#restless review notes

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. “Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. “I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”

[ozzgin]

OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.” 

[verinarin]

First time requesting 😭 but anw sleepy cuddles with veritas? not yet officially an item but reader is always very very very clingy to him whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it ridiculously endearing and realizes he has a thing for them a lot against all odds

this!!, since we all know Veritas has an interesting way to show how he cares about others (lovingly criticise them), he definitely is the type to show that he cares rather than just blatantly say it

fluff | Veritas’ sleepy TA that keeps sleeping on the job; he doesn’t mind the occasional rest though-

You have always been the type of person who likes to do practically everything on the floor or lying down, even though Veritas has given you your desk in his vast office you can’t help but end up scattering the countless mathematical questions and formulas on the floor

You’re his current and only TA, he entrusted you to help him grade his students and sometimes cover for him if he’s needed elsewhere so it is no secret to anyone that your daily activities mostly consist of working in his office, today was no different

Even though Veritas is currently needed to delegate for the IPC, his job as a scholar can’t be postponed, so here are you late at night preparing the materials for tomorrow in case he asks you to cover for him again, his students don’t mind his absence anyways, they even rejoice every time you’re covering for him

Feeling restless on the floor you decide to close your eyes, perhaps taking a simple power nap before resuming your work would energise you, so you simply lay on the floor with papers scattered around you, using your arms as a makeshift pillow, forgetting the fact that you hadn’t set your 30 minutes alarm-

Hours pass by as you sleep blissfully unaware that you have just arrived back at his office, his face paints a picture of a distraught expression. His faithful assistant sleeping soundlessly on the floor, he took mental notes to put carpet on the floor tomorrow so you could comfortably work in the position you like the most

He simply sighed as he sat down beside you, carefully lifting your head and placing it on his thigh, his eyes scanned the papers around you, seemingly impressed by your preparation. He took multiple papers and carefully reviewed them, while doing so he can’t help but play with your hair, it seems that you have overworked yourself since you aren’t aware of your current position

After approximately 45 minutes you slowly regain your consciousness, the first thing you feel his fingers running through your hair, you flutter your eyes open to reveal Veritas idly reading the materials you prepared, “Oh someone decides to wake up,” he scoffs

You quickly straighten your body feeling rather embarrassed at the position you are in, “How long did I fall asleep on your lap ?” you ask, your hand holding the back of your neck as you meekly smile

“Approximately 45 minutes, I’m the one who situated your head on my lap. Hope you’re not uncomfortable by my gesture,” he replies, putting your papers back on the floor as his eyes turn towards you

“Of course not it’s just embarrassing,” you laugh, suddenly you feel his hand grasping your wrist, pulling you in. Your head lands straight to his chest, while his other hand swiftly lift you to his lap via your waist, “You can continue to rest, while I review your work,” he candidly replies

Your face turns into an indescribable hue of red, he finds this to be endearing. You may not realise it but you have this tendency to accidentally fall asleep against him while waiting for his assessment of your work, you like to mumble things like how warm he is or how comfortable he is.

He deems this as you being half asleep and lacking the comprehension to know what’s real and what’s not, so he never bothered to tell you this. He likes to act dumb when you wake up in a daze, not knowing you were cuddling his arm earlier, “Is something the matter ? speak if there is something on your mind,”

You can’t help but stumble upon your words not knowing what to say, “You overstimulated that brain of yours, best for you to rest and to stop wasting my time by uttering inaudible words,” he scoffs as he pats your head, his eyes still trained on your work

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Eros: Chapter Seven

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Nothing Explicit, Nudity, Language.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.1k

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The grand throne room of the Dreaming is shrouded in an atmosphere of unease. The usually calm and composed Morpheus sits on his intricately carved throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the marble in aggravation. His queen has vanished without a trace, and an uncharacteristic worry clouds his thoughts.

Lucienne, the loyal librarian, stands nearby, her face reflecting the same concern, and Matthew perches on the armrest of Morpheus’s throne, his dark eyes flickering with anxiety.

“My lord, it has been two days,” Lucienne begins softly, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “We have searched every corner of the Dreaming. There is no sign of her.”

Morpheus’ usually serene blue eyes are stormy with frustration and fear. “She cannot simply have disappeared, Lucienne. We are bound together. There must be something we are missing.”

Matthew ruffles his feathers, shifting uneasily. “Boss, you don’t think it’s some kind of magic, do you? Someone messing with the Dreaming? Or worse, with her?”

Morpheus’ gaze hardens, and he looks down at Matthew, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought. “If she has been taken by magic, then the perpetrator will know the full extent of my wrath. But we must consider every possibility.”

Lucienne nods, stepping closer. “Perhaps we should review her last known whereabouts. Was there anything unusual in her behavior recently? Any disturbances in the Dreaming that could have indicated a threat?”

Morpheus’ mind races through the events of the past days. He has been preoccupied with the duties of the Dreaming, but nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. “She mentioned feeling restless,” he admits. “She often spoke of her desire to walk in the Waking World.”

Matthew tilts his head. “Actually, boss, there was something. Just before she disappeared, she went to check out the Ocean of Dreams. There was a storm, and she thought something was wrong. She dove in to investigate.”

Morpheus’s eyes widen, a mix of fear and anger flashing across his face. “Why was I not informed of this sooner, Matthew?”

The raven flinches slightly, his feathers ruffling. “I’m sorry, boss. She told me to go get Lucienne, and by the time I got back, she was already gone and never came back up. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary at the ocean after she disappeared.”

Lucienne looks thoughtful. “The Ocean of Dreams is a powerful and ancient part of your realm, my lord. If she went into it and encountered something unexpected...”

Morpheus stands abruptly, his robe billowing around him like a storm cloud. “Then she may be trapped within its depths or worse. I must go there myself.”

Lucienne nods. “I will continue searching the archives for any records of disturbances in the Ocean of Dreams. There may be something we’ve overlooked.”

Morpheus turns to Matthew. “You will gather the ravens. I want them scouring the Dreaming and the Waking World for any sign of her. Leave no stone unturned.”

Matthew nods, taking off to carry out his task. Lucienne bows and quickly departs for the library, her mind already racing through the possible texts she will need to consult. Left alone in the vast throne room, Morpheus lets out a slow breath. His connection with his queen, so strong and vibrant, is eerily silent. He cannot sense her anywhere, and that absence gnaws at him.

As he strides out of the throne room, determination etched into his features, he reaches out with his senses, feeling the vast expanse of the Dreaming. He will dive into the Ocean of Dreams himself if necessary. The thought of her being trapped, alone, fills him with a fear he rarely acknowledges.

With every step, he resolves to uncover the mystery of her disappearance, to bring her back to his side where she belongs. He will not rest until his queen is safe once more. Morpheus arrives at the shores of the Ocean of Dreams, the usually tranquil waters now churning with an undercurrent of unease. He stands at the edge, his eyes scanning the horizon, feeling the pull of the ocean's ancient magic. He will find her, no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, he wades into the water, letting its cold embrace wash over him. As he dives deeper, the currents grow stronger and more aggressive, mirroring the turmoil in his heart. He reaches out with his mind, seeking any trace of her presence, any clue that could lead him to her.

The depths of the Ocean of Dreams are vast and mysterious, but Morpheus is relentless. He will search every corner, face every danger, to bring his queen back. His love for her is deeper and more powerful than any magic, and he will not rest until she is safely in his arms once more.

Morpheus paces the floor of your shared chambers, the ethereal light casting long shadows across the room. His normally composed demeanor is shattered by the torment of not knowing where you are. He has scoured the Dreaming, reached into every nook and cranny of his realm, and found nothing. Even the Ocean of Dreams has turned up nothing! His thoughts race as he considers who could have caused your disappearance. His anger simmers beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

His mind is a whirlwind of possibilities, but none seem plausible. You are powerful, and the protections around the Dreaming are impenetrable. It would take formidable magic to whisk you away without a trace. He stops his pacing and runs a hand through his dark hair, his thoughts briefly interrupted by a flicker of a memory—your wedding, the joy in your eyes, the warmth of your touch. He had asked you whatever you wished for, he would give you… you had told him that all you wished for, was him, and he had only fallen deeper in love with you.

He is about to turn to make another round of the room when a shimmering light appears, and you are suddenly standing in your shared bedchambers. You are naked as the day you were born with wide round eyes and shock plastered across your features. Morpheus should have been staring at the state you are in—love marks covering your body and evidence of lovemaking thoroughly coating your thighs—but memories flood his mind like a rampant tidal wave.

You wake with your face buried in a pillow smelling of marjoram and flowers. Feeling like your entire body is one big ache, you struggle to roll over onto your back and blow the hair out of your face. You blink a few times, making sure that you do, in fact, still have legs, before trying to roll to the edge of the bed. Son of a—

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself, feeling embarrassed that you are this sore from copious sex alone. Oneiros certainly has a healthy appetite for the indulgences of the flesh. You wouldn’t complain though, you haven’t seen that catastrophic glower of sadness and devastation upon his face in days. Job well done, you suppose. But you really need a bath... you glance down at your thighs and cringe. Your combined releases are smeared all over your discolored thighs, and when you stand up, you all but moan out loud when you feel it dripping from you.

“Bath, definitely need a bath,” you grimace, nearly waddling forward on what feels like newborn legs. Mustering up the strength, you take careful steps, teetering around on sore muscles. But as you make it to the center of the room, a flash of electricity runs along your skin, and your vision goes black. Floundering for a few seconds, you force yourself to remain calm until your vision returns moments later… but you are certainly not in the same place as you were a second ago.

