#she's doing the heavy lifting with the ancient languages though

[mythosphere]

sometimes being a classics major is when you and your roommate have equal but opposite interests and so together you make up one full classicist

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #90: Hogwarts Legacy, but make it time travel

One of my absolute favorite WIPs at the moment is A Different Legacy by Finexs, in which a female!Harry Potter travels through time and becomes the MC of Hogwarts Legacy. It's an absolutely brilliant fic for a variety of reasons, the most relevant being that it tickled my own brain and brought back a fic idea I had when I first played the game a year ago...

Or: What if the Hogwarts Legacy MC traveled through time to become the competent adult Harry so desperately needs?

Bear with me:

There is absolutely no reason why the governments of the UK and the wizarding UK should be contiguous - or really any reason for there to be a wizarding UK at all. The Treaty of Union came into effect in 1707, whereas the Statue of Secrecy became law in 1692. And since muggle and wizard seemed to have gone their own way long before this... why not take it to the logical conclusion?

For the sake of this AU: Wizarding Ireland has always been its own place, ruled by Irish Wizards, separate from anything going on in Great Britain. Wizarding England is largely made up of a combination of the old Anglo-Saxon states and the Danelaw, while wizarding Cornwall, Wales, Scotland, and Strathclyde all do their own thing. Most import to this fic: the Orkney Islands still belong to the unified wizarding kingdom of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.

Wizarding Orkney, as part of wizarding Denmark, contains the Orkney and Shetland Islands. The culture reflects their stronger Norse background, and Norn is still the mother tongue - though Scots and English are common second or third languages.

These two archipelagos are ruled by a wizarding earldom, the House of Magnusson, from their seat at Stonybreck Castle on Fair Isle. Prior to her death in 1887, the countess was Eydis Magnusson. When she died the earldom fell to her 12-year-old daughter, Freya - though her muggleborn father, Joseph Evans, does a lot of the heavy lifting at first.

Just imagine it:

Freya Magnusson is a witch who was trained by tutors her entire life. In the spring of 1890 she begins showing signs of a rare magical ability that requires further training, the only teacher of which is a professor at Hogwarts who won't be tempted away for love or money. And so, with great reluctance, Freya begins attending Hogwarts in the fall of 1890 as a Fifth Year.

She proves to be a consummate Ravenclaw with some decidedly Slytherin tendencies whose greatest interests are DADA and Ancient Runes, and if she didn't have an earldom to run the Danish version of Unspeakables would be snapping her up in a heartbeat.

Events of Hogwarts Legacy follow canon. Freya kills Victor Rookwood, defeats Ranrok, and contains the ancient magic.

More importantly for the purposes of this fic, after the skirmish at the Feldcroft catacomb, Freya convinces Anne and Ominis not to turn in Sebastian for killing his uncle... and convinces him to stay with her at Stonybreck Castle during the summer of 1891, to get away from all the reminders and start afresh. This kicks the slow burn they'd been dealing with since almost the moment they met into full gear, and by the end of the summer they're dating.

Sixth and Seventh Year pass without nearly as much excitement. Freya and Sebastian graduate in May 1892. They marry the following year and by late 1894 have a daughter, Ingrid.

Fast forward to the summer of 1898.

By this point, Sebastian has made a name for himself on the professional dueling circuit, winning the European Championships 3 years in a row.

Freya, meanwhile, throws herself into running her earldom, but still finds time to research runes and Ancient Magic. Though she's keen to recreate the mirror-portals she came across in her adventures, Freya takes all the precautions she can... including sending her 3-year-old daughter out of the castle with her father whenever she's testing something particularly dangerous.

...but something still goes wrong, and the magic seems to be pulled out of her, and the castle fills with light...

To the outside world, Stonybreck Castle appears to be caught in a time bubble.

No one can enter, no one can leave, and the goblin nation - more thankful to Freya for stopping Ranrok than any of the human ministries - takes up a watchful vigil over the castle. (Think The Still Ruins in DA:I's Western Approach.)

As the years pass, the mystery of Stonybreck Castle is largely forgotten by everyone except the goblins, who are present when the bubble dissipates in the summer of 1993, revealing a Freya and Sebastian who show no signs that any time has passed for them at all.

