when I’m the only person who can help.”

“You know what’s wrong with me?” 

He sighed. “Of course my brother would convince you to turn without thinking about the side effects. Classic Sirius, honestly.” You glared at him to get on with it. “You’re in heat, Y/N.” 

You grimaced. There was no way in Godric’s green earth. “Like…a cat?” 

Regulus smirked. “Is that what you transform into, little kitten?” You pursed your lips, which caused him to roll his eyes. “Please, I know your merry band of misfits have all conjured an animagus form. There’s no use hiding it. So what are you? A fuzzy little Persian cat?” 

“No,” you said rather haughtily. Did he have to be so irritating? “My form is a snow leopard.” 

“Still a kitten,” he responded with a shit eating grin. “The same rules apply. You’ll be in heat for at least a week, mon chaton.” 

“You mean I have to suffer for seven whole days? This is hell. It feels like my uterus is being ripped apart. How am I supposed to endure this pain for an entire week?”

“Well, there are ways to find relief.” 

“What kind of ways?” 

Regulus gave you a knowing look. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out. What’s the purpose of heat?” 

“Reproduction,” you answered almost instantly. The realization left your mouth before your brain could even process it. Oh, you have got to be kidding. This was some sort of cruel joke. For Merlin’s fucking sake! This was horrifying. Downright humiliating. “You can’t possibly mean…” 

The grin on the stupid twat’s face was growing wider by the second. “You don’t necessarily have to have sex,” he said in an amused tone. “An orgasm will do. I’m sure you can manage that with your fingers, can’t you princess?”

You swallowed thickly. “I—I’ve never—“ 

Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Discussing the details of your sex life would’ve been humiliating under any circumstance, but this? Standing here, telling Regulus fucking Black what you were about to tell him, this was truly rock bottom.

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.” 

“No!” you snapped. You’ve had your fair share of experience in that department, no matter how awkward they might’ve been. “I’ve had sex, I just haven’t…”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Regulus said, entirely perplexed. “Not even once?” 

You crossed your arms defensively, which turned out to be a big mistake. On top of everything else that you were already suffering through, your breasts now felt sore and sensitive. 

“No,” you conceded with a sigh. “I don’t need you judging me for it either, so if you’re quite done then please get the bloody hell out of my dorm.” 

It may have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn that Regulus softened just a little bit. He at least loosened his grip on your wrist, rubbing up your arm in a gesture that might’ve been soothing if it weren’t coming from him. 

“I’m not judging you. If anything, I’m judging whoever it is that failed to make you finish. It’s quite rude to leave a lady unsatisfied.” 

“What would you even know about satisfying a woman, Regulus?”

“Trust me, darling. I know plenty.” Your cheeks heated as he traced circles on your forearm. “Tell me, kitten. Have you ever touched yourself?” 

The conversation should have ended there. You should’ve put a stop to it. But this bloody fucking heat was doing strange things to your body. Your hormones were out of control and Regulus was standing way too close for comfort. So close that you could see the little golden flecks in his emerald eyes. So close that one of his curls was tickling your cheek. So close that those full, pillowy lips were mere inches away from your own. 

He smirked when your gaze dipped down to his mouth. “My eyes are up here, Y/N and I asked you a question. The polite thing to do is answer.” 

“Since when have you ever cared about being polite?” 

“I don’t, but I think you and I are playing a very dangerous game here and I quite enjoy sparring with you, ma cherie.” Regulus tilted your chin up and cradled your jaw. “So, have you or have you not touched yourself?” 

You glared up at him defiantly; a last ditch effort to keep your dignity intact. “No,” you said with your head held high. “I’ve never touched myself and I’ve never had an orgasm. Are you happy now, Regulus?” 

“Quite the opposite,” he murmured. Regulus caressed your bottom lip with his thumb and tilted his head back to study you. His eyes were almost black when they flickered back up to meet yours. “I could teach you.” 

“You want to teach me how to…” 

“Masturbate. Wank. Get yourself off?” Regulus listed matter-of-factly. “Yes. Yes, I do, ma chérie.”

It should’ve been a no-brainer. This was a terrible, horrible fucking idea. An absolute hot mess that would yield calamitous results, but the ache in your core was too painful to ignore and you were willing to try just about anything to find relief. Including trusting someone you absolutely loathed. 

“Fine. You can teach me, but that’s it. None of this goes any further than that.” 

Regulus smirked. “I won’t touch you, princess. Not until you beg me to.” 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “So?” 

He nodded behind you. “Get on the bed.” 

That was easy enough. You crawled into your mattress and sat cross legged on top of your sheets. “Not like that. Lie down on your back and take those ghastly pajamas off.” 

Arsehole. You happened to like your red and gold striped bottoms, but to be fair, they were in the way. The mattress dipped beneath him as Regulus positioned himself at the very edge of the bed. He leaned against the wooden poster, his gaze transfixed on the sight before him. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as a red lace lingerie type of girl, mon chaton.” You frowned in response, which only made him chuckle. “As pretty as those panties are, you’ll need to take them off as well.” 

You hesitated, hooking your thumb over the waistband of your knickers. Regulus raised a brow as if he were challenging you to back out. Like he half-expected you to be too scared to continue. He seriously underestimated that infamous brashness that Gryffindors were so well known for. 

He inhaled sharply as you slipped out of your panties and tossed the discarded lace next to him. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.” 

For once, you kept silent and did what you were told. Regulus nodded tightly. “Wider. Yeah, just like that.” 

“What now?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from blushing at this totally undignified position. You were way past embarrassment now. 

“Run a finger through your folds,” Regulus said, his voice sounding huskier than it did a second ago. He watched with dark eyes as you stroked your core. “Fuck, you’re soaked. I can see it on your fingers.” 

You took a deep breath, feeling that tension coil in your lower abdomen. Every fiber of your being buzzed with lust. “Stroke yourself, kitten. Imagine that it’s someone else touching you.” 

With your eyes closed, you let his voice guide you through the steps. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this. “Use your own slick to make it easier, darling. Gather it before rubbing your clit. That’s it, just like that. There’s a good girl.” 

The words spurred you on, your fingers working that sensitive bundle of nerves to find release. You could feel the budding orgasm. It was spreading through you, setting your teeth on edge. You were close, so close. 

When the momentum dropped, you nearly cried out of frustration. If you thought you were in pain before, this was ten-fold of that. For some reason, there was some sort of mental block that you couldn’t get past. 

You looked up, your lower lip trembling. “I can’t do it. There’s this block and I freeze up and I just can’t do it on my own.” 

Regulus looked unhinged. Like he was going to jump out of his skin any second. You’ve never seen him like this. Anything other than calm and collected was out of character for the youngest Black. 

“Will you help me?” you whispered. To be honest, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

He looked utterly conflicted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N. You’re in heat. I don’t want to take advantage when you’re in such a vulnerable state.” 

You shook your head. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage. I know I’m hormonal, but oddly enough, I trust you. You know how to keep a secret. Just please, Regulus. I’m in so much pain.” 

Regulus was silent for a moment. He seemed to be in deep contemplation. “Are you absolutely sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re aware of what you’re asking for and who you’re asking it from?” 

“I am perfectly aware, thank you very much. Is this the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had? Fuck no. Do I still want to do it anyways? Fuck yes.” 

The two of you stared at one another. Regulus clenched his jaw and then unclenched it. Finally, he sighed in resignation. 

“C’mere then.” 

He positioned himself against the headboard, his back pressed up on the wood. Regulus bent his long legs and pulled you against him, your back resting against the solid plane of his chest. You sighed as he rubbed soothing circles upon your skin, his rings kissing your hips with their cold bite. He shuffled behind you, adjusting himself just as you caught a glimpse of the two of you in your vanity mirror. 

Regulus stuck his middle and pointer finger into his mouth, making sure they were nice and wet before he moved them lower. You whimpered as he caressed the inside of your thigh and clutched the sheets as he teased along your crease. When he stroked along your wetness, a choked moan escaped from your lips. 

“Gods, you’re fucking dripping.” His cold breath fanned over your neck just as he plunged his fingers deep within you. “Salazar fucking save me, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” 

His strokes were languid, small ministrations as he buried his fingers inside of you. The cold metal rings that adorned his slender fingers hit your pubic bone every time he thrusted inside of you, but it wasn’t painful. In fact, seeing the Black heirloom ring soaked in your wetness might’ve been the most erotic sight you’ve ever witnessed.

You whimpered as his other hand disappeared underneath your shirt. “Can I touch you here, princess?” 

The sound that came out of you barely sounded human. It was a purr more than anything. Regulus caressed your ribs with his knuckles. “I need words, kitten.” 

“You can touch me, Regulus.” 

Fire skittered along your skin as his hand traveled further up. He palmed you through your bra before he slipped under the fabric and squeezed your breast. Regulus paid equal attention to both of your breasts, admiring the curve and swell of them as he picked up the pace of his fingers. You moaned as he pinched your nipples, which only made you wetter still. 

You fisted his curls in one hand as he curved them inside of you. Regulus chuckled darkly, pleased by your reaction. “Right there? Does that feel good, princess?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, gods that’s perfect.” 

“You’re doing so well, ma cherie. That’s it. Ride my fingers just like that. Feels good, yeah?” 

You nodded, blinking at the image in the mirror. Regulus had his hands all over you, his lips pressed lightly against your neck as he watched his fingers slide in and out of your tight cunt. His eyes caught yours in the reflection, the green completely swallowed by dark pools of lust. 

“Look at you, all spread out for me. You’re fucking exquisite. The little moans you make are enough to drive me mad.” 

“Regulus, please,” you keened. He smirked against your neck and picked up the pace. Your head fell against his shoulder as that familiar tense built. “Oh gods. Oh fuck. Reggie—“

You felt him grip your chin, tilting it towards the mirror. “Don’t close your eyes,” Regulus growled into your ear. “Watch, kitten. Watch as I make you cum.”

When you dragged your gaze upwards, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You were in a state of disarray, cheeks flushed, hair matted, and lips parted as Regulus pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic and every stroke unraveled you, hips bucking, back arching, begging for more and more and more. The orgasm rippled through you like a monsoon, completely swallowing you whole. 

“That’s it, princess,” Regulus cooed. “Gods, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Darling, you look divine. Je suis raide dingue de toi.”

The comedown had you seeing stars. Behind your eyes was a whole galaxy, a cluster of constellations that you never would’ve reached without him. Regulus had made you cum so hard that your body felt like it was floating through outer space. 

When you finally regained awareness, you were surprised to find Regulus gently brushing your hair back. “How was that, kitten?” 

“That was—you were—fuck.”

“Well said, love. Shakespeare himself would envy your silver tongue.”

He slid his fingers out of you slowly and you tried and failed to suppress the little whine that escaped from the back of your throat. 

Regulus smirked, feeling the way you clenched around his digits in an attempt to keep him in place. He stared at his hand, mesmerized by the arousal dripping off his fingers. You stirred, having every intention to find something that he could clean himself off with. 

“Let me grab you a towel.” 

He gripped your hips in place and looked you straight in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his lips. “No need, princess.” 

Then he sucked, hard. The filthy image was enough to leave you gasping in shock. He lapped up every drop like you were the sweetest delicacy on this earth. Regulus groaned, his eyes rolling back as he savored the taste. The moan that rippled through him would forever be branded into your mind.

For Godric’s fucking sake, the man was downright obscene.

“That should hold you off for the rest of the day,” Regulus said. “You’ll still feel the effects of your heat, but it won’t be as bad. You might even be able to drag yourself down to dinner. If you can manage to walk on such shaky legs.” 

You rolled your eyes, but softened a bit. If it weren’t for him, you would still be in excruciating pain. “Would it be strange to say thank you?” 

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly as though you were merely discussing the weather. “Not strange at all. You’re very welcome, princess.” 

“You’re…” you took a deep breath, like your body was rejecting whatever compliment was forming in your mind. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah? You think so?” 

You quirked a brow. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” 

“The only compliment I need is the sound of you moaning my name,” he said with a smile as he hooked your bra back in place and pulled your shirt back down. “I assure you that I intend to hear plenty of that in the near future. This is just the start.” 

Regulus straightened, trailing his fingers along the sheets before snatching up the red lace underwear you’d thrown at him earlier. He pocketed the lingerie and smirked. 

"You said something earlier," you recalled. "Before I..."

"Before I made you come so hard you saw stars?"

Heat flooded your cheeks at his vulgar choice of words. "Yes. Something in French. That's your native tongue, isn't it?"

"Thinking a lot about my tongue, are you love?"

You ignored the salacious comment. "What did you say?"

A devious smirk tugged at his lips. Regulus pierced you with his gaze, those emerald eyes burning with so much lust that you felt choked with desire.

"It's a secret," he whispered, his voice a deep and rough caress. "If you're good, then maybe you'll find out what my tongue and I have to say."

You rolled your eyes. "You're a pain in the arse, Regulus."

"Find me when you want to play again, princess," Regulus said with a dark chuckle. "I'll be waiting for those claws to come out. See you soon, mon chaton.” 

[luvsellie]

PEOPLE WATCHING [j. maybank]

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary jj ignoring one of his friends is strange. and off-putting. so when he does it to you, argument ensues and indifferent confessions toward one another begin to spill.

warnings rafe being an ass, mentions of abuse, semi based on s1 ep5 but also not?? don’t expect anything regarding the obx plot, reader is in a similar situation to sarah and kie’s social standing (kook-turned-pogue) !

wc 3.1k

note this song just SCREAMS jj i couldn’t not write something inspired by it! also this man is so ‘angsty-love-confession-in-the-rain’ coded why didn’t the obx writers take that chance when they had it >:(

you never thought you would see the day that jj deliberately ignored you. sure, he hated talking about his feelings, and he was too stubborn for his own good, but he had never once gone out of his way to avoid your presence. until now.