Blinking away black dots, your eyes go round the moment you spot Morpheus standing not far from you, frozen where he stands. He looks disheveled and ill, paler than you have ever seen him. A few seconds go by and he still hasn’t moved.

“Morpheus?” you question in a small voice, your voice cracking a little from soreness and the shock of the sudden change in surroundings. Morpheus remains still, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and relief. He had thought he would never see you again, feared the worst had befallen you. The sight of you standing before him, albeit disheveled and confused, is like a caress to his tortured soul.

How many weeks has he spent looking for you after you disappeared from his bed into thin air? Endless. It was impossible to understand your sudden disappearance from Athens. He had wallowed in misery and despair, the absence of your presence weighing heavily on his heart until he ultimately moved on.

“αστέρι μου,” his voice is raw with emotion, his usual composure shattered in the wake of your sudden return. Your brain connects what is going on in his head. He is remembering you. His gaze drops to your body, and you shift as a flush crawls up your neck.

“In my defense, you seduced me first,” you softly mutter, not seeing the raging jealousy flashing through silver-blue eyes. You think, perhaps, that he would be angry at you for having sex with his past self, and he would certainly have every right to be so… but that is not what is running through his mind. All Morpheus can think about is how Oneiros has indulged in your body and repeatedly filled you with his seed. Jealousy rears its ugly head all the while the Endless can’t help but feel an intense lust for you. He wants to reclaim you from Oneiros. Right. Now.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Morpheus takes a step closer to you, his eyes darkening with desire and possessiveness. Then, in an instant, he is on you. His lips crash against yours in aggressive possession as a hand buries itself into your mussed hair. You can feel the intensity of his need in the way he kisses you, a mix of hunger and desperation that sends shivers down your spine.

You instinctively grab onto his shoulders, not quite expecting this aggressive onslaught but also not wanting to fight it. His kiss is raw, unfettered, a testament to the depth of his feelings. As your minds meld once more, you can feel the mixture of relief, desire, and possessiveness radiating from him in waves.

His hands move from your hair to your waist, pulling you closer. The hard lines of his muscular body press against you, reminding you of the intense passion the two of you have shared. The desperation in his kiss becomes more apparent and your own desire stirs within you. The realization dawns on you that he is trying to reclaim you from Oneiros. The clothes have to go.

“Clothes,” you barely manage to eke out between tongue-tying kisses that leave you feeling drunk. His lips never leave yours as Morpheus dissolves his clothing from his body and pulls you against his naked flesh. As he envelops your body in his strong embrace, your skin tingles with the sensation of his warm, bare skin against yours. His touch is electric, a mixture of tenderness and urgency that brings forth a whirlwind of emotions.

His hands roam over your curves, tracing every line, every contour, sending a storm of desire coursing through your veins. Each touch, each kiss, is a claim, a valid reaffirmation that you belong to him. The memory of Oneiros fades into oblivion as Morpheus' deep, silken voice whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"You are mine, and only mine," he growls, his eyes burning with possession and an intense desire to make you his own once again. It is a claim that reverberates through your very soul, leaving you breathless and completely under his control.

“For as long as you shall want me,” you return, raising your hands to cup his face. His eyes flare with intensity, fueled by the raw desire that courses through his body. He knows that his claim to you is unmistakable, yet he can't help but feel the reassurance in your words. “But I do have to ask…”

Morpheus’s eyes glow as he waits for you to air your question.

“Are you jealous?” You watch as his expression twists with a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and, yes, jealousy. It is an emotion he has kept well-hidden, but seeing it now, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

"You think I would be jealous?" he scoffs, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Beloved, if you are still able to use your legs come the morrow, I am not jealous.”

Well, shit.

Date Published: 6/12/24

Last Edit: 6/11/24

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[dianneking]

The Affair - Chapter 1 (Larissa/Reader)

Hiya! As part of my weekly writing challenge, I wrote this chapter over two writing sessions, and I chose not to wait for the fic to be finished before posting. It'll probably be a couple of chapters all together.

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature

Tags: Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Infidelity, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader.

Link to AO3 in the title

Next Chapter >

The Affair - Chapter 1

Waiting in the snow for a married woman , you thought, moodily pulling your scarf up to cover your freezing nose as yet another car passed, how the fuck did my life come to this?

You had never been one for thrills in life. If anything, you had been pretty boring: you’d always liked English class at school, always got straight As, never stepped a foot out of line. You never felt the need to, nor the appeal of being rebellious. You’d gone on to get a bachelor’s degree and teacher’s certification, and then you’d gone on to teach English in a string of small town schools.

There was only one aspect out of the ordinary in your life up until now; you could never settle down in one place.. You felt a restlessness, a pull towards something you still hadn’t found, and after a couple of years in a place, it inevitably built up until it was too strong to resist. And so you packed your bags, applied for a job somewhere else, and started anew. 

You didn’t think Jericho would be much different. Small town, 5 thousand inhabitants, only spots of interest a tacky historical reconstruction site and a school full of outcasts. The same one you had applied to. Nothing much to offer. You’d give it a year or two at most. 

You didn’t really care about the fact that you were teaching outcasts. They might drink blood or howl at the moon or whatever in their spare time, but they were teenagers that had to learn to write a proper essay just like anyone else. You prided yourself in your work ethic and told that to the board when they interviewed you. Apparently they appreciated that. Or there was nobody else who had applied. There had been some accidents during the last school year, apparently. The board had repeated several times that it had been a one-off and it had been taken care of definitively.They had all seemed very defensive about the topic. 

Once again, you shrugged it off. You had no time to waste on rumors and things of the past. The school had its quirks, sure, but all schools had, each in their own way. You settled in your quarters on the school grounds, and started reviewing your lesson plans taking into account the notes left by the previous teacher. You settled in for your usual routine of lessons, tests, marking that you were familiar with by now. 

And then she barged into your life, throwing routine and predictability to the wind. 

Even with your aversion to gossip, you’d heard about her. Larissa Weems, the best principal Nevermore had ever had, mysteriously injured in the line of work, supposedly trying to protect the school, and hospitalized for months after that. When talking about her, voices dropped to a whisper out of respect - or fear, you hadn’t been able to ascertain that. 

The day she had come back, you’d have thought royalty was about to visit the school, with the amount of fretting, of preparations, of nervous energy filling the halls and rooms. You’d had to let your classes work on assignments because they had been unable to listen to one word of what you were explaining. You had rolled your eyes in the privacy of your room. Seriously, you’d seen plenty of disruptive principals in your years of teaching, but one who could be so distracting even before she had set foot back in school? That was a first. 

You felt obliged to show up as well to the welcoming committee. The whole staff was there, as well as the student body. Some had even prepared signs, and there was a white banner draped along the balcony on which was written, in red paint, a very wonky Welcome back Princ. Weems . 

It was cute that she was so beloved by her school, you thought, but you were also thinking of how to recover the day of missed lessons, and how to optimize the next days’ so as to go back on track. You tried not to be too miffed about it. 

All of the thoughts of lesson plans and all of the lingering irritation at them being disrupted fled your brain at the sight of the first foot stepping out of the car. Shiny, varnished black shoes, showing off a milky ankle, and a shapely calf that look longer than any you’d seen (not that you made a point of looking at women’s legs all the time, but sometimes your eyes did wander…)

The skin on show was sadly cut off below the knee by the modest hemline of a woolen dress and it was at that point that Nevermore’s principal exited the car in all of her towering beauty, and your mind went completely blank, cause in all of their gossip everyone in Nevermore had forgotten to mention a small, key detail about the principal.

She was stunning. 

The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen was standing before you, waving and smiling regally, as the whole school cheered. You almost didn’t notice all the jubilant ruckus, your eyes too busy raking all over her figure, as if trying to commit every single detail to memory. Her slender, elegant hands, wrapped in leather gloves. The perfectly-tailored coat, in the same fabric and color as the dress. The sparkle of her gold jewelry in the pale winter sun. The perfect proportion of her face, the way the bright red lipstick brought attention to her smile.

Her light eyes were roaming all over the crowd, as if taking stock of known faces and new entries. Finally her gaze fixed on you, and you could see a spark of amusement flicker on her face at seeing you.

You belatedly realized that you had been gaping at her like a fish out of water.

The day after you had still been beating yourself up about the humiliation at being caught slack-jawed staring at your boss when she visited you in your classroom after you were done with the day’s lessons.

She rapped against the doorframe, but strode in before you could say anything. You scrambled to your feet, awkwardly, while she covered the distance from the door to your desk in a couple of long steps. She was wearing another dress today, a tartan dress with a belt that cinched her waist, underlying the shape of her hips and chest while still being completely work-appropriate.  

“So you’re the new teacher they have hired to replace poor Collins.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “I’m Larissa Weems. Usually, I have the final word on new hires. The board does a wonderful job but sometimes they lack a certain sort of practicality in their assessment of candidates, as it happened with the last hire. I wasn’t convinced by her spiel, but the board insisted and…well. I should have trusted my gut instinct.” Her eyes grew distant for a second, before focusing back on you with a hard gaze. You could see the speckles of lighter and darker blue mixing in her irises, and the perfectly applied make-up that highlighted their natural beauty.  You tried to shake yourself out of her charm. She could be trying to fire you, and you were busy ogling her! That’s not the kind of person you were! You cleared your voice, trying to think up something to say to help your case.

“I…”

“I know you have been hired already, and I am sure you are a perfect fit for the role. I’d just like to have a little chat together, nothing too formal, just getting to know each other a little bit better.” She smiled as she said that, and while you were sure it was supposed to be a polite smile, you couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine at that. 

She looks like a predator closing in on prey , your mind unhelpfully suggested. 