“he won’t even look at me,” you hissed at kie, eyes glued to the blond who maneuvered around groups of people, the tray in his hands lacking drinks. he had a smile on his face regardless, making small quips at people as he passed them.

kie huffed, moving her body to block off your view of jj. her lilac dress shimmered in the orange light as she said, “just give him some time. he’ll come around. he always does.”

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, spinning the ring on your index finger as you continued to try and get a clear view of him. “yeah. i guess you’re right.” 

the girl in front of you grinned in a way that seemed to say i always am.

still mildly offset about jj’s attitude toward whatever it is that you had done to upset him, you took a step back from kie, situating yourself so you could comfortably watch him once again. as you did, you noticed his back was now to you, topper, kelce, and rafe appearing to slowly herd him toward the building. the trio of men wore smug smiles, and before you knew it jj had lost his tray and swung open one of the glass doors, sprinting in the direction of the restrooms.

your eyebrows knitted together in sudden urgency, hand already swatting at kiara’s bare shoulder. “kie. kie they’re chasing him-”

“who’s- oh. oh,” kie said aridly.

“we have to go,” you told her, already gathering the skirt of your sage-green dress in a hand.

kie grabbed your arm quickly. “and do what? stab them with the back of our heels?”

“if that’s what it takes,” you told her stubbornly, ripping your bicep from her grip. “stay here if you want, i don’t care, but i’m going to go help the best i can.”

you didn’t wait for her response as you started in the direction of the door, gait switching between an uneven combination of a speedwalk and a run. whether or not jj was mad at you, nothing was going to stop you from assisting him in any way possible, especially if he was severely outnumbered. rafe was practically psychotic, his solution to everything was always violence, and topper and kelce only egged him on.

the cool a/c brought goosebumps to your skin, a chill shivering its way down your spine as you swept past people and furniture. fortunately, you spotted the dark-colored bathroom door, the sound of disgruntled male voices seeping through the wood. when you recognized jj’s, you didn’t hesitate to push past the barrier, deciding the consequences could be left for future you to deal with.

middle-age men immediately protested to your appearance, but you ignored them as you hurried in the direction of the overlapped voices, and, sure enough, you found yourself walking into the midst of the kooks jumping jj.

none of the boys noticed your presence, too wrapped up in whatever they were doing to grow aware of their surroundings. 

your attention zoned in on your beat-up-looking friend, the sight of kelce retaining him in a jarring choke hold resulting in your sudden outburst of, “what the fuck is going on?”

“oh, look who’s decided to join us,” rafe leered, his grin growing twice as big. jj continued to struggle against kelce’s grasp, saying your name dryly as his eyes jumped from you to the oldest cameron sibling.

“the hell is wrong with all of you?” your glare turned to kelce, his eyes narrowed in vain. “let him go or i swear to god…”

rafe’s face only continued to dwell with enlightenment at your interruption. he stood up straight and took a long stride in your direction, forcing you to spin toward him. he put less than a foot between his body and yours. “or you’ll do what-”

the air stilled as you slapped the man across the cheek, your palm stinging from the impact. even though he towered over your smaller person, you still sneered up at him, gaze narrowed as if he were no more than the scum on the bottom of your shoe. “you’re not the only one in this town who has a powerful father, rafe cameron. yours just happens to have the worst reputation.”

rafe’s fingers ghosted the flushed skin where you had struck him, eyebrows beginning to knit together as his familiar rage started to surface. he barely had time to speak, “you fucking bitch-” before someone cut in.

the flickering lights caught everyone’s regard, and you watched stiffly as kelce instantly released jj and spun on his heels. “gentlemen. ma’am,” a security guard addressed, “is there a problem here?”

jj was quick to jump in, rushing to say, “pardon me, officer, i just…” his blue eyes caught yours, but they jumped back the man in the black tux before you could give him a warning glance. “we just- well, actually, yes, there is an issue. we have a criminal trespass in progress here.”

you knew he was just doing the best he could to get you both out of the situation, yet you didn’t mask your rather disgusted expression as he continued.

“beep! call it in, right?” the blond urged. “blatant disrespect for private property.”

the boys around you nodded, avoiding eye contact with the guard. multiple yeahs circled the room.

“we’re in violation of all kinds of shit, sir,” jj said, barely taking the motion to glance at you over his shoulder. he turned to kelce, plastering on a fake smile. he began to straighten the cyan-colored bow tie. “but these young gentlemen…” his hand was quickly swatted away. “...uh, caught us, sir, and they were about to take us away. which is what you should do; escort us out of here.”

you watched as jj offered up his wrists before looking back at you. his brows jumped to his hairline in a silent plea to just go along with the nonsense spewing out of his mouth. still mildly irritated at him and everything about whatever the fuck is going to happen as a repercussion, you exhaled sharply and took a few steps in his direction, sending a glare in rafe’s direction.

your arm brushed against jj’s as you mimicked his actions. “you caught us, officer.”

the man rolled his eyes, but reached behind you, hands roughly grabbing onto yours and jj’s biceps. “come on.”

but jj seemed to feel that he needed to add to the situation, his adhd never failing to shine in moments like these. he turned to kelce again as rafe moved closer, topper behind him. “fix that tie, son. oh, and you’re lookin’ quite spiffy too. you powerpuff girls have fun, alright?”

just as the guard was about to lead you both through the exit, rafe shouted your name. “you know you’re pretty hot for a ‘pogue!’”

jj spun before you could even react, already storming in the direction of the smirking boy. ‘mister security’ left you standing in the doorway as he trudged over to the beginnings of a fight and ripped your friend from the group. “let’s go,” he snuffed, shoving the blond harshly.

you avoided jj’s aggravated gaze as you locked eyes with rafe, still being pushed by the man. raising a hand, you flipped him off. “suck my dick, cameron.”

“knock it off,” the guard said, his fingers squeezing the flesh of your arm. his warning compelled you to turn away, huffing air through your nose in annoyance.

rafe scoffed a laugh from his spot, highly entertained by the sight before him. “hey, safe travels back to the cut, you two!”

“this shit ain’t over!” jj hollered, earning a harsh shove in the direction of the exit.

as the man directed you and jj out of the building, you made a point to not bother interacting with the boy, ignoring his existence entirely, just as he had done to you previously. talking to him at the moment would only result in yelling at each other, and the idea of that was rather repulsive.

finally pushing past one of the glass doors, you attempted to wrench your arm away. it only ended with the guard’s hands squeezing even tighter. “dude, i can walk by myself- let me go.”

jj tried the same thing as you passed a distressed-looking kiara. “yeah, we have legs. can’t you see that, daryl? and, hey, thanks for the ‘discretion.’ let us just walk out by ourselves, yeah?”

nearly stumbling on stairs because of your heels, you made a noise out of exasperation, eagerly pulling back. “give me- oh my god, just let us go!” as heads started to turn in your direction, you desperately hoped that one of your parents would show up, but as daryl continued to haul you and jj (who continuously made comments to the people he passed) away from everything, you made one last hopeless attempt to get him to let go.

“wait!” you said, this time actually tripping on your heels. faking a stumble, you very nearly successfully fell out of daryl’s grasp. “these shoes are killing my feet. let me at least take them off if you insist on dragging us through the mud.”

he rolled his eyes, but loosened his grip.

bending slightly, you raised your left foot off the ground, undoing the buckle of your heel. as you stepped out of the shoe, you went to do the other, stealing a glimpse at jj. this is too easy.

finally standing on the bare ground, you turned back to daryl, shoving your heels to his chest. “would you mind holding these for me? thanks.” using the best of your strength, you threw him off, jj happily doing the same, and began backing in the opposite direction just as your father appeared from behind mr. carrera. his face went from confusion to anger in the span of less than three seconds, and you knew you’d be in for the biggest lecture of your life when you confronted your parents later. but for now, all you wanted to do was get off the property.

and jj seemed to have a similar idea, as his fingers brushed against your left hand, gesturing with the jut of his chin when you made eye contact with him. “come on.”

unable to help the satisfied smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth, you turned away, quickly following jj into the darkness as kie called after you.

“okay, i think we’re far enough,” you huffed heavily, slowing to a walk beside jj.

he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he nodded. for once he had nothing to say, and it made you stop on the sidewalk.

“so that’s it?” you started, grabbing his elbow and forcing him to look at you. “you’re just going to go back to ignoring me? after everything that just happened back there? at least tell me what i did for you to treat me like this.”

his blue eyes averted your own as he chewed on his busted bottom lip.

“what did i do, jj?” you asked as your arm fell back to your side, annoyance slipping into despair. “just tell me.”

jj looked at you, and even in the strained moonlight could you just now see how badly his upper left cheek was bruising. he was fiddling with the hem of his white button-up shirt as he stood, stubbornly remaining quiet.

sighing, you took a step closer, the pavement cool under your bare feet. he flinched back when you went to raise a hand. you licked your lips. “did…did rafe and the others do this?”

stiffening, jj lifted his chin and looked down at you, his expression morphed into something between disgust and vacancy. “no,” was all he said.

“oh,” you breathed, your body running cold, even in the humid night air. of course. “maybe you should come back home with me. i can-”

“no,” jj repeated more firmly, shaking off your words. “no, i don’t need your pity right now. go back to midsummers. you and kie looked like you were having loads of fun.”

you scoffed in sudden disbelief, realizing what this was about—why he had been ignoring you for nearly a full day. “i’m not- i’m not offering to care for you out of pity,” you told him bitterly. “you’re my friend, jj, and i’ll always try and protect you when i can. i’m sorry that you’re too naive to realize and accept that.”

jj took a step back, his hands balling into fists as he shook his head. “i don’t need your protection. i don’t need your compassion, or whatever the hell you wanna call it,” he spat. “and i don’t need you.”

“you’re just saying that,” you protested quickly, swallowing down the crack in your voice and blinking back the sharp sting of tears.

shaking his head again, jj’s lips pressed into a thin line. “go back to that big, shiny house of yours.” he wasted no time in turning around, his back straight as he walked away, the clarity of his figure growing less and less as he retreated.

unable to process the moment, you ran a hand over your face, forcing yourself to keep your composure and not yell out to him. what the fuck just happened? you thought, panic beginning to set in as jj officially disappeared around the block.

what am i going to do?

the house was quiet when you entered, and after a quick call for your parents, you realized they were still partying away at the country club. it was somewhat of a relief.

feet sore and dirty, you began to rid yourself of your jewelry, unclasping the chains around your neck and picking off the rings on your fingers. you set them on your nightstand as you shut your bedroom door, immediately falling onto your bed.

lying back to stare at the beige ceiling, you inhaled deeply, running through the events that had taken place. and it had all ended in jj leaving you. for how long, you didn’t know—didn’t even want to think about it. so, with one last sigh, you stood from your mattress, stripped yourself down, and headed toward the bathroom, already thinking up a plan for tomorrow.

“look, i wasn’t trying to make a scene,” you explained over the phone, shrugging your shoulders even though your parents couldn’t see. “it just…happened, i guess. i’m sorry.” there was a tense pause, filled by the sound of your dad sighing on the other end of the line. “can i please go now? we can talk as soon as i get home later, i swear.”

you heard unintelligible whispers before your mom said, “you cannot keep blowing us off.”

“i know, i know.” you really did not want to have this conversation when you were nearly at jj’s house, the sky murky with dark clouds. “again, i’m sorry, but you know i don’t normally do stuff like this, so can you guys please ease off?” 

“fine. only for a few hours. i want you home soon, it’s supposed to storm today. we will talk later.” your dad said roughly, irritation laced in his voice.

shoulders visibly sagging, you couldn’t help but nod in relief. “yes, thank you. love you both.” with that, you impatiently clicked the red button on the screen as jj’s house appeared. pocketing your phone, you spotted the blond in his yard, squatting next to his red dirt bike. and for a split second, you were just happy to see him, the events circling last night forgotten.

you approached quietly, making just enough noise to let him know someone was walking over. as his head turned, your jaw went slack at the fresh bruise blooming along his jawline. you cleared your throat. “hi.”

“hey.” jj returned to his bike.

“i, uh…i came to talk.” thunder rumbled from somewhere above. “about last night. about us.”

the entire way here you rehearsed what you were going to say, switching things out or removing them completely, but now, when he stood and looked over at you with a somewhat pissed-off expression, you found your tongue to be dry and your mind blank.

“what’s there to talk about.” he said it more like a statement and less like a question. “there’s nothing to talk about.” 

you licked your lips as droplets started to wet your shoulders and scalp. “we both know that’s not true, jj.”

he wiped his hands on a cloth before tossing it into an open toolbox. shaking his head and sauntering forward, he said again, “there isn’t anything to talk about. you say you care about me, but you don’t. you don’t. do yourself a favor and stop lying to yourself. stop lying to me.”

“no, i do care, okay?” the raindrops began to fall harder, yet the only thing you were worried about was getting your point across. getting jj to understand. “i have cared about you for as long as i have known you. that first night at the chateau with the others…when you finally let me in…i didn’t know then, but i know now—i love you. a lot.”

jj scoffed and shook his head with an incredulous smile, his stare glued to the soaked grass, ignoring the weight of your confession. “you don’t know anything, alright? that night didn’t mean anything to anyone.”

“yes, it did!” you persisted loudly, frustrated with both him and yourself.

“no, it didn’t!” he snapped, reaching forward and grabbing the sides of your shoulders in exasperation. when you flinched at his yelling, a sudden wave of realization washed over him, and he released you with a step back, blinking rapidly against the rain. “nothing happened; nothing is happening.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. “you’re a kook. and i’m a pogue. we belong on two very different sides of this island.”