You swallowed, suddenly conscious of your sweaty palms and increasing heart rate. 

“O-of course, ma'am." was all you could meekily say. 

"Perfect." she purred. "Meet me at seven sharp at the Lilac Lounge. I'll have a private booth reserved."

To be continued...

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[chheolie]

ready get set go get it go ♪ (part 2) first part here

on the second meeting with seokmin, the nervousness didn’t seem to have diminished. you thought that maybe, after seeing him for the first time and feeling the good energy he radiated, the anxiety would fade. but it didn’t. as you waited in the rehearsal room, your mind buzzed with worries: was he overwhelmed? did he really want to be there, or did he feel like it was just another commitment to add to his already packed schedule?

you sighed, staring at the piano in the corner of the room, trying to focus on anything other than the restlessness in your chest. seokmin was already known for having a tight schedule, and you knew that besides rehearsing with you, he still had to juggle recordings, training, and preparations for seventeen. deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to be invisible, to not get in his way at all, but you also knew these rehearsals were important.

when the door opened and seokmin walked in, out of breath with a genuine smile on his face, you couldn’t help but smile back. he always seemed so at ease, even when you knew he was probably exhausted. the feeling of inadequacy returned with force.

"sorry for being late, i had a quick meeting with the manager," he said, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder.

"no problem," you responded quickly, trying to hide how nervous you were. "i was just reviewing some notes."

seokmin smiled reassuringly before stepping closer, placing his backpack on the floor, and grabbing a bottle of water. while he got ready to start, you could no longer hold back your thoughts.

"seokmin, i know your schedule is crazy with seventeen. i keep wondering if you really have time for these rehearsals." the insecurity spilled into your voice, something you had been trying to hide since the first meeting.

he paused, twisting the bottle cap in silence for a few seconds before looking directly at you.

"y/n, i want to be here. really. these rehearsals are important to me too, and i'm not splitting my time for no reason. besides, working with you is great. believe me."

you blinked a few times, absorbing his words. he seemed sincere. seokmin’s calm smile and warm eyes always had a way of making you forget your worries, if only for a moment.

"if you need anything, just tell me, okay? let's give it our best, no rush," he added, placing his hand on the piano for support, a spark of encouragement in his gaze.

you smiled, even though there was still a small twinge of uncertainty. seokmin was doing his best to make things flow naturally, and the feeling that everything would turn out fine, even if temporary, began to settle in you.

with each rehearsal, things were starting to flow better between you. the initial nervousness was still there, but it seemed easier to handle over time. seokmin always arrived with that radiant smile, and gradually, you began to feel more comfortable in his presence. the tension between his rehearsals with seventeen and yours still hung in the air, but he never showed signs of fatigue. on the contrary, seokmin always seemed genuinely happy to be there.

that afternoon, after a series of vocal warm-ups and reviewing some harmonies, you took a break. he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing quickly, frowning. you watched him from the corner of your eye, trying not to seem curious, when he let out an enthusiastic sigh, putting the phone back in his pocket.

"something important?" you asked, trying to make conversation.

seokmin smiled, his eyes shining with excitement. "ah, i just got an invitation from some friends. they're putting on a musical tonight."

you nodded, trying to appear indifferent, but the curiosity was there. a musical? of course, he must have a circle of equally talented friends.

"i think... it’ll be fun," he said, looking away for a second. and then, before he could stop himself, he added, "do you want to go with me?"

the invitation lingered in the air for a moment, as if he hadn’t realized he’d just asked the question. there was a hint of surprise in his eyes, and you noticed he probably acted on impulse. and, just as quickly, before you could rationalize the situation or think about the consequences, the words had already escaped your mouth.

"i’d love to."

the silence that followed was brief but loaded with mutual surprise. you both looked at each other with shy smiles, as if processing what had just happened. it wasn’t like you had planned to hang out outside of rehearsals, and the idea of a social outing suddenly felt... different.

"great!" seokmin broke the silence with an excited laugh, slapping his hands on his thighs. "it’s going to be fun. i think you’ll love the cast. they’re amazing."

you smiled, trying not to show the mix of nervousness and excitement now filling your chest. had he noticed how much this invitation had shaken you? the ease with which he’d asked you stood in contrast to your internal reaction, which was a whirlwind of thoughts. now you weren’t just rehearsal partners—everything seemed to have moved up a level, and the closeness that came with that was something you weren’t entirely ready to process in that moment.

the next few minutes passed in a blur. as he talked about the musical and the cast, you could barely focus. part of you wondered, "this is just an invitation between colleagues, right?" but another part—the one that was constantly aware of his every smile, of the way he always tried to make you feel comfortable—suggested there might be something more, something you were just beginning to understand.

when the rehearsal ended, you left the room with your heart racing, clutching your bag tightly. it was just a musical... or was it the start of something more?

after watching the musical, you were filled with emotions. the play had been incredible, and seokmin seemed radiant beside you, smiling and clapping enthusiastically at the end. he turned to you, his eyes shining with excitement. "what did you think? wasn’t it amazing?"

"it was! you were right, they really nailed it!" you replied, feeling energized by his enthusiasm.

after the performance, seokmin suggested you join him backstage to greet his friends in the cast. the idea of being in such an intimate space with people who knew him so well made your stomach churn. as you walked towards the dressing room, he chatted excitedly about the play, but you were lost in your own thoughts, nervous and a little insecure.

upon entering the dressing room, you felt your shyness intensify. seokmin was all smiles, his gentle and affectionate demeanor shining through with everyone, especially the lead actress... she was a striking presence, full of confidence, and the way he interacted with her made you wonder if he would ever feel that comfortable with you. a small pang of insecurity tugged at your heart.

while he chatted excitedly with the others, you tried to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone. you scrolled through random photos and videos, but your mind was far from the screen. the mood in the dressing room was joyful and celebratory, and you felt a little out of place, like an outsider in a world that seemed so familiar to seokmin but so new to you.

"y/n, are you okay?" seokmin finally noticed your distance.

"oh, yeah... my manager just sent me a message, i was replying." you lied.

"any problems?" he asked curiously, and you shook your head with a smile.

he moved closer, with a worried expression. "sorry for not introducing you earlier. come on, let me introduce you." he instinctively grabbed your hand, and your heart seemed to skip a beat.

you forced a smile, feeling a bit guilty for being so caught up in your thoughts. he guided you towards the cast members, who greeted you warmly. "guys, this is y/n. but of course, you must already know her."

“oh, y/n! i can't believe you came to watch us!” said one of the actors, and the energy in the room shifted. you felt a bit more welcomed as they expressed excitement about your work. the lead actress, who had been seokmin’s partner in a previous musical and shared a few staged kisses with him, looked at you with a curious and excited smile. "i never would have guessed you two knew each other."

ridiculously, you felt an uncontrollable need to justify your relationship, as if you had to explain yourself to someone who meant so much to seokmin. “oh, we’re working together on a project,” you explained quickly, feeling a little embarrassed for having to give an explanation.

“our boy seokmin really is an important guy,” one of them said, making seokmin laugh shyly, his eyes nearly closed and his bright teeth fully showing. you couldn’t help but gently touch his back.

“i can’t believe i’m going to sing with someone so famous,” you admitted. seokmin looked at you with admiration.

still, you remained calm and friendly, laughing and interacting as if you were completely at ease, even though the sensation of being in the spotlight made you a bit uneasy. what was supposed to be a simple interaction turned into a curious moment of shared laughs and mutual compliments.

soon, the meeting was coming to an end. seokmin said goodbye to his friends with hugs and laughter, and you felt a mix of joy and sadness. as you both left the dressing room, he asked you, "did you like the play? i think you should watch a few more.”

“definitely! everyone was so talented. do you have any other musicals to recommend?” you asked, trying to keep up with the conversation as you walked towards the parking lot.

“yeah, actually i love watching musicals,” he confessed. "we should plan to watch a few more together." he was so happy to talk freely about what he loved.

your heart raced at that. “sure! sounds like a great idea!”

“great!” he said, looking so excited that you could barely contain your smile.

after leaving the dressing room area, you both walked to the parking lot. the environment was lit by streetlights, and the fresh night air surrounded you, creating a comfortable atmosphere. seokmin chatted enthusiastically about his plans and projects, but you were still processing the energy of the meeting and the interactions that had just happened.

when you reached the car, seokmin turned to you, his eyes shining. "i really hope you enjoyed it. they’re amazing, right?"

“yes, they’re incredible!” you smiled, though a small part of you still felt distant, as if you were trying to find your place among those who seemed so close and intimate with him.

as he drove, the conversation flowed naturally, and you found yourself smiling and laughing at his jokes. when you arrived at your house, the atmosphere became a bit more serious.

"well, i guess we’ll only see each other again in berlin," seokmin said, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“yeah, i can’t wait for the festival,” you replied, feeling the anxiety rising again. the moment of goodbye was approaching.

he opened his arms, and you felt a little lost. did he want a hug from you? it was your first hug, and it felt like the world around you stopped. the warmth of his body enveloped you, and everything seemed easier right there, in that moment. you could smell the softness of his cologne and feel the steady beat of his heart, and your insecurity was replaced by a comfort you hadn’t expected.

“take care, okay? see you in berlin,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

you nodded, still wrapped in the feeling of the hug. “you too. good luck with everything.”

as you both pulled away, his eyes held a mix of excitement and expectation. the farewell was sweet but also carried with it an unspoken promise. the time until berlin might feel long, but the connection you were building made everything more exciting, despite the lingering insecurities in the air.

i believe the third (and final part) will be available on sunday, sometime after the broadcast of lollapalooza berlin :)

[mostdefinitelyafeverdream]

pairing: hannibal lecter x gn!reader

warnings: ///

author's note: not much to say other than i wrote this on a whim, lots of unresolved tension & hannibal being hannibal which is self-explanatory enough i believe. first person pov because i think the use of y/n disrupts the narrative. comments & reviews much appreciated!!

banishing the heartbreak

tell me what the cards say

give me all the tingles

moi je veux le monde

bottom line - he's looking, and he keeps looking. a shiver - painfully vulnerable reaction, extreme and warranted by such imposing presence - runs down my arms and i struggle to hold the piercing gaze; it suddenly turns into a struggle, a subtle battle for dominance. that's what he made of it and never am i allowing him the upper hand (though matching his intensity is nothing short of exhausting).

his eyes hold such starved hunger, a primal instict much alike to the hunting predator giving restless chase and for a second i scoff at its theatricality. his stance screams of a man who's always had his way and i catch a glimpse of the underlying arrogance of a much anticipated victory, which against all reason, tugs at my own grisly pride.

"can i help you?"

he smiles but doesn't show his teeth - not yet at least. his approaching steps mark a distinct rhythm that confuses itself with the pounding of my frantic heartbeats, but stubbornly holding onto my slowly crumbling resolve, i keep shuffling the cards in my hands.

he didn't expect me to address him first - in nature, prey never provokes a predator.

he sits and never breaks the stare, amused like the cat that toys with mice without even paying much mind to their squeaks.

"may i request a fortune reading?"

a pause. i look to him again and he doesn't strike me as a believer - of any kind, in any being but himself. he looks like someone whom people devote their beliefs to, instead.

"i don't read for those who don't really want a reading"

he smiles again but nothing in the poised way he sits betrays his growing interest; nothing but a glint in his eye, the sadistic inclination of the enthused scientist about to prod and probe until he gets the desired results.

"so you know what i want"

it's not phrased as a question, and this is but a first test, i vexedly realise. i try not to let his soothing baritone sway my resolve to teach this arrogant, arrogant man a lesson but how can i hope to oppose him if my resistance might be nothing more than an entertaining bit on his carefully directed stage? - merely few minutes have passed and that's the power imbalance he set already.

"i'm not as presumptuous as to assume something like that. but i am presumptuous enough as to assume what you do not want."

it's my turn to smile but i'd be a fool to believe it might elicit the same reaction as his domineering presence. it's tight lipped and more hostile than i'd hoped but i'd always been easy to read: my eyes, much like his own, betray my nature.

"hannibal lecter," he doesn't extend his hand, it's not an introduction but a statement: "excuse my rudeness."

he has a gentlemanly charm, surely carefully crafted to attract all kinds of attentions - trust would be the correct term, as i'm sure he thrives off the easy accessibility of prey, whatever his ambitions may be, but i do not trust this man one bit. i give him my name nonetheless which is my second grave mistake today; the first one: subconsciously letting him make space for himself at my table, where he comfortably sits scrutinizing my every move.

"nothing to be excused. what i meant to say is, i don't read for those who think of the practice as a joke."

he merely listens and does not refute my words of thinly veiled accusation. what an overbearing man.

"are you a man of science? a doctor, maybe." i stir the pot, i know i am and this game is most definitely dangerous but nothing short of exciting. it's too late to back down anyways.

"an accurate observation. knowledge incited by your... practice, perhaps"

"what a pity, i clearly see a future as a comedian"

it shouldn't arouse such unbridled delight and violent trepidation, the way he looks more and more kin to dig his talons in, to tear and cut his way to what he knows will be the inevitable dead end. and yet the poised firm stance still stands, unwavering - he's enjoying this and in some twisted, unforseen turn of events, i'm giving in and being led by his hand.

"comedy and tragedy alike bear the omen of fate. to evoke a laugh is but to twist the odds in in your favor and rewrite a satisfying ending. do you belive in destiny?"

i'm still shuffling the cards, he's still drinking in my every movement, savoring my resentment and aversion like a long-awaited meal. he subtly leans in and i match his pace, if only to prove his intimidation does not sway me, if only to prove i will dance to his jarring waltzer just to prove a point.

a single card falls from the deck.

the fact so unexpected we both quickly divert our gazes to look down upon it. the man whose ominous presence is enough to trigger every defense mechanism i possess smiles one more time - he bares his teeth. he takes a card of his own from his pocket, a business card, and puts it right next to the fallen arcana, then leaves the table - and me - without a word.

when i look back down again, the devil stares right back.

dividers by @/enchantings

[seikeout]

!SELLER SHOT!

Alhaitham × Fem!Reader

synopsis: He couldn't let someone like you, such an insignificant being like you, challenge him. There was no other way to make you understand his place.

Notes: This is my first post, I thought it was a waste to leave this draft to myself. It's early morning here, so would you say this review was sloppy? English is not my native language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors. This man's return to the banner drove me crazy.

TW: Alhaitham with a big d!ck, female body reader, crying reader? angry sex, cream all over d!ck. Maybe a breedingkink, humiliation kink? I think so.

You took him seriously.

His falling gray hair could be counted every time he spoke to you. With that mischievous and sarcastic smile that made fun of him.

An exchange has never been smooth and easy between you. Obviously, it was a pleasure to have the scribe in your store, wanting your help with something or looking for an object, and you, of course, took advantage of the situation.

Sometimes he said that such an item did not exist, sometimes he put the value at a horrendous high level and the biggest excuse of all:

"I think you are not worthy of my wares, Scribe." His arms crossed below his chest, giving that smile.

Alhaitham hated you. How could someone of his size and position disturb his peace so easily and quickly, get into his mind.

Alhaitham swore he could feel his blood boil and his veins pulse with anger, but like a man of his rank, he took a deep breath and set off to go somewhere else, behind his objective.

You already loved seeing how the Scribe was almost on his knees just for your things, how Alhaitham would go so far as to beg. He loved it even more when he saw the vein next to his head throbbing with anger.

But you never imagined yourself as you would be now.

His pelvis slammed brutally against your ass, leaving loud noises from your sweat-soaked skin. His hands gripped the corner of the table tightly to try to take out all the frustration of pleasure. The same table moved brutally due to the force that the man behind you used. The floor was already dirty from the mess of the two of you, from your past orgasms, your feet on your toes, trying to get away from him.

Her moans of hatred were replaced by moans of pleasure and contextless murmurs. Eyes rolling into the back of his head every time he pushed all the way in, bringing the pleasure of having his G-spot hit and pressed.

His dick spread you so wide that it was impossible for you not to have every part of your pussy molded by him. It was so big that it took a while for everything to enter, it took many minutes of pushing slowly, filling you completely, his body trembled, sensitive every time his tip touched the entrance to your uterus.

"Who knew you only wanted a good fuck with me, hun?" One of the scribe's hands grabbed his hair, pinning his back to his abdomen. The thump of wet skin made you let out a more needy moan. “You look so much prettier with that stupid bitch face.” He laughed arrogantly, cupping your cheeks and sealing your lips with his. His tongue was brutal in invading, smearing all of your drool all over your faces.

His body hurt from how long they had been at it, how many orgasms had he given you so far and he didn't even have one? His resistance was so much that you envied, it only took two fingers and cumming on his fingers that you already felt exhausted. But he wasn't satisfied, he wanted more from you, he wanted to make you pay for all the times you humiliated him. He would destroy you and then make you his.

"Haitham, archons! P-please!" You didn't even know why you were begging so much, you just felt like you had to ask, that you needed to beg for him. His pussy clenched again, sucking his cock hungrily, spilling more of her juices down his thighs.

Alhaitham knew you were reaching your limit again, your body was shaking even more, legs restless and hands gripped your biceps tightly, your pussy suffocated his dick even more making your movements difficult.

"Are you going to cum again? Is this greedy pussy going to make me wet?" His tone was sweet and low, making you even more desperate for your orgasm. His head shook countless times, his vision became so blurred and dark.

That's when he stopped. His body gave one last spasm as he stopped his movements. His eyes met theirs, trying to understand the reason, widened by the repeated pause.

"W-why w-..."

"Lay down on the table and hold your legs like this." He guided you, always holding your waist so you wouldn't fall to the ground, especially because you couldn't keep your balance alone. "Put your leg here, I want to see you cum looking into my eyes." His tone was serious, giving you more anxiety.

Alhaitham held one leg on his shoulder while wrapping the other around his waist. He had the great vision of having his body covered with a thin layer of sweat, red cheeks and lips, eyes with tears in their corners and labored breathing. His skin was all bitten and marked by hickeys, he would say he did a lot of damage.

With just one push he was inside again, the sensation returning to his body made him throw his head back and arch his body. The moans of pleasure gained tone and spread throughout the store. The creaking of the table returned along with Alhaitham's short, low moans.

"This way go deeper, I feel like I could tear you in half if I push harder." His fingers played with your clit smugly. Alhaitham couldn't be human, the way heand it made you have spikes, it was inhumane.

The feeling of euphoria in his stomach came back with a vengeance, his vision became blurred and his body tingled with excitement. He understood of course, even because he let go of your leg with force, holding your wet cheeks and forcing you to look him in the eyes. Anger and lust dominated him so much, leaving him a wild man.

"You're going to cum looking a me, you hear? I want to see you humiliate yourself for this just like I did. And when it's over, I'm going to make sure you're not the uneducated bitch you are." He said through gritted teeth, his tone was hard and dry.

You agreed, even though your brain was already melting from so much overstimulation and unable to process anything. His mind only focused on how good Alhaitham's dick felt.