“jj,” you said softly. he remained still, hair stuck to the sides of his face as you went to cup it, palms resting against his wet skin. “just give in. for one pathetic second just forget about the social economic standing of everything and give in to me. please.” you weren’t sure whether the wetness on your face was your tears or the rain. “i know you want to, but you aren’t letting yourself. nothing you say or do will push me away. you’re stuck with me, pogue or not.”

his gaze flickered vicariously between your eyes and mouth, internally fighting with his own feelings. but, ultimately, you could see that your words had struck deep enough—that as the chill of cold water drenched your clothes and hair, as his warm fingers wrapped delicately around your wrists, thumbs sliding against your skin, you had won.

© luvsellie 2023 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

[wanted-game-if]

Wanted Game is a cowboy fantasy with some lovecraftian horror interactive fiction game

You wake up in the middle of nowhere, the sun blistering hot

no food,

no water,

and probably the most concerning thing of all you don't remember anything not your name, not where you are and not what you look like

You are found by a gang of outlaws the leader (or who you assume the leader to be) takes you captive but then offers you a deal you can't possibly pass up but things smell fishy.. they are outlaws who are there for their selfish reasons how can you truly trust them;

especially when they all seem to know something about you even though you have a mask stuck to your face they aren’t willing to tell what they know about you

no matter how close you get or how many tricks you try

• A customizable Mc though physical customization is somwhat limited until later in the story.

• Paint/design the mask and thought out the story their will be some options that will affect your mask

• Romance 10 of the charaters 7 main ones and 3 youll just have to figure out, one of the secret romances is a poly route with Oscar, got commitment issues or just looking for fun theres a large aray of flings along the road so dont you worry

• Doom or help the jobs succeed with your choices

• Grow relationships with the rest of the gang {{and even the group of bounty hunters chasing after you and the gang}}

• When not doing jobs entertain your self with a hobby or work on your skills

Oscar || He/They || 24 || 5’3

{{ Attracted to Men & Non-binary people }}

Growing up in the gang most would probably assume Oscar is mean, greedy, selfish but if given the chance you would find a soft caring man with a love for literature almost always with a book when he is not scouting or helping his ma with sewing up clothes the gang tend to wreck

Emile || Xe/Xem || 27 || 5’10

{{ Attracted to Everyone & Anyone }}

Oscars older brother Emile is very protective of Xyrs little brother emile is known to sleep around and be a massive flirt but never actually letting anyone be anything to Xem then a pretty face Xe can fool around with. sometimes you catch Xem staring at you with a expression you don’t quite understand

Louis || He/Him || 30 || 6’2

{{ Questioning }}

A very quiet man always tending to the horses or making wood sculptures hes very quiet keeping to himself not because of anything distrustful or rude he seems to just like being alone he is always looking to help out with jobs as long as he can keep his distance with people

Boss || He/Him || 58.. || 6’0

{{ Attracted to anyone but must be close to them emotionally before he does anything sexual in nature }}

A very talkative older man with alot of elegance for a outlaw he always has plans brewing though his number one goal is keeping the gang safe. He tends to be overprotective of everyone and can be a very hotheaded man its very easy to press his buttons

Ares || he/they/she || 28 || 5’11

{{ Attracted to anyone }}

Growing up in high society Ares learnt to be a very charismatic and social fellow most people would call her a charming, gentle, kind person but if you peer close enough through their wall you will soon learn that she is not at all what she appears and she has a more nasty complex towards commoners, rich folk and especially outlaws

Clara || She/Her || 40 || 5’5

{{ Attracted to men }}

Clara a sweet older lady recently joined up with the gang temporarily to help get funds to get her home but something about her story doesn’t add up, she seems like she wouldn’t hurt a fly so many dismiss her but some ought remember she is still an outlaw no matter how sweet she seems

Adelaide || She/Her || 37 || 4’9

{{ Attracted to women and non-binary people }}

Adelaide is the best with all things traps, distractions and explosives she cant be a bit much always adding a flare to everything and talking so fast you only barely understand she isn’t very observant when it comes to body language and tone so don’t expect her you realize your emotions straight away. she is also Boss’s Niece

T} ??? || he/him || 35 || 6’0 || Poly route with Oscar

{{ Attracted anyone}}

“They are so utterly perfect for him I’m jealous of them but i also want them aswell how selfish my heart is”

S} ??? || They/Them || 29 || 5’8

{{ Attracted to women }}

“In darkness she is the one stray ray of light that kisses my face”

J} ??? || they prefer just to be called by their name || 33 || 6’5

{{Attracted to women & men}}

“Its against my job, my morals,my life so tell me why it feels so right”

||Demo:TBA || Pinterest || Art Acc ||

Sorry for any misspellings or weird way i worded things

[amomentsescape]

Hey can I request jason voorhees x pregnant reader, they again already have a kid. It's late and jason is exhausted doing dishes or helping his wife get comfortable and hears a crash in the kids room and rushes over in full protective mode ready to attack, only to see a misty spirit if his mom glowing in the moon light, kissing the sleeping kid goodnight on their forehead and tucking em in and humming a lullaby saying "my beautiful grandbaby". Jason upon seeing this gets teary from joy and so does his mom and she tells jason that he's doing a great job as father and husband and she's proud but then fades away in the moon light and jason goes back to bed with his wife who wonders why he's extra extra affectionate and loving, and teary?

A Mother Knows Best

Jason Voorhees x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: In the middle of the night, Jason finally gets the sign that he's been looking for.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 787

A/N: I'm a bit sick currently and am definitely in a bit of a brain fog, so I hope this still came out to your liking!

After all this time living in the woods, there has never been a moment where Jason became fearful.

He could clearly protect himself, but even then, he knew no one would dare step into this area knowing that he was around.

It's exactly why he wanted to raise up his family here. He never wanted to worry about your safety, and he knew that growing up around nature would give his children the freedom to explore and be whoever they wanted without judgment.

It was another night like the rest. Jason was still rubbing your back long after you had already fallen asleep.

You were still in your first trimester, and the nausea mixed with the fatigue was kicking your ass.

Jason was doing whatever he could to help you get some rest, but unfortunately, there was only so much that could be done to alleviate that discomfort for you.

He continued to rub his rough hand along your soft skin, worrying that if he stopped, you would immediately wake up again.

It had taken a couple hours just to get the baby to bed earlier. And he couldn't help but feel guilty that he wasn't able to help more with the situation.

But like always, you just gave him a gentle smile and reassured him that everything was alright.

A sudden thud from the nearby room caused Jason to shoot up in bed, instantly being shaken from his thoughts.

Thankfully, you were still resting somehow, not having heard the same crashing sound Jason had.

This was the first time in forever that Jason actually felt fearful about something. But of course, he wasn't scared for himself, he was scared for his child.

He rushed to their room quickly, slightly curious as to why he hadn't heard his baby crying yet.

But when he finally reached the room, these worries and thoughts immediately left his brain.

A ghostly apparition stood over his child's crib. And although Jason wasn't too sure of what he was seeing at first, the gentle hum of her voice and the tilt of her head immediately struck him with realization.

"My sweet grand-baby," she cooed, touching her hand on their cheek.

It was only then that she turned to look at Jason.

An even wider smile stretched across her face, and her eyes were already teary. Jason could feel himself choking up at just the sight of her.

It had been years since he last heard her voice, and he never thought he'd be in a position to talk to her again.

Before he could even take a step into the room, his mother let out a sigh.

"I'm so proud of who you've become," she spoke softly, not wanting to wake her grandchild. "My beautiful boy. You've fought so hard for this life, and I couldn't be more happy to see how far you've come."

Jason was holding back sobs at this point, not knowing what else to do but take in her words and truly convince himself that this wasn't some kind of dream.

"I love you," she whispered.

The moonlight from the window seemed to shine even brighter as her ghost became more and more translucent. She reached her hand out towards him as she faded away, and Jason about sprinted into the room in hopes of catching her before she left.

But she was gone in an instant, and he was suddenly left there with a fast beating heart and tear-stained cheeks.

To know that his mother had never really left him and was happy of what's he's done seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders.

There was no more doubt in his mind that he was making the right decisions for you and your children. He was truly doing his best.

He quickly made his way back to your shared room, cuddling into the sheets behind you and pulling your body into his so tightly that you were already beginning to open your eyes.

"Jason?" you asked hoarsely, still a bit sleep drunk. "Everything okay?"

You could feel him nod into the crook of your neck, nuzzling in even further.

In your haze, you rolled back over and shut your eyes again, already drifting back into a deep sleep.

He was thankful for this. There was no way he'd be able to explain what just happened without breaking down right now. So instead, he looked over your sleeping form and placed his hand softly on your belly.

He smiled instantly, knowing his mother would continue to look out for him and his family. In fact, he swore he could hear a faint hum in his ear as he too began to doze off into a peaceful sleep.

[ceilidho]

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him (part 2) (read part 1 here)

-

The masked man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling. 

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

You trip over your feet scrambling back. Branches from a nearby tree scoop towards you, catching you before you tumble down into the soft dirt. He advances quickly on you, big hand finding now the hatchet strapped to his side and pulling it out, the thing dwarfed in his massive paw. 

“Stay back—stay back—” you hiss, the branches listening to your fear and dragging you away from the man. “Leave—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asks, taunting. Just a twinge of it, as if he can’t help that he has a predilection to mock.

He catches up to you fast enough, the strides of his long legs enough to eat up the distance. When you whip the branches towards him, they stop mere inches from him, giving him ample time to bat them away. The ones that get close enough meet his hatchet, a single cleave enough to sever them from the tree. You don’t feel the tree’s pain, but where his blade meets your magic—a thin coating along the branches, like extended, ghost limbs of your own—it stings. 

“Stay back!” you shriek, heart pumping away ferociously. Your voice comes out like a caterwaul. He’s too close now though, towering over you, the bitter smell of old sweat and musk. Up close, he does not smell like anything you know. He smells sun bleached, the rust of old blood like the blades in your shed after a long season’s hunt. 

“What sort of girl—” he starts, hand fisting in your hair and wrenching your head back, “—ambushes strange men in forests? Do you have a death wish?”

To have him touch you is singularly terrifying. You haven’t been touched in a hundred years, certainly not by a human. His touch sends you skittering back, but he has you trapped in place. Your shoes dig into the dirt when you try to push yourself away, hands pressed against his chest much to your distress. 

“Men can’t kill me,” you hiss, fingers clawing at the hand holding you in place, scratching at him with the little nails that you never bothered to grow out. 

You can’t see the whole of his face, but his expression is undoubtedly unimpressed. “I could kill you easily, girl.”

“I’m not a girl—I’m a witch.”

“A witch is a girl.”

“I eat girls,” you snap, so angry now that spittle drips from your mouth. You shrink back when he wipes it away with a gloved hand. “I eat men like you too. If you are a man.” 

You say that because the way your magic curls away from him has you on edge. Humans may not scare you, but eldritch, ancient monsters do and they hunt little witches like you. Usually not in your own woods, but stranger things have happened. 

“‘Course I’m a man. Look at me.”

He presses the whole length of his body against yours, dragging you so close to him by your hair that you almost rise up onto your toes. He’s solid all the way through, only a bit of give around his middle. There’s something distinctly hard pressing against your low belly. It leaves you flustered, hot under your collar. An unfamiliar heat in your core, legs clenching on nothing. You give in to the instinctive urge to look down, but pressed so close to him, there’s little to see beyond the wideness of his chest, covered by a brown tunic laced up the front. 

“Means nothing. Plenty of things look like other things. I look like a girl but I am not,” you stutter. 

“Were you trying to eat me then, witch girl?” he breathes, amused. You yelp when he gives you a little shake by the hair. 

You flash your teeth at that, hoping he takes that as a threat. You have chewed off flesh far tougher than his. “Still might, human. If you don’t let me go.” 

He stares down at you, eyes giving nothing away. “It’s not every day that a little girl threatens to eat me. Not very nice, you know. I’ve cut down men twice your size for less.”

“You like bloodshed?”

“I trade in bounties; it’s part of the job. But, yes, girl. I like bloodshed.”

It’s not reassuring to hear that when his hands are fast on you. You wish now you hadn’t dreamed of this strange man immune to your magic and left him to his wandering. There are bears in these woods that could have dealt with him for you. 

“I’m—I’m not going to anymore,” you say, quieter now, hands falling back to his chest, trying to shove yourself just the slightest bit away. You don’t move an inch. “I’ll…I can find something else to eat. Just let me go.”

The man widens his stance, feet bracketing yours. In two hundred years, you haven’t felt small. You’ve felt tremendous, expansive, big as the whole forest; monstrous some days even. The most ferocious predator in the woods, the haunting lurching her way through the trees, belly hungry for iron blood and the ripe taste of fear. 

You feel that fear now in your mouth for the first time, sour.

He smiles behind the mask again. “Maybe later. Need to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Maybe the fear hasn’t sunk in all the way because you ask that when he lets go of his hold on your hair and drops his hands to your waist, getting a tight hold there. Twisting you around while he walks you back. 

“You all alone in the forest?” he asks instead of answering you. “Is there a house that I missed? Been here for months and haven’t seen one.”

“Of course, I—I live here.” You don’t want to say more than though, lest you reveal too much about yourself. You’re still wondering whether surviving this ordeal will be as simple as getting away. There’s something savage in his gaze now, the mealy taste in your mouth translating that look like the hunted looking upon the hunter. 