His hips increase the rhythm quickly, seeking his orgasm and yours, his hands didn't stop in one place, every time squeezing a part of him and leaving his marks on your body. The Scribe moaned loudly with you now, ignoring the people passing by the store front, following you in harmony.

"I'm going to cum! N-ngh! Haitham! Alhaitham!" His hands gripped your biceps tightly, digging his nails into the exposed skin, drawing blood.

Alhaitham growled low, closing his eyes for a thousandths and opening them again, his hands rested on his waist, pressing her pussy against his pelvis even more. The bulge of his penis in his belly appeared and disappeared due to the speed.

"I'm going to cum inside you and you're going to take every drop without complaining." He moaned against his lips. Just the mention of him filling you with his cum made you reach your peak.

And you came, giving a choked and cut moan, squeezing Alhaitham's shoulders tightly and legs tied to his hips. His pussy milked him hard, forcing him to fill you with his thick, hot cum. His toes twitched feeling the hot liquid dominate his insides.

The scribe's hands kneaded the skin of his waist, taking out the excitement of his orgasm. Breathing heavily and letting out choked growls.

You moaned as you felt even fuller, you could feel him pulsing inside you more and more. With a tidy body. Alhaitham pulled his penis out of you, seeing the white liquid mark your belly. His eyes seemed lost analyzing you.

The man's hands went behind your thighs, lifting you onto his lap. Pressing your tired, limp body against the wall. His face got closer still breathing against your lips.

"I want more" his voice came out gentle, so out of touch with how his tone was "I want you for myself"

His eyes rolled back as he was invaded smugly by him. Praying to the archons for mercy.

Because he had just started with you and didn't intend to stop anytime soon.

*

!translation or posting on other websites is prohibited!

Thanks! Bye!

[arachnixe]

Kinship

I peer through the glass into the holding chamber. The specimen within paces aimlessly, without purpose or direction, interacting with nothing inside.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“She’s been restless and agitated like this since we separated her from the others.”

I glance over at my partner. “‘She,’ huh?”

He shrugs, looking self-conscious. “I mean, look at her. She looks like a woman, doesn’t she?” He gestures vaguely into the chamber. “Or like she used to be one. We’re working on saving her, making her a person again anyway, right?”

I suppose we are trying to save it, but I certainly can’t think of this thing as a person the way it is now. Especially so utterly directionless with its connection severed to the rest of its Swarm.

It is a pretty thing, though, I must admit, vaguely person-shaped as it is.

Its skin—or carapace, rather, rigid and chitinous—is a lovely jade green, its limbs elegant and many-jointed.

The dark, hair-like structures on the top of its head are similarly striking. They’re probably some kind of setae; I’ll want to collect a sample for study.

It looks right at me through the glass, and I exhale softly in an involuntary expression of wonder. Its multifaceted eyes—two perfectly cut rubies of immaculate shine and impossible depth—grip me with something like longing until, an eternity later, it resumes its pacing.

“Doctor Klein? You catch that?” My partner interrupts my momentary lapse of concentration.

“Hm? Oh yes, remarkable eyes. I should document the observation.”

“Er, no. I was reminding you that I will not be staying to join you on your overnight observation.”

“Right. The wedding. Good luck on that. Or congratulations? I’m never sure what to say about these things.”

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. I flinch at the unexpected touch and hope my tight-lipped smile reads as genuine.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves.

“Maybe I am the opposite of you,” I confide to the creature through glass. “You barely function without the company of your kind, and I barely function while in the company of mine.”

I settle down and get to work. “Perhaps with just the two of us, we’ll make good progress.”

I review my notes. When it was captured, the creature was observed to be patient, intelligent, and confident. It threatened several researchers and nearly escaped a half-dozen times before it could be brought to this facility.

And then it abruptly stopped trying.

We predicted some kind of reaction, of course. This facility had been specially constructed to isolate those inside from the—still poorly understood—mental connection between members of the Swarm.

We expected it to show signs of agitation, but not this…listless melancholy.

Its behavior remains unchanged as the hours pass, even as I try various forms of stimulation. It acknowledges nothing, not even recordings of others of its kind. Its eyes focus on nothing in particular, with only one occasional exception.

It watches me observe it sometimes.

I visit the glass-walled room with a fresh mug of coffee, and I catch it looking at me again. I move, and its eyes follow.

Yes, I manage to be a figure of interest even when nothing else is. Because I am the only other living thing in here, perhaps?

I approach the speak-through grill and attempt to open communication.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Klein.”

I did not think this through and find myself at a loss without a script. “Can you even understand me?”

It stares at me, unanswering. I fidget with my skirt uncomfortably.

There is something so compelling in its eyes. Though it does not emote like a person, it somehow projects a sense of deep sadness and longing.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” The insight strikes me with the force of lightning. I can practically feel its loneliness myself.

Why do I feel like I understand this creature better than my own family or coworkers? Their moods could be inscrutable, but I read this creature’s melancholy as plain as day.

I press my hand to the glass, and to my surprise, it approaches the window to mirror the gesture.

To hell with the study protocols. I want to understand these creatures, and this is the furthest anyone has gotten.

I override the security on the holding chamber and enter, hoping to reinforce whatever this tenuous connection is. I am more determined than ever to save it.

“Does this help?” I ask. “There’s no Swarm here, I know, but I’m here with you, and I’m on your side.”

One step at a time, it closes the distance to me. It moves slowly, as if to avoid startling me. The whole time, its beautiful eyes stare into mine.

Soon it’s inches away.

So close, I cannot help but acknowledge to myself that it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I am utterly entranced by it.

When it reaches its hand-like appendage to my face, I lean into the touch.

So smooth. Cool to the touch. Oddly sweet and comforting.

The affection I feel for this thing surprises me, but I do not care to debate myself about the validity of those feelings.

I probably should interrogate my willingness, however, when it pulls my lips to its mouth in a kiss.

The taste is sweet, like honey. Its tongue is almost human, though alien ridges and protrusions along the sides tickle my own tongue in novel and exciting ways.

It pulls away. The experience leaves me feeling gently fuzzy headed and with a welcome euphoria.

The creature opens its mouth to speak at last. “You save me?”

I recognize, somehow, that it pulled the thought—and maybe even the words themselves—from my mind. Something about that kiss…

I nod. “Of course. That’s the most important thing. May I exit the room?”

It permits me to leave.

I do not bother to reactivate the security.

What I need is fresh air to clear my head, I decide. I make my way through the facility toward the exit, flashing my badge to the overnight guards at the checkpoints.

I need to think clearly if I am to come up with a way to save this creature. And I will save it in a way that is kinder than my partner intends.

No, he would force it to be a person again. That’s a cruelty I’ve had to live my whole life with, and I now know of another way.

The lock cycles. As I take my first step outside, the fuzziness in my head clears. It focuses into distant chatter, into light and life and song and…

The Swarm floods my mind. The sudden connection nearly drops me to my knees, but I maintain my outward composure.

Knowledge, thought, and desire floods me in a way that nearly overwhelms.

The feeling of connection and belonging is so beautiful, I nearly cry.

I don’t. A precious member of the Swarm is still held captive.

With our combined knowledge, we make a plan to save it.

[hyacintheros]

Brand New City

2. Evergreen

|| (Marauders Era Characters x Fem!Reader)

Series Masterlist Previous Chapter

Pairing: Marauders Era Characters x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Rude James

Word Count: 1.4k

P.S: This chapter is unedited, let me know if there's anything that needs to be fixed! Kinda struggling to not use Y/N, so there are a few in there. Anywho, enjoy!

Putting on her new robes, glistening emerald and silver crest, she’s barely slept all night. Feeling the wave of restlessness, she decided to study rather than lay in bed all night after spending an hour trying to fall into slumber. Before leaving the Great Hall last night, First Years were given their Times Tables, directing all their classes for the term. So, she brushed up on her books while Narcissa and Bella slept.

Catching Severus in the common room, they walk to the Great Hall for breakfast together, settling down near the Professor’s table. Her gaze lands on a boy with fluffy hair and circle framed glasses hanging next to Lily. Seems like Lily’s already made a friend. She’s glad her Gryffindor cousin has already made a friend.

Narcissa and Bella plop themselves in front of the girl, grabbing a slice of toast and strawberry marmalade with a side of cream cheese. “Severus, you’ve got Potions and Transfigurations with me, right?”, the boy nods his head as he grabs a bit of his breakfast. Narcissa hums a cheery tune after introducing herself and Bella to Severus.

They pack up, grab their books and head to class. Most classes Slytherins have are shared with Gryffindor, meaning that the two Slytherins sit next to Lily in class. Although, the boy with circle glasses sits next to Lily’s other side, giving her and Severus a nasty side eye. Trying to make the best of this, she introduces herself.

“Hi! Glad to see Lily’s making friends in her house, I’m Y/N, her cousin. What’s your name?”, she puts her hand out for a handshake, only for the boy to eye it and fake a smile. “I’m James Potter. Lily’s better off in our house, unlike you Slytherins.”, and he shakes her hand aggressively. Lily flashes her an apologetic smile, not knowing James was going to say something like that.

Severus gives James a sneer, not liking this new friend of Lily’s. Professor Slughorn walks in, taking her mind off of the strange encounter. Severus and Y/N pair up to work on a basic Cure for Boils potion. They divide the work equally amongst themselves, both measuring the ingredients and doing the actual potion making, unlike other students who each take one job. This way, they both get experience and build a better understanding of the art of potion making.

They finish their potion first, both efficiently and perfectly. Handing it to Slughorn, they earn 10 points each for their effort. With that, they get to leave early. They say a quick goodbye to Lily and roam the halls before their next class. Severus heads to Charms while Y/N heads to Herbology.

In Herbology, she sits next to a Gryffindor as all other seats have been taken. “Sorry, do you have an extra quill? I think I left mine in Charms”, the boy sheepishly asks. She smiles and nods her head, grabbing her extra quill, and they share her ink pot. “Thank you, I’m Remus by the way.”, he says as she hands him the quill. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you Remus.” She gives him a sweet smile.

During Herbology, they take notes on the different types of creatures they’ll be seeing within the year and are given homework to review them in the textbook. “Here’s your quill back, thank you again Y/N”, he tries to give the quill back. “Don’t worry about it, keep the quill. You’ve got another class after, right? You’ll still need to take notes.”, she says to him, packing her things up and leaves, leaving him with a smile on his face.

She heads off to Tranfiguations, seeing a cat on the Professor’s desk. Thinking it may be Mcgonagal’s pet, she didn’t think too much about it. She sees Lily already sitting, and an empty seat next to her. She sits down next to her cousin. “Lily! Tell me about your first night here? How are your roommates?”, Y/N asks, eager to know about the girl’s time here. “Oh! I got to room with these 4 girls, great girls may I add. But I clicked with this girl, her name’s Marlene. She was telling me all about those chocolate frogs we saw on the train.”Lily tells her, obviously excited. Y/N feels at ease knowing Lily’s doing alright.

The class goes quiet, Professor Mcgonagall’s supposed to be here by now. A pair of boys walk in, James and another boy, the one who smiled at her during the Feast. “Sirius, could you imagine Mcgongall if she caught us late to class already?”, James says to the boy, Sirius, while laughing quietly. In that moment, the cat who sat on the desk, transfigures into Mcgonagall, glaring at both boys. “You ought to know the time now boys! Well go on, get in your seats already.” Y/N and Lily let out hushed giggles, seeing the boys all flustered.

They take the seat in front of the pair of girls. James gives Lily a smile while giving Y/N a bitter look. Sirius instead, gives both girls a smile, turning back to the front. Trying to take notes, her focus being distracted by an odd feeling. Had she done something to offend James? Why was he being so rude to her, yet treating Lily like an angel, they’ve literally just met! But also, Sirius’ hair looks very fluffy, like a cute dog oddly. She breaks out of her odd train of thought, trying to listen to the lesson.

Transfigurations end and it’s time for lunch. Y/N walks Lily to the Gryffindor table. She passes by Remus on the way to the Slytherin table, greeting him and fluttering away. Not seeing anyone she recognises at the table yet, she takes an empty spot next to a few older students.

They don’t really notice her, so she eats in peace and so she thinks about the events of today. The odd behaviour of James, the forgetfulness of Remus, and the questionably fluffy hair of Sirius. She finishes her mashed potatoes and pulls out a book. “What are you reading?”, says a boy with long blonde hair who was sitting next to her. “Oh it’s about Greek Astronomy and Philosophy.”, she responds, peeking out of her book to look at him. He hums in acceptance and carries on with his friends.

On her way to DADA, she feels a little chilly, making a mental note to wear a light sweater tomorrow. She walks into the class and takes a seat in the back. Sirius and Remus walk in, and they sit on either side of her. They greet her and pull their supplies out. “Sirius, was it? Sorry, you’ve just got something in your hair. “, she tells the boy, then grabs a stray autumn leaf out of it. Confirming her earlier suspicions, his hair is indeed very soft and fluffy. Killing two birds with one stone! He thanks her and smiles with a little tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks. She wasn’t sure whether it was out of embarrassment or that he was just flustered.

Remus once again shares her ink pot with her borrowed quill, promising to return it tomorrow. Sirius, who somehow forgot his DADA textbook, shares with Y/N as well. Good thing she was sitting in the middle! The Professor’s voice booming with excitement of the new semester keeps everyone on their toes, getting equally excited. Today though, they only learn theory and manners as not many students have done any spells yet.

The rest of the day goes smoothly, not having any odd occurrences or strange behaviours come about. She heads to her dorm after dinner, telling Narcissa and Bella about her first day and getting their opinion on James’ actions.

“You said you’re cousin’s in Gryffindor, right? Well, maybe he doesn’t like you because you’re a Slytherin, so he’s trying to protect Lily from you? Very odd.” Bella quips, trying to form a reason. The other two girls think about it, that does seem reasonable. She then tells them about the blonde boy.

“Oh that’s Lucius! He’s my fiance, we are to be married after graduation!”, says Narcissa, all giddy and happy. Bella laughs and teases her, and Y/N just takes in the atmosphere, finally feeling like she belongs.

Next Chapter

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect? 

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact. 

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness." 

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form. 

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.” 

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him. 

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises. 

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure. 

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving? 

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt. 

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.  

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters. 

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within. 

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much. 

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs. 

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.” 

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.” 

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--” 

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?” 

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.” 

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.” 

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes. 

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.” 

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier. 

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.” 

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously. 

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?” 

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall. 

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims. 

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.” 

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood. 

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs. 

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!” 

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents. 

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice. 

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?” 

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.” 

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you. 

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?” 

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked. 

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!” 

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!” 

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger. 

“I will fetch the wat--” 

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt. 

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.  

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove. 

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?” 

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle. 

“You will need help,” she declares. 

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin. 

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it. 

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless. 

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle. 

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil. 

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.” 

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.” 

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.” 

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else. 

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat. 

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.  

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub. 

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?” 

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself. 

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.” 

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go. 

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.” 

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment. 

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.  

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’ 

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...” 

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing. 

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.” 

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost. 

[queenshelby]

The Law Student (Rewritten)

Part Two: Tutoring

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (20) & Reader (30)

Note: This plays in 1996, just before Cillian drops out of law school.

Three days after you had agreed to tutor Cillian, you also began to tutor a young woman by the name of Siobhan. Siobhan was in her second year of the Law program; hence, you didn't have her for any of your lectures.

Siobhan was twenty-one and straight-forward, independent, and easy-going. In addition to her obvious academic prowess, she possessed a strong and assertive personality, something that could only be described as an asset in such a demanding field while, at other times, it would be rather frustrating.

Confidence was Siobhan’s middle name; you respected her for it, although you could tell that she struggled with her own insecurities and self-doubt at times, something that she masked through her feisty behavior and sharp wit.

"Are you okay Siobhan?" you asked half way through the session when you noticed the frown on her forehead and her restlessness while you were trying to explain the intricacies of a particularly challenging legal precedent.

Siobhan sighed deeply, almost defeatedly. "Sorry Miss Y/LN, I am just distracted," she admitted. "I have a lot going on at the moment. There is this guy who's really messing with my head. He is such an eejit," she confessed, raking her slender fingers through her mane of chestnut hair, evident as she glanced downwards, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, I am afraid I can't help you with that, but I can give you a little break if you like. Maybe getting some air will make you feel better?" you suggested, offering a gentle smile in her direction.

Siobhan looked up, meeting your gaze gratefully. "Thank you, Miss Y/LN. A little break sounds good," she confirmed and you both stood up, setting your books aside and allowing the fresh air to fill the room. You could see the relief in Siobhan's features as they relaxed into a more natural state of being while you started talking about less academic-related topics silently acknowledging the need for a distraction.

Siobhan was from a wealthy family with high expectations and you learned later in the day, after your tutoring session had already come to an end, that the young man who was causing her grief was no other Cillian, the student who had captured your undivided attention ever since the first day of classes.

You did not know what happened between them and you knew that, under no circumstances, could you get involved. Not only were you his professor, but you were also her tutor and as such you had to keep your distance both physically and emotionally.

As such, you made a mental note to keep a comfortable distance between Cillian and yourself, hoping that this would solve your ever growing attraction towards this much younger man.

**********

Thursday arrived faster than you expected. You had spent the last two days preparing your lesson plan for Cillian's tutoring session.

You wanted to make sure that the material you covered was relevant to his struggles in Contracts and Torts and, as you reviewed his previous exams and assignments, you noticed a pattern in his mistakes. He often misapplied legal principles to specific cases, highlighting his lack of confidence in his understanding of the subject matter.

Just as you had planned, you arrived at the small lecture room early as your heart was beating a little faster than usual. You had prepared extensively for this session, and you were eager to help Cillian work through his challenges.

The room felt strangely intimate with its small round table and four chairs placed in the center of it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You were a seasoned lawyer who had tutored many law students before either at work or through a university project you were part of, but there was something about Cillian that made you feel a little more off balance than usual. 

You heard a knock on the door, and Cillian walked in, a sheepish look on his face.

"Sorry, I'm a bit early," he said nervously, biting his lower lip as he walked in and you smiled at him, trying to hide your nerves.

"No problem at all, Cillian. Come on in, take a seat," you told him with a smile, and he sat down across from you, and you could feel your heart racing. 

"So, we're going to focus on Contracts and Torts today. I see that you've been making some good progress, but there are a few areas where you could use some improvement," you observed and Cillian nodded, looking serious.

"I appreciate the help, Miss Y/LN," he told you before admitting that, perhaps, he had not spent enough time studying for these subjects in recent weeks.

"It's just so boring ," he said quietly, and you could not help but laugh at his honesty.

"Yes, it can be, especially when you don't fully understand the material," you agreed, recalling your own experiences as a student when you found certain legal concepts dry and tedious. But, you continued, "it's important to push through that and find ways to make the material interesting and applicable to real life situations. That way, you're less likely to forget it and more likely to excel in both the classroom and as a lawyer."

Cillian nodded, appearing to take in every word. "Yeah, I don't even know if I want to be a lawyer which might be part of my problem," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to study theatre, but my father didn't think it was a practical option. He wanted me to have a stable career, and I kinda just went along with it because I didn't want to disappoint him."