There’s a tree stump that he guides you to, shaded under the canopy. When he tips you over the stump, the breath rushes out of you. The edge is rough against your stomach. You don’t even notice him pulling up the back of your dress until a few seconds later. 

“Wait, hold on—that’s my indoor dress!” you cry out, the front of your dress scraping against the stump and sure to tear. “Let me go—stop it!”

Your drawers are next, slid down your hips while you squirm and wail, feet kicking out behind you. 

“Behave.” It’s punctuated by the sudden sting on your cheek, bottom flaming red by his hand. Pain is such a foreign concept to you that it initially leaves you speechless. 

He props you against the stump with little care for how your knees drag in the dirt and whether your underwear gets dirt on them. He keeps you pinned there with a big hand on the centre of your back. Your shimmying gets you nowhere, only planted farther into the dirt; it only scuffs up your knees and pulls wretched little noises from your throat. 

The terror comes when you’re bare to him and he draws his hand back. You gasp at the first smack, shocked; it’s a broken, stupid sound. At the next smack, you react properly, going into a frenzy, twisting left and right to get away, but helpless under just a fraction of his strength. Your magic does no good for once in your long life either. You feel it sit on the periphery, unsure of what to do because it cannot come close to this strange man for some reason. 

You yelp every time his hand comes down on your bottom. Red fills your vision. Tears do as well. 

“I am going to—” you break off on a yowl, back arching, “—I am going to eat the flesh off your bones for this! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chuckle is bone-chilling, ices you right over. “You oughta at least know the name of the man you’re going to eat. They call me Ghost.”

“I’ll call you—” The caustic name you were about to call him is ripped from your lips by another well-placed smack on your ass. 

You shriek so loud that the birds flee from their perches within the trees.

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

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[nariism]

i loved you on a moonlit summer night

pair. diluc ragnvindr x gn!reader

content: tooth-rotting fluff, love at first sight, allusions to reincarnation but no actual instances of reincarnation

synopsis. diluc knows that he doesn't belong in mondstadt anymore. he doesn't belong anywhere— no place to truly call home and nothing in this world but vengeance in his heart. but on a wintery day on dragonspine, he finds his salvation: a box of cecelias, a fire seelie, and the owner of the best flower shop in the city.

wc. 8.4k

a/n: thank you to my beautiful @hyomagiri for beta reading, helping edit and hyping this fic up to the max. i ended up feeling confident enough to post this because of her, three cheers for ellie i love you to the moon and back <3

WINTER

It wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that buried beneath blankets of snow and sheets of ice, there would be Cecelias?

Fire seelies are usually reliable with a bounty of treasure waiting at the end of their path. He isn't sure why it led him here, to some inconspicuous pile of snow which he hastily melted without realizing there was something precious hidden within.

The mistake doesn’t register with Diluc until the sweet scent of flowers and ash and burning wood wafts under his nose. He blinks in confusion at the pile, perfectly burnt to a crisp and resting at the tip of his boots.

Boxed up flowers? What are they doing out in the middle of the mountain?

He remembers then, a story someone once told him— he can't put a name to the voice but it echoes in the hollow chambers of his heart:

"Did you know that you can preserve the freshness of flowers? All you have to do is box them up nice and tight and store them in the snow."

It's an interesting tidbit of information. He can't for the life of him remember where he heard it from, though.

Wind howls in his ears, powdery snow from over the horizon plowing down the mountainside and into his face. It doesn't deter him from examining the scene. The fire seelie floats just above his shoulder, quiet now as it looks at the pile.

He’s entirely distracted by the sight, unsure of what to make of the strange discovery, until he hears the crunch of snow behind him. With the Fatui lingering around the foot of the mountain, he expects to whip around and face an enemy. He even braces himself to be knocked off his feet by a wild boar.

Instead, his sudden movement frightens you and makes you stumble back until you fall flat onto the ground.

There’s a long pause of silence that stuffs the air, neither you nor him tearing your eyes away from each other. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, so still that it looks like you've succumbed to the frozen climate of the mountain. He breathes a slow sigh of relief when a wavering exhale leaves your lips in the form of a puff of cloudy air.

The heart resting in his chest stirs. An ancient dull ache, thrumming in the depths of his body as he looks at you in surprise.

Again, there's a voice in his ear. This time, he recognizes it as his father:

"Your mother? I fell in love at first sight."

Growing up, he never quite understood that string of words. First sight? How could someone fall in love at first sight?

Diluc Ragnvindr is a million things, but romantic is not one of them. Love at first sight is a silly fairytale that parents tell their children to tuck them into bed. It's something that could never exist in such a cruel world, plagued by monsters and evil.

It's easy for him to close his heart off to the idea of something as ridiculous as love at first sight, despite the way his eyes haven't left yours. And he's painfully aware of the way you're looking at him too, but he does his best to ignore your gawking.

Maybe he's catching a cold. He doesn't feel well all of the sudden.

Your gaze drifts to the pile of ash just behind him and you sigh, putting your head into your hands wet from snow.

"You found my seelie," you murmur, sounding very unimpressed. He blinks at you until you continue, "Those were important, you know. They were for a very special occasion."

Diluc takes in your form, clothes thin and unfit for the snowy conditions of Dragonspine. Even without the chilly altitude of the mountain, this winter in general was particularly bitter. He almost wants to scold you for dressing so thoughtlessly, even though he doesn't know your name.

"My apologies. I will reimburse you whatever the cost, and more."

"It's... not about that," you tell him from your place on the ground, still not looking at him. You seem stressed. His heart squeezes terribly.

"Not about what?"

"Mora."

He falls silent, so quiet that you finally peer up at him wondering whether or not he's even still standing there. And he is, regarding you with a thoughtful expression. His presence is so unnoticeable despite being right in front of you that it makes your skin crawl.

"How can I make it up to you?" He asks, extending his hand for you to take. Your clothes are soaked through already, cold and frozen from the subzero temperature. It doesn't help soothe his worries that he can feel a storm coming. He should get you out of here as soon as possible.

You huff, allowing him to drag you to your feet. It's then that you realize how warm he is, almost hot to the touch. The faint glimmer of a Vision dangles on his hip. Your eyes flicker back to his and he nearly jolts out of his skin.

"Don't worry about it. It's alright," you tell him though you sound disingenuous about it. You're obviously distracted, probably wondering how to explain to your client that their expensive flowers ended up as a pile of ash.

"It was my mistake. Please, let me know if there's anything at all I can do," he replies earnestly.

"Really, it's fine," you sound slightly exasperated by his stubbornness. If it were anyone ordinary, they would have taken your mercy and left you to freeze on the mountain without a second thought.

Diluc Ragnvindr is no ordinary man.

It takes him a moment to realize his hand is still gripping yours rather tightly. He recoils with an awkward cough.

“What are you doing out here in the mountains?” He asks. It dawns on him then what a stupid question it is, since you’ve obviously come to collect your frozen flowers. You tell him anyways:

"I buried some flowers further up the mountain a few days ago," you sigh, "not sure if I can find them anymore, though. That's why I've been following this little one around."

You scratch under the seelie's chin. Well, where you would imagine its chin to be, at least. It seems thrilled by the affection.

"It's going to storm soon. You should head back down the mountain and try again later."

"It's urgent," you insist, ready to brush past him and continue the trek up.

He stops you with your wrist in his hand. "Then please, let me accompany you to the top of the mountain. It isn't safe with the Fatui lingering around. It's the least I could do."

You eye him hesitantly, but then your shoulders relax and you sigh again. "Okay, okay. We should hurry and get out of here, then."

He wordlessly follows you up the trail, watching your movements carefully. While you don't seem suspicious, he can never be too sure when it comes to the Fatui. Save for the rustling of pine trees and the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots, empty silence fills the air.

It drives him crazy. So crazy that he decides to speak.

"What's your name?"

The name that leaves your lips makes him smile. He can only think that it really does suit you. 

"My name is–"

"Diluc. Diluc Ragnvindr, right?"

Heat creeps up to his cheeks. Of course you know who he is. He's the most famous person in all of Mondstadt, for Archon's sake.

"I've seen you around the city," you quickly explain, awkwardly fumbling over your words. "And at festivals and such."

Before he can dwell too much on it, your seelie chirps— once, twice, three times as it dives into the snow and slowly melts it away. You suddenly halt in your steps, crouching down to sift through the remainder. An exhale of relief leaves you when you dig out a box, intact and frozen to the touch.

He looks on in curiosity. Your hand brushes the snow off the top of the box and you open it, revealing another couple dozen Cecelias.

"Thank goodness..." and your seelie seems to agree, because it dances around your head with a pleased noise.

You're too busy admiring the flowers to realize the snow has kicked up. He's too busy admiring you to notice, either. It isn't until the seelie dips in front of your face with a panicked garble that you finally tear your eyes away from your box of flowers.

"It started to snow..."

Diluc's gaze drifts from you to the darkening sky. It's much too late to make your way down the mountain. In his time in Snezhnaya he learned one very important rule of surviving the cold: you can't outrun snow.

Your seelie leads you to a small cave in a section of rock, covered in starsilver and crystalflies. There isn't any kindling to make a fire, and he isn't willing to brave this type of storm just for some wood.

Diluc shrugs his coat off his shoulders and wraps it around your shoulders in a single motion. Heat envelops you, warmer than the fire seelie that guided you through the mountains. It’s a warmth that fills you from the pit of your stomach all the way to the tips of your fingers.

The seelie floats between you, trying to do its best to keep the both of you in its light.

It's comfortable and quiet for a while— not a peep from either of you as you listen to the howling of wind and snow outside. 

How did Diluc ever end up here?

Bad luck, karma, anything that would explain why he ended up snowed in atop Dragonspine with you— anything at all other than it was in the stars' design that he be with you right here and now. Fate mocks him.

Even worse, there's a voice in his head telling him that this is exactly where he needs to be right now. He's getting a migraine.

Diluc watches you sift through the remaining ashes of the burnt box, trying to see if there's anything you can salvage. Unfortunately, Diluc's Pyro vision was only good for combat and keeping you warm at this moment.

"I'm... really sorry," he says again, looking away sheepishly. He can't bear to look at the disappointment furrowing in your brows.

The sound of a sigh echoes in the cave, and he finally manages to look at you. To his surprise, you're only staring back at him with soft eyes: no contempt, no anger, no disappointment. It makes his heart sink, not only with guilt, but also because there's just something so sweet about you that it makes him want to hold you closer.

"It's okay. At least a majority of them survived. It'll be plenty."

"If you don't mind me asking, what were they for?"

"A bouquet for a wedding. The bride specifically asked for Cecelias, since it was the first bouquet he ever gifted her," there's a fondness on your face that makes him snort. You look at him funny. "What? It's romantic."

"They're just flowers. What's so sentimental about that?"

"They're not just flowers," you frown, scooting a little closer into his side to soak up more of his heat. The fire seelie's light flickers against your face. "Cecelias only grow in extremely windy places. They're illustrious and elegant, even after growing in such harsh conditions. Isn't that just..." you smile at him, slow and warm. "It's beautiful."

Diluc considers your explanation for a moment, tugging his coat around your shoulders tighter. "I suppose so."

"You suppose?" You laugh. "My my, I didn't know Diluc Ragnvindr was so down-to-earth when it comes to romance."

Your laugh is doing terrible things to him. There's something about it that reminds him of the days he spent wandering the Winery as a boy with Kaeya in tow. The nights he would spend catching crystalflies. Times long since passed. He suddenly aches to be back among the grapevines.

"I don't indulge in that sort of thing."

He never could, so long as there was something ugly and bitter and tainted in his heart.

"You've never fallen in love?"

"Not once."

Love like that doesn't exist. Not in a world like this.

He repeats what he believed was true, chants the mantra in his head until he's dizzy as if trying to convince himself that he isn't already lost in you. The warm orange glow of the seelie dances in your eyes, lights up your smile in a way that makes his stomach turn.

I fell in love at first sight. They were words that he couldn't understand until today.

"Is that so?" You muse, slotting your head in the space between his jaw and shoulder. He doesn’t move away. "You're an unusual man, Diluc."

"Maybe I am."

But he knows that the moment he met you, everything was about to change. You don't even dignify him with a glance as you say it:

"Let's fall in love, then."

The demand is simple and he's absolutely positive you're joking. Something in his soul tugs anyway. He swears one thing at that moment: someway, somehow, he'll make it all up to you.

You are, after all, the first person to remind him of home in a long time. Every aspect of you is so comforting and familiar, even if he can't quite place his finger on it yet.

You reach out to pet your seelie, even though you know your hand will phase through it. "You sure did lead me to some strange treasure, hm?"

It trills happily with a little twirl.

Diluc meets you in winter, in the valley between the peaks of Dragonspine. He meets you, and it smells of burnt wood and ash and Cecelias. It's so cold that you can't feel your fingers but you're smiling in the afterglow of a seelie nonetheless, and so is he.

SPRING

He learns that you own the little flower shop at the edge of Mondstadt, just within the front gates of the city.

You're teaching a young girl, Flora, how to nurture them. And he finds it a little endearing, the way you're so gentle not only with Flora but with the flowers you're showing her: daisies and tulips and Windwheel Asters, all of which are in season right now.

Diluc recognizes you when you open back up for spring, surrounded by boxes stuffed with fresh bouquets. You seem to be in a rush getting organized, holding a stack of boxes instead of taking them one by one and clumsily scattering them around so you can go through them.

He stops you by stepping in front of you, two hands on either side of the stack to steady them as you stumble to a halt.

"Diluc?" You peer from around the boxes. He can only see your curious eyes from this angle. He laughs.

"Sorry to interrupt you when you're so busy. Do you need help?"

"Well–" you do a little hop to straighten up the boxes in your arms, "–it would be nice to have an extra set of hands getting everything ready for the Windblume Festival." You contemplate his offer for a brief moment, then ultimately decide against it. "But I would hate to steal you away from your other responsibilities. You're helping with the festival too, right?"

"I owe you one. Think of this as a favour from a friend," he refutes stubbornly.

"I'm sure many would be missing the help of Diluc Ragnvindr," you tease, shifting around so that your body tilts toward him.

It's then that he can finally look at you fully, with a soft orange apron tied around your waist and Windwheel Asters in your hair to match.

One day, you would go on and explain to him that it was sort of like advertising, and that showing off how nice the blooms look as an accessory brought in a lot of business. Right now all it does is render him breathless.

"They can afford to miss me.” He can't help the smile that creeps its way onto his face at the sight of you— he feels silly about it too, like some lovesick little boy.

You hand off the boxes into Diluc's arms. "Can they? I heard you were supplying all of the wine for the festival. That's a tall order," you giggle, bending down to grab another two boxes of flowers.

"It's... manageable," he answers, making a mental note to himself to buy Adelinde dinner some time as a thank you. "What about you? What are all these boxes for?"

"We're holding a flower gifting service in the plaza, on the night of the big party." He looks at you curiously as you continue, "You can send someone you care for a flower or two, or you can send them anonymously if you just wanted to make someone's day!"

"Sounds..."

You smile knowingly. "Romantic?"

Diluc places the boxes down on the ground and pries the lids off, revealing more and more ready-to-bloom flowers. "Yeah. Romantic," he sighs.

"These will all be in full bloom in time for the festival.” You lean down behind him where he's crouched down, until your chin is nearly resting on his shoulder. He's sure his breath hitches so loud that you can hear it.

The following weeks entail complete mayhem. With the end of spring rapidly approaching, excitement buzzes throughout the city. Notably, he overhears many talking about your business and the new flower gifting service.

The Windblume Festival is a special time for Diluc. His father used to take him and Kaeya as children, back when the world was a little happier. On the night of the festival, he stands at the booth contemplating. Unlike a majority of the citizens of Mondstadt, he has not a clue who to give a flower to. Flora frowns.

"Um, mister, are you ever going to write a name down?"

The quill halts just above the piece of paper. "I don't have to sign my name, do I?"

"You can send it as a secret."

Diluc looks up from where he's bent over, observing you from a few feet away. You're conversing with some ladies who are interested in your bouquets. It was a good business idea to do something like this.

He only meant to support your idea as a friend. Now he's conflicted on whether or not he should dare to write your name.

You look absolutely radiant tonight with magical crystal chunks strewn about your hair and a crown of flowers circling your head. He isn't sure he's ever seen someone so beautiful.

He finally decides. When you turn back around to give him your attention, he's gone.

He's sure that will be the end of it, and that after tonight your brief and strange relationship with him will come to an end. But then you come bounding up to him just as he's about to head out.

"Look! A flower!" You exclaim, shoving it into his face. He's pleased that you like the one he picked out for you.

"Yes, I see that. It's nice."

"Nice? Nice?! It's adorable! I've never gotten one before."

He looks at you funny. "Never?"

"Nope," you laugh sheepishly. "I don't really get out much. Too busy running the shop."

He takes the flower from your hands and tucks it just behind your ear, adding it amongst the crown of Asters surrounding you like a halo.

"It suits you.”

"Does it?" You ask him quietly.

His heart beats furiously. How could he ever steel himself when you have such a big smile on your face, adorned with flowers and gemstones?

"Will you dance with me?" The question leaves him before he can stop it. You look at him in wonder, with his fingers brushing the hair from your face. Whatever evil overtakes him in that moment, he'll have to thank later, because without hesitation you're dragging him into the middle of the plaza with glee.

You come to learn that he isn't exactly what you'd call an elegant dancer. He only knows movements that he learned at banquets held by his family— basic steps born from obligation. 

"I thought you'd be better at this," you tease, allowing him to pull you along by the waist.

"I don't dance," he huffs. "I haven't in a long time."

"We should dance together more, then."

Diluc sighs, but there's a tiny smile spreading across his face. "I guess we should."

"This flower... do you know what it represents?" You gesture to the bloom tucked behind your ear. He shakes his head and you continue, "It means everlasting love."

He laughs at the irony.

"I see. How... fetching."

"I wonder who it was," you smile to yourself. He thinks you look breathtaking.

Diluc's lips curl at your joy. He twirls you under his arm once, twice, then pulls you back into his body as he considers your words.

"Yes, I wonder who," he mutters with an amused expression that you just barely miss. And he knows exactly who, but he's not sure if he could handle seeing you melt into a lovestruck puddle at his admission.

Diluc dances with you in spring, under the warm glow of lanterns and the taste of grape juice staining his tongue. He dances with you, and it smells of the Windwheel Asters that crown your head and mint jelly on your breath.

He tugs you a little closer, just because.

SUMMER

If you were to ask Diluc how he felt about these big "charity" events, he would scoff in your face and lecture you about how they were nothing more than money traps set up by the Knights of Favonius.

He would say it purely out of spite, of course, mostly because he knows Jean is too kindhearted to allow for such shady business. Openly, at least.

His distaste for the Knights and all they stand for are not hidden deep in his heart. He sneers when there's a casualty— mocks their inefficiency at any given opportunity.

You never knew him to be such a bitter man when it came to the Knights. Diluc was good at keeping up his polite and indifferent charade to their practices.

It wasn't until the beginning of summer when you realized his loathing. It was their own incompetence that led a horde of slimes directly into the city, nearly smashing your little shop to bits.

You've never seen him so furious.

Outwardly, he was simply curt with them. He had only a few choice words lined up when they apologized with their heads hung low, watching them with his arms crossed over his chest.

Inwardly, you could see the anger swimming in his eyes.

That was three weeks ago. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to think that just three weeks ago, they were leading danger straight into your shop and now here they are, asking you to donate to their cause.

"You're sulking," you tell him from across the table. He immediately sits up straight, jaw relaxing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know," you smile at him, moving one of your pawns forward, "I think the Knights are happy you're here. Relieved, at the very least, that you don't seem mad at them anymore."

He only frowns whilst knocking your pawn over with a bishop. "I wasn't mad at them."

"You were. Even I could tell."

"They almost got you hurt."

"Almost," you remind him with a small huff. "They were just slimes! No harm no foul."

You make a fatal move, but he doesn't even gloat because he's too busy cursing out the Knights in his head.

"I just find it in poor taste that they would ask for your hard-earned Mora after endangering you like that." He shrugs you off nonchalantly, as if you can't see the fire blazing in his eyes at the mere thought of it. 

You blink at the chessboard as he checkmates you, slumping back in your seat with a tiny pout. "Once again, you've bested me."

"It seems I have," he says, lips finally twitching up into a small smile.

"Don't you ever get tired of beating me at this game? I sure do."

"That's a shame. Same time tomorrow?"

He watches with a laugh as you grumble in irritation. You can't help but notice how quiet it is, even over the chatter of the people in the plaza. There's something off about him today.

It's clear that he doesn't want to be here, volunteering his time to the Knights for a cause he has no faith in. It was a favour for Jean, he told you, to which you mused that he owed a lot of friends favours.

To be a noble in Mondstadt, and especially the wealthiest, Diluc is obligated to attend all sorts of gatherings he detests. You can see it written all over his face.

"Hey," you call out to him softly, leaning over the table. Your voice is a hush as you tell him: "Let's get out of here."

He glances around. "I'm expected to be here, you know?” He laughs once more, though he seems to be considering your offer. He decides to indulge you. "Where would you like to go?"

You think for a moment, brows furrowed. He watches the minute twitch of your lips, the creases of your smile; everything about you is so alive and beautiful.

Then, you point. You point high, with a breathless giggle. 

"There," you say, gesturing toward the giant statue of Barbatos, "let's go up there."

He almost flat out rejects you, wanting to scold you about how dangerous it would be and that, for someone without a vision, you sure do have the gall to even suggest it.

But then he sees the excitement twinkling in your eyes, which are already scrunched up from how big your smile is. How could he refuse?

Diluc ends up trailing behind you, inconspicuously hugging his coat close to his body. You don't realize why until you're standing at the feet of the statue.

You gasp at the bottle of wine tucked into his coat. "Did you steal that?"

"The Winery provided all of this. I would hardly consider it stealing," he chuckles.

You nudge him with your elbow, a grin on your face as you accept the bottle into your hands. "I didn't know you were so sly, Diluc."

"I used to do this all the time when I was a kid."

"Steal wine bottles?" You look at him with wide eyes and an impressed smile.

"The maids forbade me from drinking at the Winery's banquets. Try telling a thirteen year old boy not to do something, see what happens," he huffs in amusement.

"You don't even like wine," you remind him. Diluc only hums in response, grabbing it and stuffing it back into his coat as he takes his first leap up the stone.

"Consider it a gift.” He twists around so he can look down at you where you stand, watching him with a mixture of fascination and horror.

His hand extends to yours. For as many times in this life as he is willing to offer it, you would take it.

He helps haul you up to the very top, barely breaking a sweat as he watches you climb beside him. After all, he withstood countless adversaries in his time in Snezhnaya: climbed mountains as tall as the sky with nothing but his claymore. 

When you ask how he's so calm about this, he only tells you that he used to climb to the roof of the manor when he was a boy.

He had a lot of secrets kept caged up in his body, you realized many months ago. Diluc was never too vocal about his time before he returned to Mondstadt.

You do remember, however, that at the banquet they threw for him to celebrate his return home, he seemed cold and indifferent to the warm welcome. In fact, it was like his mind was entirely elsewhere. You can picture the day well— it was the largest order of flowers you'd ever received after all.

You're glad he's settled back into Mondstadt, at least. You just never thought you'd have a chance to actually meet him.

He watches as you nervously teeter over to the edge of the statue, peering down with a nervous gulp. You relax when his hands steady you, gently guiding you to sit down in a more safe position.

"I've never been so high up off the ground!" You cry out toward the city, feet dangling over the edge of the Archon's hands.

"It's nice, isn't it? Much different than the kind of heights you feel on Dragonspine."

You take in a long breath of fresh air, as if savouring the wind at this height. "It's pretty.” You finally conclude. There's a dreamy sigh on your lips that makes him laugh.

He uncorks the bottle he lugged up with him, passing it over to you. Instead of taking it, your head tilts back and he takes the opportunity to pour the wine past your lips himself.

Silence festers between you two as he pours the sweet alcohol into your mouth, all rational thought being carried away by the wind.

He isn't sure how long you stay that way: shoulders touching, hair blowing, and feet dangling in the air. For someone who wanted to climb the statue to see the city, you sure are being shameless in your staring directly at him.

You're looking at him in a way that makes him melt— eyes so laser focused and crinkling with your smile. You look at him like he's the only person in the world. Right now, he might really be that important. His heart swells in his chest.

"What is it?" Speak your mind. Let me hear all your crazy thoughts.

"You came all the way up here with me. You came up here. With me."

You emphasize your point by extending your arms out to your sides, feeling the breeze wash over you.

He knows what’s coming next. You love clichés. And he doesn't stop you, for some reason, when you open your mouth again just as he predicted.

"I think I'm falling for you."

"I would hope not. We're pretty high up in the air."

You swat his arm with a huff, face turning a little more serious. "I mean it!"

Diluc grows quiet, looking out toward the city. His home. The place he grew up, and the place he'll spend the rest of his days. The distant sound of people chattering, water flowing from the fountain, music playing: all sounds he's grown so familiar with and yet—

"I love you."

—he never thought it could be so beautiful until he climbed up here with you.

"You love a lot of things," he muses.

"Like what?"

He looks at you softly. "Like Cecelias. Mondstadt hashbrowns for breakfast. And you say you hate the cold but I know you love it up in Dragonspine— think it looks so pretty with all the snow."

You nod, mulling over his statement before asking: "What else?"

"I know you love that orange apron; Flora's mother sewed it for you herself, didn't she? And you love Anemo slimes, think they're the cutest thing in the world even though I've seen them explode in your face multiple times before."

You're listening to him intently, watching his lips as he lists off all the things he knows about you. And he's been going for so long that you have to wonder if you've really only known him for eight months.

"You love Starfell Lake and making wishes while you blow away Dandelion seeds. You love fire seelies and tea imported from Liyue and going to charity events like this even though you don't owe the Knights any of your time."

Another silence settles between you.

"So I'm a romantic. Even then, you still won't accept that I love you?" You ask him quietly.

He hesitates only for a moment, but you still catch it. "I won't."

"What is it with you and your cynicism about romance?"

"It's not like I don't believe love exists—" He’s looking at you right now, after all: living, breathing proof that Diluc could love something. "—I just... it's not for me."

"Not for you?" You repeat back to him in disbelief. "Love is beautiful, you know. You don't even want to give it a chance?"

You're looking at him earnestly, both hands pressed against the stone of the statue beneath you as you twist to stare him down.

"It's complicated," he murmurs, tearing his eyes away from yours. In his peripherals, he can still see you facing him. He doesn't dare look at you again for the sake of his own resolve.

Love was always a messy emotion for Diluc. To love was to trust completely, to be vulnerable and open. But he's been betrayed one too many times for his heart not to ache at the idea of falling in love so willingly.

It terrifies him— to have someone holding his heart in their hands with the chance that they could crush it into dust with the snap of their fingers.

Diluc was alone for many years in the northern region of Snezhnaya. He's good at being lonely. It's a part of the air he breathes, something engraved deep into his bones, terrible and grim and consuming his flesh until he's nothing.