You paused, taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. "Well, Cillian, it's important to do what you love," you said gently. "And it's never too late to change paths.

If you are passionate about theater, then you should pursue it. Life is too short to spend it doing something you don't enjoy," you said, empathizing with the young man who sat across from you.

You has been in his shoes before, feeling the pressure to conform to others' expectations rather than following your true passions. You knew firsthand how it felt to sacrifice one's own happiness for the sake of others.

Cillian looked up at you, his deep blue eyes searching yours. "Yeah, I know. But, it's not that easy," he  responded with a hint of frustration. "I need to figure things out. I need to know what I want to do with my life. But, that's really not your problem,"  Cillian said, attempting to diffuse the sudden heaviness in the room with a weak smile as you sat there, watching his actions intently.

You returned the smile, albeit a little more sympathetically. "I understand, Cillian. Trust me, I do. Just know that I'm here to help you figure things out, whether it's with contracts, torts, or just finding your path," you offered, hoping to reassure him while, almost inadvertently, placing your hand on top of his in a comforting manner.

Cillian's eyes widened at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of confusion and gratitude. The tension between you was palpable, and you both knew that something had shifted in the room, which is when you quickly removed your hand , returning it to your lap.

"Uhm, so how about we start with Torts ?" you suggested, hoping that diving into the lesson would help to dispel the tension.

Cillian nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, sure. That sounds good," he replied, fidgeting slightly in his chair.

Over the next hour, you worked through a series of Torts in painstaking detail, hoping to help Cillian understand the subject matter more fully. He took notes diligently and asked insightful questions that revealed a deeper level of understanding than you had initially anticipated.

Cillian's curiosity about the subject matter was infectious and you leaned in to look over his shoulder as he wrote down some notes .

Your proximity to him sent a flutter of butterflies through his stomach and he seemed to tense up slightly under your gaze. 

Inhaling your scent , a blend of vanilla and jasmine, did not help his composure in the slightest, and for a moment, a faint blush surfaced on his cheeks which was a blush that grew even heavier when you leaned in and pointed to two of the sentences he had written down. 

"These two points are crucial. Without proving both of these doctrines you cannot possibly establish a case of negligence," you stated as you traced the lines with your finger while accidentally brushing against his hand, sending sparks flying between you. 

Cillian swallowed hard, nodding his understanding. "That makes sense," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and, by this point, the intensity in his gaze was enough to make your heart race.

"Your hair smells really nice by the way," Cillian then added suddenly as your curls had been so close to his face and you blinked in surprise, your face heating up at the unexpected compliment.

You didn't know how to respond , that simple gesture had caught you off guard, and you took a moment to recover before replying with a soft, "thanks" before stepping back to create some distance between the two of you.

You wondered if Cillian could sense the tension in the room, tension that went beyond mere physical attraction and veered into uncharted territory.

Taking a deep breath, you decided that the most professional thing to do would be to focus on his education, putting your own feelings to the side.

"So, shall we continue?" you asked, although your voice trembled slightly and Cillian nodded, his own breathing uneven.

"Yes, sure," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours  and, for a moment, the world outside that little lecture room seemed to fade away.

You cleared your throat, trying to refocus your attention on the task at hand. "Okay, so let's go over this next case together," you said, picking up a folder and handing it to him.

Cillian took the folder and opened it, his eyes scanning the pages as you began to explain the details of the case.

You noticed, however, that his gaze constantly drifted towards you, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck as the weight of his stare settled on you and it was almost like he did not even bother to hide his attraction.  Every now and then, you would catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. You cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to focus on your lesson instead of the young man sitting across from you.

Eventually, time passed and you managed to finish the session without any more awkward moments, though not without a bit of difficulty. You couldn't help but feel a constant tension between the two of you, as if you were both dancing on a knife's edge.

Cillian packed up his things, managing a smile as he did so. "Well, uhm, thank you, Miss Y/LN," he said. "This was really helpful,"  he admitted before pausing for a moment, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled at him, trying to make light of the situation. "You did all the work, Cillian. I'm just here to guide you," you told him truthfully, proud of the progress that he had made.

Cillian grinned, a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he stood up, ready to leave.

"Well, you did a fantastic job of guiding me then," he replied as he slung his backpack over his shoulder but, just as Cillian walked towards the door, he hesitated, turning back to face you. "And I was wondering whether, maybe, you would like to grab a drink with me?"  Cillian asked, his eyes sparkling with an unexpected boldness that was both endearing and intriguing.

Your breath caught in your throat as the request took you by surprise. "What? Now?" you stammered, your mind racing as you tried to think of a polite way to decline.

Cillian shook his head, his cheeks coloring underneath your surprise. "No, not now, of course. I just thought maybe, on the weekend or whenever you are free?" he said, his voice softer than before, as if he were afraid of scaring you off.  His proposal caught you off guard, sending a surge of conflicting emotions through you. You hesitated, unsure of what to say and how to say it.

" I uh, I appreciate the offer, Cillian," you stammered, trying to regain your composure. "But, I think that this would be highly unprofessional of me." You knew that giving into your temptations would only lead to trouble. Not only was there a significant age gap between the two of you, but you were also his professor. Such a relationship could only result in disaster.

Cillian looked disappointed, but he nodded, understanding. "I understand, Miss Y/LN. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, and you could hear the hurt in his voice but, before you could respond, he quickly turned and left the room, and you were left alone, feeling even more conflicted than before. 

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[ninyard]

Hey hey hey now I’m just trying to have a peaceful study break and now you have me crying over the idea of Aaron having a ptsd flashback while trying to free one of his kids from a bathroom with a busted lock

I thought you were gonna go the route of him remembering Andrew locking him in the bathroom to get him clean and then where you actually went hit me right in the feels

I can see him busting his kid out of the bathroom and maybe hugging them a little to tight afterwards but he keeps it together he waits until later when they’re both in bed and Kaitlyn is still at work he sits alone in their living he tense, restless, can’t sit still. Finally he goes upstairs and slides down the wall to sit on the floor across the hall from the broken door just so he can see that what he’s seeing in his head isn’t actually on the other side of it. Then he pulls his phone out and calls Andrew. He probably doesn’t say anything but Andrew in typical andrew fashion somehow knows exactly what’s wrong and says one of his incredibly on point one liners that perfectly lays out the issue and the solution all in one and Aaron just sits there and listens to Andrew breathe on the other end of the call until he convinces himself that they’re ok. They’re all ok now. Then Kaitlyn gets home so he hangs up and goes and hugs his wife and they like meal plan for the rest of the week or review HOA meeting notes or do some other mind numbingly dull suburbia task and then he’s ok again

Until they go to a sporting event and one of the twins gets lost in the crowd and suddenly he’s on the bus in Binghamton…

A few folks seem to have expected that that post was going in the direction of "Aaron getting locked in the bathroom by Andrew trauma" and not the other option.

Katelyn coming home and it's late because her shift ran way over and she comes into the bedroom because he hasn't been able to sleep - she puts her bag down, she gets changed, she joins him under the covers and once she'd kissed him she has that look on her face before she asks, "What happened to the bathroom door?"

She listens. She tells him they can fix it tomorrow. They can figure out the logistics of it at a more reasonable time. Are the girls okay? Are you okay?

He's made sure that Andrew's okay. The kids are okay, they're sleeping. He's okay, he thinks. He will be, at least.

But he thinks of the splintering wood, he thinks about Andrew's face, his laugh, he thinks about Neil. He hates that he thinks about Neil. Katelyn does what Katelyn does and she makes him feel heard, she makes him feel loved and listened to, she brings him back to earth and holds him until he falls asleep. And even when he wakes up in a cold sweat for the first time in months, she wakes up with him, and holds him close until his breathing calms and he drifts off again.

I was talking about this a little bit yesterday - about Aaron being triggered by things, no matter how far away from PSU he gets, no matter how normal his life becomes. but Katelyn is an angel, she makes him feel sane when he feels like he's losing his mind. She never blames him when he feels triggered or scared, she protects the kids from him when he struggles to keep it in.

But he sees himself and Andrew in those two girls - when they argue, when they're best friends, when they're at that game and one of them goes missing. It's hard to keep it together at times like that. When all he sees is her sister, calling her twins name, he sees Andrew in her face, searching the crowd.

Once again this is just another post where I'm not sure where I'm going with it, but Aaron seeing himself and his brother in his kids, Aaron seeing parts of his past in his day to day life. It's not often, it's not all the time, but every once in a while he can't help it.

But at least afterwards they can plan a grocery shop. Or pay some bills, budget for their next payday. At least his kids knows he loves them, and they're never scared for themselves. If he scares them, they're scared of dad, they're scared because they don't know why he's breathing like that or looking around the room like he can't focus on anything. If they're scared of him, they're scared because they don't understand. Not because they're scared of what he might do to them. At least he's different. At least he has Katelyn, and he loves his kids. At least he cares.

[letsquestjess]

A Brother in Need

Summary: Echo struggles after returning from Skako Minor, but his brothers are there for him.

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: While there are no graphic descriptions, the Citadel and Skako Minor are briefly mentioned.

A/N: This one was written for @swprequels-big-bang! Can't wait for you all to see the art to go with it. It is phenomenal and I love it!

-- -- -- -- --

In the hushed atmosphere of the medical room, Echo couldn’t shake the unease, as if the stillness masked an imminent awakening of the dormant machines. After previous checkups had caused him more stress than was beneficial, the medics minimised the use of technological equipment, and in the rare circumstances it was required, he was not alone for a single second. 