He hadn't even realized he had grown accustomed to it. Not until he met you. Not until you stole his heart at first sight. Not until you made him understand all those times his father would speak of his mother once she was gone. It was always easier to be alone until he met you, and suddenly you came along and flipped the whole world onto its head.

Now Diluc can't be alone— he was losing the ability to sit in solitary silence without his thoughts screaming in his ears. He was constantly thinking about you. And it was always distracting things, like wondering when he would see your smile next, or when you would ever dance with him again.

Your head falls against his shoulder, hair tickling under his chin as you rest there. As if it were a remnant of eons past, his lips find the crown of your head reflexively. And you don't pull away by any means, allowing him to be affectionate the only way he can and accepting him as he comes.

The words don't need to be said anymore. He already knows. It's a story rewritten a million times over, buried somewhere deep in his soul.

He decides that maybe, just once in this life, it would be okay to take the risk. If it was you, he would be alright.

His arm comes around your waist protectively, pulling you closer into his body as if you'd disappear with the wind if he let go. He holds you there quietly, listening to your soft murmurs.

Diluc Ragnvindr deserves to be loved, is what you're telling him.

And despite the scars littering his body and the chains wrapped around his heart, he allows himself to believe it.

Diluc loves you in the summer, in the hands of the Anemo Archon. He loves you, and it smells of Dandelion Wine and the lingering scent of sweet flowers in your hair and all the things that make him dream of you.

For the first time since he returned to Mondstadt, he doesn't feel alone.

AUTUMN

It's the anniversary.

Diluc remembers the day too well— the smell of blood and flesh and how cold a corpse is. Sometimes it's all he can think about.

He cried when his father passed, as all boys would. Then, a fire replaced the hollow sadness in his heart, something fierce and dangerous and unhinged.

Fierce and dangerous and unhinged. Descriptors that he would consider second nature to him behind closed doors of the Tavern and hidden in the grapevines of the Winery. No one would ever know the real Diluc Ragnvindr, hellbent on vengeance since he was only a boy crying at his father's grave.

It wasn't until you came along that he felt something new blooming within him— something like beautiful flowers and a heartbeat slow and steady as waves on the shore, a yearning so powerful that it displaced the ugly bitterness in his heart.

Nowadays, Diluc felt like a confusing mixture of both light and darkness— treading the thin line that separated him from living in the moment with you, and seeking revenge for the past.

He doesn't realize the conflict within him has been bubbling into a raging fire, tearing him in half from the inside out, until today.

He talked to you about his father once, over a plate of sugar-frosted slime and Liyue imported jasmine tea. It was a day like any other, with you seated across from him having an afternoon snack.

My father liked sugar-frosted slime, he told you. It was the first time he'd ever let it be known that Crepus was on his mind, ever so present. A ghost haunting him. You didn't think much of it. Diluc seemed perfectly content living through his memories.

It was coincidence that brought you here on the exact day the world lost Crepus. Or, perhaps, the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to get out of bed and come here.

Your son is a wonderful man, is what you first whispered to the grave. And then you couldn't stop the words from pouring out of you, rambling on and on about how he raised a good boy, and how Diluc had taken your heart the moment you laid eyes on him.

He finds you sitting there in the rain with a sad excuse for an umbrella popped up above your head. His father's grave is adorned with flowers of all kinds— a respect that no one had ever paid him before.

You don't realize how much you move him with such a simple act. He had long since lost faith both in the Knights and the citizens that once looked up to his father so much; after all, it was only he and Kaeya who ever came around to visit.

It's not until he crumbles to his knees beside you that you even notice his tears, your smile fading as he looks at you in confusion.

You're not sure you've ever seen Diluc cry before.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, head tilting into your palm when you reach forward to wipe his tears with your thumb.

"Saying hello," you respond as if it's the obvious answer.

"You... huh?"

"It would be rude to fall in love with you without at least introducing myself first."

"You didn't have to do—" Diluc gestures to the grave, "—all this."

You smile. "I wanted to.” And the truth is as simple as that.

You were too good for this world. Something beautiful in a place where only ugliness lives. He almost hates how much hope you give him.

The world was always black and white for Diluc. Recently, he's been finding it hard to distinguish the two. 

There was right and there was wrong and there you were teetering between them, balancing hope and despair. It scared him to think of all the ways he could lose you, how he could one day end up bringing flowers to a grave with your name on it just as you did for his father.

What's the point of love if all it ends with is hurt?

He's sniffling, trying to chew on his bottom lip to distract himself from the ache in his chest. You notice his sudden quietness, turning to look at him.

"Hey.” Your voice is soft, as if he would shatter if you even spoke to him wrong right now. He might. "It's just me. It's okay."

"I don't cry. I hate crying," he admits through his tears.

He can't remember when he had cried last. Was it the day he came home? Or was it longer, like during those lonely nights spent hiding away in the mountains? The only vivid memory he has with tears staining his cheeks was the day his father died.

"You don't have to be ashamed of crying," you tell him, using your thumbs to wipe his lashes. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm Diluc Ragnvindr. I'm not supposed to cry."

"You're Diluc Ragnvindr," you repeat back slowly, pulling his head toward you and cradling it against your shoulder. "You're human. What's wrong with that?"

Diluc doesn't feel human. He hasn't felt human in a long time. He's been something more like a ghost wandering around the places he used to love. Memories tainted by hatred and grief, it was as if he would never find beauty in this world again.

"I'm not," he breathes. "I'm not anything."

You pry him off of you. He blinks at you through his tears.

"Do you really believe that?"

He goes quiet, only staring at you as he soaks in your earnest eyes.

"I don't know what I am. I don't know what to do in this world anymore."

He's a mess of emotions— he almost wishes he were back in Snezhnaya where everything made sense. Where his entire existence was built up of seeking retribution. To a time when he knew where he belonged.

Diluc Ragnvindr only ever knew revenge. Only ever knew how to inflict pain. Only ever knew how to break kneecaps and hide in shadows and keep his lonely body warm with his Pyro vision.

He doesn't know love. He doesn't know how to do it without fighting the fire burning in his stomach when he grieves—

"You're just Diluc. Do you ever need to be anything more than that?"

—or maybe he hasn't given it the chance it deserves. The chance he deserves.

He realizes then, what love must be. What kept him up at night, the feeling raging in his chest:

There was no corner of Teyvat he could ever call home without you anymore. He belonged here, with you.

And accompanied with this realization is something that he hasn't felt in many years. Peace. A stillness in his body and the calm in his mind which was usually racing with contemplation— something he never thought he would feel again.

And it's because of you. Only you. It would only ever be because of your love.

"Would you accept me as I am?"

You smile. "I always have."

"You don't know who I am. The things I've done."

"Are they that bad?"

"Awful."

You hum in thought, thumb mindlessly brushing his cheek back and forth. "We have all the time in the world for you to explain," you add with another soft smile, "I believe you have your reasons. I believe in you."

He laughs, exhales shaky. "You're insane."

"Am I? But I think you're falling for me anyways."

So what if he is? He can't find a single reason wrong with it anymore.

The rain has started to let up, the world around him lighting up with warm sun. And you look so radiant like this, surrounded by the fog brought in by the storm and shining in sweet sunlight.

"Do you think we have your father’s approval?"

He doesn't have to answer that. Not when you're already leaning in closer to him.

The diminishing pitter-patter of rain against your shabby umbrella fills his ears. You're so close that he swears he can hear your heart thundering in your chest. 

Diluc has always been brave; he was a terrible troublemaker of a child that grew into a body too big for a boy— some part of him that he kept locked away for the sake of living his life as his father would have wanted. If he wanted to lead an empire of a business, he would need to grow up eventually.

He's always been brave, but he was still too much of a coward to stop using his father as a way out. Because he knows Crepus would have wanted Diluc to find happiness, not vengeance.

It's about time he stopped being afraid.

"I think he wants me to tell you something."

"And what's that?" You smile.

"That in this life—" he breathes, "—in this and the next and the one after until the stars of Teyvat run out, I will love you."

You snicker. He can feel it rumbling in his own chest. "How romantic," you tease with his breath in your lungs.

He shuts you up with his mouth.

Diluc kisses you in autumn, with the golden leaves of change. Diluc kisses you warm and sweet and long. He can't remember what was filling his senses at that moment. Your bodies were too close for him to care.

WINTER

Winter was always a bothersome season.

Even in his days away from Mondstadt, in all the time he spent roaming the north, he never quite grew accustomed to the freezing temperatures and harsh weather.

When Diluc left for Snezhnaya, he left his childhood behind, too. He abandoned who he was on the doorstep of his manor, put all his funds into the hands of Adelinde with no intent of returning, and left in the middle of the night without a word.

Half of him expected to die. The other half expected to not return by choice.

For the first few months he spent adjusting to the northern climate, he tucked himself away in a hidden cavern away from the Capital where the Tsaritsa resided. He was in no condition to battle, let alone challenge a god.

He spent many days stealthily hunting down lower ranking Fatui— people that no one would miss. At eighteen years old he had enough blood on his hands to guarantee Celestia's smiting. Blood that, as he learned, does not wash off.

He had to teach himself how to travel through thick snow. Through blizzards and hail and subzero temperatures nothing alike to those felt on Dragonspine.

And when he finally returned home, battle worn and hardened and cold, he couldn't stand the snow. Every crunch under his boots reminded him of the times he had to lug around his greatsword through treacherous enemy lines. Even the sound put him on edge for incoming attacks.

It wasn't like he was ever particularly fond of the cold but for a long time, as a boy, he would simply tolerate it. He had his Pyro vision, after all, and it never truly caused him any harm.

When Kaeya received his Cryo vision, things took a turn.

The cold represented nothing but death for Diluc. It was pain and grief and sorrow— loss in magnitudes indescribable to anyone else. It was bloodshed, the terrible stench of flesh, metal on metal. It was homesickness.

There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it. It only reminded him of all the things he had lost.

He would roll his eyes when Venti sang about the first snowfall of the season. His Pyro vision would glow until the ice melted around him. It's impractical, he told you when you first met and he was guiding you back down the mountain. It doesn't do any good except make you slip and fall.

Diluc remembers quite vividly how you snorted at that. And, like always, you went on to say things that would make his head spin. Find beauty in life even where you think it doesn't exist.

He didn't heed your advice all too much, instead grumbling about how his claymore was getting heavy and that he wanted to get back to the Winery as soon as possible.

But then he found that it was hard to ignore your words. Especially when you were showing him exactly how to do it— popping frozen grapes into his mouth that were somehow a little sweeter; mixing him hot cocoa the way your mother taught you; throwing snowballs at him from behind trees and thinking you've won until he nails you straight in the face in retaliation.

Winter always brought a smile to your face. And how could he not smile when you are?

The best part of it all was that the cold made you cling to him a little closer. A little tighter. So close that he swears he can hear your heart beating in his own ears, savouring his warmth unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

"My personal fire seelie," you joked once. He pinched your cheek until you slapped his hand away and buried your face back into his chest.

Diluc is pretty certain that he hasn't been this happy in a long time. Not since before his father passed, at least. Even with the nervous sigh that leaves him, you're urging him forward.

"I can't believe you never learned how to skate!"

"It's... not something noble families would have approved of."

"But you have this whole lake in your backyard!" You gawk. He only stifles a laugh, stumbling clumsily into your arms. You catch him as if you'd done it a thousand times before.

"Show me how it's done."

"It's like dancing," you say with an encouraging grin, pulling him along with you slowly. You're half right. Some aspects of it do remind him of a warm spring night, with music playing and your laughter in his ears. On the other hand, he can't seem to keep his skates straight.

"The ice won't fall through, right?" He murmurs anxiously, nodding at the Pyro vision hung on his belt.

"If it does, I'll save you!"

"I don't think you'd be able to carry me up from the water," he deadpans.

"I'd save you," you insist.

"Really?"

"Yes, really! For as many times as you need me to save you, I will."

And you did save him. Though, that statement is better left unspoken for the sake of the heat rising to his cheeks. Instead, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin.

Find beauty in life. Another set of words he never thought he would understand. But he's staring at beauty right in its face and it smells like Cecelias. Dances like a shooting star. Loves unconditionally.

Diluc always loathed winter, until you redefined it into a thing he missed dearly—

Home.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

crossposted to ao3!

🏷️ @rintosei hi babe its up <3

[tackytigerfic]

WIP Snip

Nearly finished this fic, final extended scene is a go atm. In this snippet, Harry has just arrived unexpectedly at the Manor where Draco is undercover pretending to be a Death Eater. CW for wandpoint confessions and mild angst.