His grip on the edge of the medical cot tightened. Occasionally, the scomp link attached to his other arm would disrupt his sense of balance. The staff promised him that his body would adapt, but the discomfort made it seem like an everlasting struggle. Each day, he pushed himself to the limit, desperate to reclaim his former strength and abilities, only to be met with failure at every turn. 

“Almost done,” clone medic Zel said, working swiftly. 

A wedge of blue light emitted from the hovering AZ unit and Echo kept his head drooped as it conducted the scans. With practise, he found if he averted his gaze and directed his attention away from the mechanical hum, he could cope long enough to complete his medical checks.  

“The difficult bit is over,” the medic assured him, collecting the reports from the droid and dismissing it from the room. “All I need is a blood sample, and then you’re good to go.” 

Zel acted with deft precision as he covered the back of the proffered hand with the cylinder and applied pressure to the syringe. As soon as he connected the specimen to the console, the monitor on the far wall lit up, flashing and stabilising into a solid green. 

Examining each result individually, he reviewed the list and returned to his patient with a comforting smile. “Your vital signs appear to be within the normal range, but I’m going to keep you on minimal training for another week and then reassess. Don’t want to cause more strain.” 

Echo acknowledged the medic’s terms with a meagre nod. 

“How has the past week been for you?” Zel inquired, as he tidied up the medical apparatus and disposed of empty packets in the correct bins. 

“Fine,” Echo replied, silently hoping that his prompt response wouldn’t betray the lie. Although he was far from fine, he intended to proceed with his routine so long as he met the requirements. 

“Have you been training regularly?”

“I have.” 

“And how have you coped with that?”

Echo grew silent, his throat bobbing with a grim gulp and his mouth becoming dry. Zel posed that question to him every checkup, and each time he faltered or contemplated lying, the medic waited, never pressuring him for a response. His duty as a brother held priority when not in emergency situations, and Echo conceded the truth was the only way to get the help he needed. “Not so fine,” he confessed. 

“Recovery isn’t a quick process,” Zel said. “It’s like learning everything all over again.”

“I’m trying, I really am, but… I just…”

Zel drew up a chair and took a seat beside the medical cot, noting Echo’s tight hold on the bedframe and the restless flicker of his eyes. “No rush. Take a breath.”

Inhaling against the pounding of his heart, Echo loosened his grasp and nestled his hand in his lap. He had no reason to be embarrassed in front of his brother, but the notion he could not carry out his duty filled him with a shame so intense it clenched at his soul. “I… trip a lot, stumble over nothing. I’m getting strange pains at the worst times during training. Although my new squad is supportive and assures me I’m not failing them, I know I am. Most of the time, I struggle to keep pace, and they have to take on extra to get us through the simulations.” His gaze dropped to the scomp link, mourning everything that was taken from him. 

“I won’t insist that you stop training unless it becomes too much to handle,” Zel said. “If that happens, I expect you to return here. It might help if you make a note of when the pains happen. Could be something with the prosthetics that need a bit of tweaking, but you’re doing well. And just so you know, you are not disappointing anyone. You joined Clone Force 99, right?” At Echo’s hum in response, he grinned. “I’ve heard they have unconventional methods, but if they are backing you up, maybe you should reciprocate that trust. Is there a particular squad mate who will listen?” 

“They all would,” Echo replied without hesitation. “I might get a few sarcastic comments, but I think that’s their way of showing they care.”

Rising from his seat, Zel returned the chair to the console and signed the datapad to approve of the results. “When an enemy is marching towards you, it’s not always possible to hold the line alone,” he said. “The principle applies to any form of recovery. You’ve got to do a lot of the work on your own, but not all of it. Let your squad assist you. You’ll get there. Just takes time.”

* * *

Sleep shunned him. He was unable to find rest, never mind a shred of sleep in the swarm of thoughts. Regardless of how much he swatted them aside or composed his breathing, they always crept back in, peering to check if he was aware before hurtling at him at full speed. 

If he could settle at night and handle the noise during the day, he wouldn’t have been bothered, but his mental haze had no sense of time or compassion. He would often recall the blaster smoke scent or find himself involuntarily retracing his steps towards the ill-fated spacecraft, prepared to defend his Jedi comrades and brothers. His footfalls reverberated, compelling him to the ramp, until... 

Resigning himself to another sleepless night, he lowered his legs from the bunk. He wobbled from the impact, still getting used to his prosthetics and afforded himself a moment to regain his balance. Even sitting had become an act he had to think about before he did. 

He scrubbed his face with his palms and lifted his head. A dull glow washed across the central table. Had he been so engrossed in his own thoughts to not notice Tech at the workbench? To grant himself some credit, the intelligent clone was usually rather quiet at night when he tinkered with his latest projects, mindful of the squad in their slumber. 

“Apologies if I disturbed you,” Tech murmured, the glass of his goggles capturing the sheen of the welding tool pinched in his grasp. Metal melted beneath the precise tip, cooled by a second, shorter instrument. “My brothers can sleep through almost anything.” 

“I’m not usually a light sleeper,” Echo replied quietly. “I mean, I wasn’t before…” He pointed at the connectors implanted into his skull and drank in the tepid skim of conditioned air. A delicate breeze tickled his nose and chilled the skin surrounding the embedded machinery that kept him alive. He held onto every sensation, hoping it would anchor him in the present and maintain his concentration on his mission. 

His wrists dangled from his parted legs, his head bowed and his body exhausted beyond its capacity. Zel’s advice leaked into the dense mist in his mind. Trust them, he told himself. They are your squad. Your brothers. They support you as much as you support them. 

“I go to bed but rarely sleep,” he said. “Hardly get the sensation of needing rest like I used to. Sometimes, I drift for a few hours, but it doesn’t last long.” Determined not to fester in the stuffy bunk, he shoved himself up from the thin mattress and made his way over to the table, collapsing into the seat across from the preoccupied clone. 

“That will be your cybernetics,” Tech said. 

“I gathered that.” Echo placed his scomp link onto the counter to alleviate a little of the pressure in his shoulder. Upon his return, he barely allowed himself any time to recuperate before immersing himself in retraining. A soldier at heart and a proud defender of the Republic, he used every stumble and fall as a reminder to stay focused. 

However, amidst the grumbles and the effort it took to push himself up again, within the measured breaths to soothe his irritation, he was reminded of the fact that he was no longer the man he once was. His body had been altered, parts of him removed and replaced with metal, cold and biting. 

Tech moved the tools aside and wiped away the leftover mineral powder from the curved device he had been constructing. With studious care, he began to file at the sharper edges. “If you would find it useful to discuss the challenges you’re facing, my work doesn’t require much concentration at this point.”

At that tiny allowance, words poured from Echo in a way they never had before. The floodgates of his thoughts burst open, unrestrained, tugging at the burden on his chest and lifting each cumbersome strain. The relief of being home, the grief at the news about Fives, and the fear of not living up to his past achievements whispered through the night like sacred secrets. In the end, he felt a sense of liberation as he plucked them out of his head and set them down before him to process. 

“I am sure that you have already been told this, but it will take patience for you to adjust,” Tech spoke once Echo had spilled out his soul. “Not just to a new body, but a new squad and new surroundings. We work… differently to most.”

“Different isn’t a bad thing,” Echo said. 

Tech’s lips curved in agreement and he stepped away from the bench, presenting his latest project to his teammate for inspection. “Can I ensure this fits before I complete the final alterations? You will not feel any discomfort.”

“Sure. But what is it?” 

“It is a piece of headgear that should help with the issues you have been having,” Tech responded, fastening it around the back of Echo’s head and removing it a few seconds later once he was content with the sizing. “I am certain that the implants are contributing to your difficulties, but this will isolate those problems and facilitate a stronger connection between your body and the cybernetic aspects.”

Echo observed him as he perched on the table, fine tuning the device. Tech had been working on this project for weeks, devoting the majority of his free time to finishing it. And it was for him. All those hours, those late nights, the quiet moments alone had been all for his benefit. “You’ve made this for me?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Tech said, as if it were the most clear-cut thing in the entire galaxy. “You are our brother. Why would we not help you?” 

At a loss for words, Echo sat in stunned silence. 

“I believe the slips you have been experiencing during simulation training are due to a disconnect between your neural relay and your prosthetics,” Tech continued, “but this headpiece is designed to assist you with that.”

“I… Thank you,” Echo said. “It, uh… it means a lot. I’ll leave you to it.” Getting up from the bench, he turned back to his goggled brother and smiled. “Don’t stay up too much longer. If Hunter finds out, he won’t be pleased.”

“He will not mind,” Tech assured him. “Not since I am helping a brother in need.” 

[broughtandborn]

Just got back from a week in the Poconos with our kids and my parents. It was our first non-ocean, non-camping vacation so it was a bit of a gamble trying to guess what would work well for us, and I know we all had a decent time but honestly it kind of felt like a bust to me. The house we rented had amazing pictures online that did an incredible job of hiding how small the place actually was, and it was in a gated community with lakes and a clubhouse and a pool and stuff, but absolutely none of it was walkable. It looked like there was decent outdoor space but the lot was quite small and the outdoor furniture wasn't comfortable, and it rained two of the days we were there. We all read a lot and played board games and watched movies and on the nicer days we went to the pool and beach and played pickleball, but my greatest memory of the trip is going to be feeling a little restless in a sofa that was too low and very hard to get out of. So if I can't talk my older kid into doing the ocean again next year, I'm already making notes for future rentals: walkable to water and/or town, reviews that specifically mention outdoor space being great, pictures from more angles to suss out actual space.

I know it's very First World Problem but it's so disappointing to come home from a vacation without feeling like I'm tired but rested in my soul, you know?