Draco’s eyes narrowed but he put his hand inside his robe and then, quicker than Harry could have hoped to notice, Draco had his wand out and was holding it to Harry's throat, pressing hard so the wood bit into the tender skin under his jawline. "You are Harry, I suppose? You seem right, of course, but there’s always a chance that someone enterprising might come along with a stash of Polyjuice and a gift for impersonation.” “Oh, fuck off,” Harry managed, and the point of Draco’s wand wormed slowly deeper into flesh. “You knew it was me the second you saw me.” “Mmm, I suppose that’s true,” Draco murmured agreeably, something suggestive about how the sound travelled through the small space between them. His free hand strayed to Harry’s forehead and he brushed his fingers lightly over the dried blood that Harry could feel tightening on the skin there. “But indulge me. Tell me something only you would know.” Harry scoffed, though he was thinking with his throat tight of Arthur knocking at the door of the Burrow in the middle of the night long ago, and Molly blushing, and how they had exposed the long intimacy of their marriage for safety's sake. “There’s a lot I could tell you,” he said tightly. “If you’re really sure you want to hear it.” “By all means,” Draco said, eyes on Harry, searching for something in his face. “You fucked me in that bed and afterwards you asked me not to leave because you wanted to wake up with me? Remember?” Draco wanted to look towards the bed, Harry could tell by the way his eyes flickered, but he resisted, and so Harry went on. “You told me you wanted us to win this war just so you could take me back to London and feed me my favourite ice-cream off your spoon. You told me the only thing you miss about France is how you and your mum really got to know each other properly, and that when she gets back you want to take her for dinner to that little French bistro we went to that time in Edinburgh. I know you remember that, you said the wine was better than anything in the cellar here.” Draco nodded shortly, and almost regretfully pulled his wand away from Harry’s neck. He didn’t move away. “Yes, fair enough, I believe you.” But Harry couldn’t stop, didn’t know how to shut up now he had started. “The last time we were together, you told me that I’m generous with my love. Do you remember that? And I wondered then… because I’d never said it, had I? Not out loud, anyway. Neither of us had. But I thought, maybe— Maybe it meant that you knew.” Draco was staring, his eyes wide and shocked, a blush crawling up his neck, blotchy with heat. Neither of them moved, the silence between them growing until Harry could practically feel it. Draco almost raised his hand to Harry then; Harry sensed the arrested movement, the enforced stillness. He didn’t know what he’d do if Draco touched him. But he didn’t have to find out, because that’s when the knock at the door sounded.

Does anyone have a snippet they'd like to share? Consider yourself tagged and pls tag me so i can see as i've been off tumblr and i miss every single thing on here. And I'll no-pressure-tag @boxboxlewis @citrusses @fluxweeed @maesterchill @moonflower-rose @skeptiquex @sweet-s0rr0w @the-starryknight plus the FrotCotLot.

[junkdrawerfics]

Giddy Surprise

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You can't convince me Jasper doesn't miss having horses -> You have a surprise for Jasper. A furry, hay eating, clippity clop kind of surprise.

Word Count: 1082

Warnings: None, no beta, barely edited, I was really tired writing this, but I hope it's okay!

---

You are practically buzzing with excitement the second Jasper sets foot through the door. He can feel it all the way from the entryway. You don’t conceal it either, waiting impatiently for him in the living room, all but bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Hey Jas,” you greet him with an absolutely giddy grin.

“Hello, darlin’.” He presses a kiss to your forehead like he always does, lips twitching into an amused smile. “How was your day?”

“Good, good, I have something to show you!” Patience really never was your specialty. Not when it comes to Jasper at least.

Originally, you had a big plan to reveal your surprise. You were going to pretend to read when he got home, let him get comfortable after a stressful day around humans, and then suggest going for a nice, mid-afternoon walk. That’s when you’d take him to his gift, and boom - surprise!

That plan went down the drain as soon as you heard his car pull into the driveway.

“What do you want to show me?” Jasper asks, already knowing you won’t tell him, but it’s worth the little conspiratorial look you give him.

“You’ll have to wait and see!” 

You take his hand and drag him into the woods, twisting and ducking between trees along a barely worn path. Jasper, being the patient saint of a man he is, follows along without complaint, content to just soak up the electric warmth of your excitement. You can’t even get a word out, that giddy smile never leaving your face, and Jasper can’t bring himself to look away.

He’s always loved the vividness of your emotions. Even when you were human, they would fill a room, your happiness like sunshine bursting through the heaviest clouds, your sadness like the weight of the air before it rains. He never could understand how one person could feel things so strongly. Not only that, but you’ve always been so unwaveringly positive, always smiling, always trying to love others the best you can.

Like this. He can’t imagine someone other than you being so excited about a surprise. Jasper doesn’t even care what it is. Your overwhelming joy is so pure, so contagious, he finds himself getting swept away in it, smiling like a fool.

It’s only when a familiar scent drifts past him that he drags his eyes away from you. You glimpse over your shoulder, catching the flash of recognition on his face, and your excitement only builds.

A few more feet and you break past the trees into a large field. Jasper comes to a sharp stop beside you, eyes going wide at the sight before him.

“Surprise!”

In the middle of the field stands a little stable, rustic and simple, with a gated fence stretching around the pasture. Right beyond the fence stand a small group of horses, grazing on the long grass without a care in the world.

You turn to Jasper expectantly. He looks completely stunned, lips parted, eyebrows shooting up. It almost makes you laugh, since he kind of looks like an adorable goldfish, but you smother it behind your hand. This was totally a good idea.

The idea started sprouting when Jasper first told you about his past. You remember the night, back when you were human. It took time to earn Jasper’s trust, but it was worth it, because that night he shared all kinds of stories about his childhood. It was the night you learned of his love for horses growing up, and how much he missed them.

So you got together with Emmett and Alice to design and build the stable. Emmett did most of the hard labor (you bribed him by promising to get Jasper to fight him again, since he was still petty about losing the last one), while Alice jumped at the chance to design the whole thing. Meanwhile, you focused on finding the perfect horses.

“The tan one is Whiskey, the appaloosa is Tango, and the chestnut one is Juliet,” you start, pulling the shocked vampire closer to the fence, “I was going to get just one, but when I was doing research, it said horses need friends, so I got three! It felt like a good number, and this way, we can go riding together!”

Jasper’s jaw clenches and unclenches rapidly.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say.

When the two of you reach the fence, one of the horses lifts its head, ears swiveling towards you. For a moment, Jasper expects it to start running, as most animals do when they sense the predatory aura of a vampire. As soon as the horse lays eyes on you though, it gives a low snort and trots right over.

Right to him.

The moment the horse nudges its nose into his chest, something shifts in Jasper, like magic. The vampire loosens up, gold eyes practically glowing as he lifts a hand to rub its muzzle, the motion so natural despite the hundred of years he’s gone without being near one. The horse leans into his touch, head almost flat against his chest, ears flicking to the side as Jasper scratches his neck. A small, easy-going smile pulls at the blond’s lips, and you’re all but starstruck watching him. 

It's quite possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

“Do you like them?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Jasper chuckles, ruffling the horse’s mane as he looks over at you, eyes warm, “Darlin’, this is the best surprise I’ve been given in a long time.”

You light up, “Really?”

He takes a step away from the horse, much to its displeasure, and wraps his arms around you instead, pulling you close. You stretch up to curl yours around his neck, humming happily when he leans down to kiss you. It’s soft, overwhelmingly soft, filling you to the brim with a fuzzy warmth. 

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m certain no one has ever gone to such lengths for me. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You are very welcome, mister. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you.” You give him another, chaste kiss, soaring on cloud nine. “Now! Why don’t you show me how to ride? I think they’re itchin’ to get out of the pasture!”

“It would be my pleasure, ma'am.”

Safe to say, you end up falling off a few times. Apparently the whole vampire grace thing doesn’t apply to riding massive, moving animals.

---

This came to me so randomly, and I loved it, and I don't think I did it justice, but I needed to just write it! I might re-do it, we'll see!

[mellifiedprincess]

hi!! could you do a fluffy fic with matt where the reader is just having a rough week mentally and is overwhelmed and stops by matt’s unannounced and they cuddle and he offers to talk through things with her

hope you like it angel <3

You could see the lights on in the living room through the balcony window. Staring up at it, still sitting in your car. You’ve been staring at it for a good 10 minutes now, not really sure if you should get out or not.

You knew the boys wouldn’t care one bit that you showed up without sending a text. You knew there wouldn’t be anything but concern in the eyes of your boyfriend and his two brothers.

Yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to get out of your car and knock on their door.

Another 5 minutes pass and you finally bring yourself to make the trek to the front door. The wood feels cool against the heat of your knuckles as you knock. You’re not really sure if anyone could even hear the soft taps from inside.

Chris does though. As he opens the door, you see a look of surprise on his face for a few seconds before he kindly smiles at you. He was always happy to see one of his best and closest friends. But then he sees the defeated look on your face. “Matt’s in his room. I’m here too if you need me to be.” The kind words of Chris almost breaks the dam that you’ve been trying so hard to keep patched up.

“Thanks Chrissy.” You simply say before giving him a hug and making your way up the stairs, needing the comforting embrace of Matt more than anything right now.

When you finally make it to Matt’s door, you can hear the soft clicks of his keyboard.

Closing your eyes to gather yourself, you open his door and see the soft curls of the boy you’ve been longing for, sat at his desk. His headphones sit on his ears as he continues to type away, probably answering emails for brand deals and whatnot. His eyes meet yours as he takes notice to his door being open, and once again you see a look of surprise.

He quickly removes the headphones, and checks his phone to see if he missed any calls or texts from you. When he sees no new notifications he places it back down.

“What’s wrong baby?” His voice is soft and calm, because he could already tell, just by the way you walked in, you were slowly breaking down. “Come here.” He reaches his hand out for yours and pulls you down into his lap as soon as you grab onto it.

You’re silent, not sure where to start, so you blankly stare into his eyes. Eyes that stare back at you with a look of worry and concern.

“I-um.” You clear your throat, trying to vacate the emotions bubbling in your chest. Tears threatening to spill over your waterline as you look at your boyfriend’s sweet face.

“Hey, take your time angel. I’m not going anywhere.” Matt’s thumb moves to swipe along your cheek, his worry only growing more at the stress his girlfriend is clearly under.

He knew she was overwhelmed by everything going on in her life right now. Her new job, in the middle of her last year of college, being away from her friends and family. “You wanna just sit here while I finish these few emails? Then we can lay in bed and talk.”

“That sounds nice.” You answer in a small voice, smiling gratefully at the sweetheart that is your boyfriend.

After the last email is answered, Matt stands with you still in his arms and carries to you his bed.

“I’ll be right back.” He quickly kisses your lips, and turns to exit his bedroom, leaving you to your racing thoughts.

And it felt like hours. It was only 10 minutes.

When he finally makes his return, he’s carrying a cup of something steaming and a bowl of ice cream, that looks like it could rival mount everest.

“One cup of hot chocolate for my sweetheart.” He states as he hands you a baby pink mug adorned with tiny white daisies. “Sorry it took so long. I had to fight Nick for the ice cream.”

“I can see who won. Did you even leave any for him?” You softly laugh and see a smile creep its way onto Matt’s face. An unexplainable amount of happiness fluttering in his chest at the sound of your giggles.

“Moving on.” He quickly places his bowl of ice cream down, before climbing into bed beside you. Wasting no time on wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to rest flush against his side. “Wanna watch Tangled?”

“Yes please!” You reply and take a sip of the hot chocolate, all of your worries starting to melt away.

Matt looks down as you let out a long sigh, not sure if you were okay or not. It was a sigh of contentment though, because it didn’t matter how horribly your day could have gone, Matt knew exactly what you needed. Always.

“Hey. I love you sweetheart.” He whispers quietly and places a kiss to your hairline, as he watches your eyes slightly squeeze shut.

“I love you too.”

Your body melts into his side as the sounds of Tangled begin to play, and soon your mind just shuts off completely. All thanks to the wonderful human that you get to call yours.

[moumouton4]

Fantasy || Shikamaru Nara x reader

A/n : Prompt 6 of the Smutember 2023 ( 9th day of consecutive days of heatwave in France with 35°C so 95°F, it will continue until next Tuesday. I would like some ice cream. It's supposed to be under 25°C so 77°F )

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : No mention of gender for reader, exhibitionism, "wall" sex but you'll understand after, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 826

You knew Shikamaru always had a thing for nature. He always preferred to train in the middle of a forest or a field rather than on a piece of land. And he LOVES napping away from the hustles and bustles of the village. The sounds of nature are so exquisite, the birds singing, the wind rustling the leaves or the crickets calling... well maybe not as exquisite as your moans but 🙂 yeah they're good in their own way.

That’s therefore in all normality that you didn’t have any second thoughts when he asked you if you wanted to join him for a little stroll in the forest. Since the day was pretty hot you thought it was a good idea. It would allow you both to enjoy the cool breeze circulating between the green leaves of the trees, protected by their shades. Though it seemed Shikamaru had other plans. For once he was going to be the one being a drag 😂

You let him as you navigate through the trees. The air was much more breathable here. You noticed, however, that he wasn't taking the same route as usual. You didn't point it out to him and continued chatting as you jumped. But then suddenly he stopped on a branch. Surprisingly he started to look around as if he was trying to make sure no one was around and when he knew the way was clear he turned to you “You know it’s been some time I’ve been thinking about something” you nodded as he spoke “You could call that a little fantasy, if you want to name it”

As he spoke he walked toward you, slowly backing you against the tree trunk. Without even you knowing, your boyfriend - who often was a slow-motion kinda guy - swiftly pinned you against the wood. His lips hovered over your ear as he spoke in a husky voice “What if we did it here ?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as your brain processed the information. He wanted to let you choose to join him in this adventurous moment, though his eagerness pushed him to slowly nibble on your neck. Your hand cradled the back of his head as if wanting to bring him closer “You know that you're currently the one being a drag” As you said that you felt his lips curve into a smirk against your neck.

“Does that mean “yes” ?” though he already knew you were going to be up for it ( Imagine Shikamaru just knowing as if it was a fact that you’re horny ) but just in case he teasingly grounded his growing bulge against you. He just knew how to make you weak and get what he wants. With a breathless answer coming from you, he hurried to pull down his pants and position himself in front of your entrance "Don't make any noise okay. We don't want to get caught out here"

“Don’t get too cocky now mist- mpff ah” you moaned. That little bastard plunged himself to the brim in one go.

“Mmh ? What did you say ?” he purred, his teeth grazing against the tender flesh.

“Hey it’s your fault for entering all the way like this”

“Then why are you so wet ?” he said as he started with slow thrusts inside your warmth.

“You’re insufferable” you managed to speak as his cock started to move faster inside you.

“You love it” he groaned slamming harder against you “All - of - it” he punctuated his words with deep thrusts, making your hand tighten their grips against his arms.

As he fucked you, you couldn’t help but look down at some moment just to see if you two were really alone. The branches of the trees were large enough to support both of your weight during your love making. Shiikamaru kept surprising you when he pulled out and switched both of your positions on the branch. He sat with his back against the tree trunk and patted his lap. You didn’t lose time to come and sink on his awaiting and throbbing member.

This one encounter wasn't even finished when your brain already came up with a plethora of other scenarios. You just knew this wasn't going to only be one time. You knew that he was going to try and take you to other places. Maybe in the middle of a field on a soft blanket, surely when night falls on the fresh green grass in a public park.

And you weren’t so far from the truth because the next place he brought you to was a little stream hidden in the forest, far away from where people come and train. It has plenty of depth to get fucked in his arms without him having to make any physical effort. And some smooth rocks that can, let’s be true, make a great place for a good and nice fucking.

[childotkw]

Oh oh! How would Tom handle a time traveling Harry who does not go to Hogwarts but instead lives in the Forbidden Forest?

Like Tom, to stay fit or something, regularly works out every morning since he was seven. (Maybe in a misguided attempt to be adopted if he was physically appealing) and saw Harry fishing at the lake right by the forest while on his daily run.

He looks eleven, too, but Tom can't remember him from the sorting. The camper waved at him and hurried back into the forest before Tom could get too close, yanking his giant set up tent into a backpack that could not have been possible without magic.

For years, Tom asks about the boy in the woods, but no one believes him because no one has seen this boy, least of all in the Forbidden Forest of all places. Tom decides to prove his real and gets distracted from his bloodline.

Meanwhile, Harry is happy being a Forbidden Forest Hermit.

cryptid!Harry lurking in the woods and becoming an urban legend that only Tom has ever actually seen? Hilarious!

Now, the important thing to understand is that Harry never meant to end up in the Forbidden Forest. It wasn’t on his to-do list.

(Not that Harry’s to-do lists were ever that well thought out, more momentous tasks distilled down into: ‘stop voldemort???’ or ‘figure out why Death is such a bitch’. But hey - at least he has a to-do list. That’s better than most people he’s met.)

Regardless.

Waking up as a tiny, underfed eleven year old in the middle of the fucking Forbidden Forest the year Tom Riddle was set to arrive at Hogwarts? Not explicitly in his plans but Harry can adapt. Harry excels at adapting to whatever bullshit situation he’s thrown into. Death thinks this little temporal hiccup will stop Harry from separating them completely and reversing the MoD stuff? ha. Fat chance.

Harry had always nursed childish fantasies of running away from the Dursleys and living in the wildness, and he’s got a year living on the run in a tent under his belt. He knows how to survive.

(He’s always known how to survive. Some days, it’s the only thing Harry thinks he can do anymore. Survive survive survive - he’s doing it so well nothing would ever kill him again)

So, setting up in the Forbidden Forest is nothing. It’s safe to live in (if you know where to go and what to avoid), and it’s protected (thanks to it’s horrific reputation), and there’s plenty of food (so long as you ask the plants before plucking their fruits and only go after non-sapients - which, honestly, is just an awful term, Harry hates it, humanity was a mistake).

Does he mean to let a baby!Tom Riddle spot him on the boy’s morning run one day? Well…’no’ sounds like a lie but it’s not the truth either. Harry was curious, okay? He’s allowed to be curious about the kid who will grow up to ruin so many lives. He’s allowed to mess with Riddle a little after all the shit he put Harry through.

It’s karma.

But. See. Harry’s not a planner (note: his to-do lists). Harry doesn’t think years and decades in advance. It’s just not how his brain works.

How was he supposed to know that the handful of times he dangled his presence in front of Tom Riddle would kick-off a small obsession in the boy?

How was he to know that Tom Riddle, tenacious bastard that he was, would take Harry’s existence as a taunt?

How was he to know that Tom Riddle would spend hours and hours thinking about him, and that the one time Harry actually got close enough for a conversation - they were both fifteen, by the way, and maybe he wanted to see if he could curb the imminent patricide, sue him - that it would ignite that small obsession into a wildfire that would burn them both?

It’s hardly Harry’s fault. He can’t be blamed. He’s the victim here!

[esamastation]

Part forty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty

-

"... So there's Natural Materia that grows and evolves and eventually spawns an offspring of exactly identical Materia that can then make the exact same journey - and then there's Artificial Materia that… doesn't?"

"You're really asking the wrong person - Genesis is the expert," Angeal sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "But yeah, that's basically it? Artificial Materia can still level up a bit, but it doesn't evolve or make a copy of itself."

Sephiroth nods, fascinated. "So Natural Materia basically does mitosis?"

"I… don't know what that is?" Angeal says, sounding lost.

They're walking through the forest, in between random encounters - following a wide old footpath towards the charcoal burner's house. The path has the signs of wheeled traffic where the dirt has really been compacted, but it was a while ago, and grasses have started taking real estate on the path. Still, it makes for easier walking than the wild, untamed forest.

"It's when something - a cell - splits into two identical copies," Sephiroth explains.

"Ah, then no, that's not exactly it - the offspring Materia is unleveled and undeveloped. It has to be matured anew," Angeal clarifies.

"Still. Eventually the offspring Materia becomes identical to the parent. It's asexual reproduction, at least," Sephiroth muses, fascinated by how organic it all sounds. Like Materia is actually a breed of organism doing what all living things do - eat and reproduce. And artificial versions are basically infertile! "I bet Artificial Materia still needs to be somehow seeded by the natural sort."

Angeal shrugs, helpless. "You'd really have better luck asking Genesis. Maybe you should send him a message, asking about it."

"Maybe I will," Sephiroth says, determined, and then looks up. "Heads up - bugs."

One random encounter later, they're back to walking.

"You know, you could actually just try using your Materia," Angeal comments. "Might give you some insight on how it works. Or do you not remember how?"

Sephiroth waves a hand. "You just push energy through the thing, it's not that hard."

"Then why not do it?"

Because MP is Qi, kinda, and using Materia basically burns it away. Or, well, transforms it. Part of it goes into the Materia being used, aiding its maturation, and the rest of it is transformed into whatever spell the Materia is for. It's very easy to use and very powerful and incredibly energy inefficient. And since Sephiroth still isn't sure whether he wants to take in ambient energy in the way of the locals, he isn't sure his MP actually replenishes? And sure, he could take an Ether, a potion that replenishes MP - but that's basically like drinking raw Qi, and the very idea is a bit alarming.

There's just a scary level of energy transference going on in this place, and his core is unstable enough!

Also Sephiroth would rather figure out how to consume the Materia itself, like you'd consume spirit stones - except he really doesn't need any extra Qi at this point.

"Maybe later," Sephiroth says and looks ahead for a distraction. "Oh, hey, is that the house?"

Angeal gives him a look, amused, but lets it go and looks ahead too.

The charcoal burner's house is built near to the side of a mountain wall, with three enormous charcoal kilns half carved into the stone of the mountain. The house is more of a homestead, with a large area cleared and fenced, with the house itself in the middle, a couple of storage huts, a stall, and a big shelter for wood.

It's a bit rundown, though. One of the storage houses has its rooftop caved in, and there's long grass growing everywhere. The charcoal kilns look not just cold, but like something had been nesting in one of them.

"That's strange," Angeal murmurs warily, looking around. "It… doesn't look like anyone's been living here for a good long while."

"Hmm," Sephiroth hums, crouching down to examine a footprint in the dirt. It's fresh. "Someone has been here very recently, though." Someone in modern footwear - with treaded soles. Not that he knows what kind of footwear the people of Wutai favour, but, still…

Angeal looks at the footprint and hums. "Be on your guard. There's something weird going on in here."

Cautious, they examine the place and find no signs of any monster attacks. What they do find is more footprints, all by the same set of shoes, going strong in the place and by all appearances checking out the buildings.

"Looking for something, maybe?" Angeal murmurs as they consider the footprints.

"Hmm. I don't see any signs of monsters," Sephiroth comments. "Didn't the mission files say the place was already attacked? Maybe we're in the wrong place."

"Maybe…"

While Angeal checks their mission files and coordinates to confirm they're actually in the right house, Sephiroth tries to figure out why it was abandoned in the first place. It wasn't sudden, that he can tell - whoever lived here had the time to pack up. Everything that's left was put away very neatly, too.

"Well, this is the right place," Angeal says, following him inside. "Either they got the coordinates wrong - or the intelligence."

"I guess it could be a trap," Sephiroth muses, poking around the charcoal burner's old office in search of any paperwork. "If this is really where an informant once lived, maybe that informant turned into a double agent and set a trap."

"You really think so?" Angeal asks, sounding more interested than alarmed.

"Not really," Sephiroth shrugs and picks up a crumpled piece of paper, someone's attempt at a letter that had gotten ruined by an ink smear. Gently he spreads it out on the office table to read. "Or else it's a terrible trap…"

The letter is addressed to someone's uncle, informing them of the charcoal burner's good fortune. Apparently their family had been invited by the emperor to live and work in the capital. Lucky guy.

"Maybe we should prepare for an ambush, just in case," Angeal comments thoughtfully, adjusting his gloves. "What do you think?"

"I think they would've revealed themselves already, if it was the case," Sephiroth says. "And this is a terrible place for an ambush anyway. It's far too open."

"Well, good thing it's not an ambush!" a voice calls from the outside before Angeal can answer.

"... Sounds like something an ambusher would say," Angeal mutters, clearly recognizing the voice, and Sephiroth chuckles.

Reno waits for them outside, lazily scratching at a bug bite on his arm. "Congratulations, you have been summarily recruited for a secret Turk mission," he says and motions around them. "Your station."

"Turk mission?" Angeal repeats. "It was you who sent out that mission file?"

"Yep," Reno agrees, shrugging unrepentantly.

Sephiroth watches him warily. He'd not interacted with Reno or Rude much, Angeal had kinda covered for him there. He'd not entirely sure why the Turks followed them to Wutai. Maybe this is it.

Maybe this is as far as he gets, before having to commit, one way or the other.

Sephiroth braces himself. "What's the mission?"

Reno grins and points a finger at him. "Your mission, starting right now, is to stay here," he says, "And get your shit together."

-

Man I've missed ff7 world so much. The whole magic system from Lifestream to Materia to summoning world ending Meteors from the sky is just 😗👌

I'm playing og ff7 while writing and none of the sequelsprequelsremakes come even close to comparing with how delicious Materia in the original game is.

[thatharringrovehoe]

I love 'stuck in a time loop' fics where the characters slowly fall in love with each other. But right now I'm thinking of Steve rushing downstairs wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and his left sock while someone pounds on his front door in the middle of the night. When he opens it, there stands none other than Billy Hargrove, sweaty and exhausted.

And carrying an axe.

Steve tries to close the door but Billy's already jammed his boot up against it, holding it open. Billy's voice is a croak in the otherwise eerily silent night.

"The first pet you ever had was a cat named Sampson. You found him in the alley behind Melvald's and hid him in your room for six weeks before your mom found out and gave him away while you were at school. You were eight."

Steve is sure there's smoke billowing out of his ears from how hard the gears are turning in his brain. But try as he might, he has absolutely zero fucking clue what to do with this information. Somewhere in the house an antique clock strikes midnight.

Billy flinches, grip creaking around the axe propped up on his shoulder.

Steve chooses his next words very carefully.

"While I'm really glad you and Tommy are swapping childhood stories about me, it's getting late-"

"-And you have a shift in the morning. Yeah. I know. I also know that in the past one hundred and fifteen days you've never once even made it till morning. So I'm here to keep you from becoming monster chow and then maybe my fucking life can go back to normal"

Billy's shouting by the end. Steve's heart thunders in his chest.

you've never once even made it till morning

monster chow

The image of a demon falling out of the Byer's ceiling in a cloud of plaster and rot bubbles up with a growing panic. Billy's tapping his fingers anxiously around the handle of his axe, eyes darting to the side every now and again like he expects something to be there. Steve swallows down a hysterical laugh with the thought that the best case scenario right now is Hargrove took some type of hallucinogenic drug and drove to Steve's house in the middle of the night with a weapon.

The worst case scenario...

An owl hoots in the darkness and Steve feels like he might vomit with the surge of adrenaline. A stray breeze rustles the branches of the forest around them.

What if it's a prank?

God please let it be a prank

"All my friends knew about Sampson. Hell, the lunch lady knew about him."

Billy's jaw tics. "Look, I'm trying to keep us both alive so would you just shut up and let me in? The last place I wanna die is bumfuck Indiana."

He moves to shoulder past but Steve doesn't let him through. From this close Steve could count all the freckles on Billy's nose, air tense as a piano wire. Billy stares back, gaze wild.

Desperate

And one hundred days is a long time to get to know a person.

"I'll let you in. But-!" Steve's hand shoots up to press back against Billy's chest as he attempts to shove past him. His heart beats like a hummingbird under Steve's palm. "You have to make me believe you."

Billy breathes a harsh sigh through his nose, leveling a glare at Steve. The axe thankfully does not lodge itself into any part of Steve's person. For now.

"What do you want from me Steve?"

A coyote howls in the distance. Guttural and wrong. Chills erupt down Steve's spine.

"Tell me something I've never told anyone. Something only I would know."

An expression Steve can't parse flashes across Billy's face. Whatever it is it looks painful. Sad, but not for himself. There's more rustling out in the woods. This time without a breeze.

"You're adopted"

It's like a punch to the sternum.

Steve lets him in.

.