They're taken to Gringotts. Once their identities are verified, one of their old goblin friends - now very old indeed - has the unfortunate task of explaining to them just how much time has passed. And just how much the wars took from them.

(Natty died fighting Grindelwald; so did Ominis, though his death was originally thought to be an accident after Grindelwald came looking for his family's Hollow and was only later found to be otherwise. Poppy was maimed fighting poachers and later fell during Voldemort's rise... and so on. Their daughter Ingrid died in 1979, alone, of Dragon Pox, the wars having taken her husband and children long before.)

Their first day in 1993 is spent mourning.

Their second day might well have been spent the same if not for the fact that Harry Potter, freshly escaped from the Dursleys, comes to the bank that morning... and for the first time ever the magical guardians portion of his paperwork is not obfuscated - and reads Countess Freya Magnusson of Orkney and her consort, Sebastian Sallow of Feldcroft.

It eventually comes out that Freya's muggleborn father, Joseph Evans, is the brother of Harry's mother's great-great-grandfather, Samuel Evans, making them first cousins four times removed. Regardless of the details, Freya is Harry's closest magical blood relative, making her and her husband automatically his magical guardians.

This proves to be just the thing Freya needs to pull herself of the depression she might otherwise have fallen into (the guilt over leaving her daughter alone is crushing, and while Ingrid had Freya's father to take care of her... Harry has not been so lucky).

Freya is a one-woman war machine, bulldozing over any and all who stand in her way. Who placed Harry with his aunt and uncle? Why were his parents' ignored? Why did no one check on the boy? Why did no one realize he was being abused? How did the headmaster not realize Voldemort was possessing one of this teachers? Why did it fall to a 12-year-old child to save a classmate from a basilisk stalking the school halls? - She sets out to solve all these problems and more.

Sebastian is equally incensed by all of this, but views a large part of it as Hogwart's failing - after all, if the school had done a better job of teaching why it's such a bad idea to delve into the Dark Arts rather than just saying, Dark Magic bad, they wouldn't be in this position. Some of it is also the Ministry's fault for being so incompetent, but the only way to keep more people from losing themselves to the Dark Arts like he almost did (and more people dying because of those Dark wizards) is education.

And so Sebastian becomes the DADA teacher for the 1993 school year, because even a man 95 years out of time is still preferable to werewolf to the school board. (Or, since Lupin's status as a werewolf is not widely known, a pureblood a century out of time is far preferable to a poor half-blood mated to a man in Azkaban for life.)

Canon does not so much proceed apace as nosedive into AU.

Sebastian is nearly fired within his first month for sitting down with all his classes, explaining what Dark magic really is, why it's dangerous, and why some parts of it can be safely used but why it's very easy to get lost in it. The takeaway is basically: if you want to learn, find yourself a reputable teacher after you graduate, but until then you'll find yourself in detention if I catch you dabbling in it... which is still entirely too pro-Dark for Dumbledore. Although Dumbledore attempts to chide him on it, Sebastian comes back with - among other things - I remember you as a tetchy first year and telling kids why they shouldn't do something works better than a simple no, that's parenting 101.

He goes on to catch Sirius during his Halloween break-in by the simple expedient of having been on his way outside the wards to apparate back to Stonybreck Castle to visit his wife, but by this point they've realized that the MoM has never given him a trial, so rather than tell anyone he takes Sirius home with him, where Freya offers him legal sanctuary on behalf of the Danish government.

Third Year ends up being remarkably peaceful for Harry despite the Dementors, but even they are gone by Easter once the Danish government makes it known they've offered Sirius sanctuary.

Fourth Year has the Triwizard Tournament, but since Sebastian is still DADA professor, he's the one who insists on casting the age lines around the Goblet of Fire and makes it so someone can only put their own name in if they're between 17 and 20. And so Harry is never a part of it - and is too protected by Sebastian and Freya to be easily kidnapped.

Voldemort finally manages to resurrect himself during Halloween 1995 using the blood of Mad-Eye Moody. He slowly gathers forces, staying quiet until he manages a big attack on Platform 9 3/4 on the last day of Harry's Fifth Year. Several students are killed - especially the younger ones - but several more are able to fight back, having had 3 years of DADA under a competent professor.

It quickly becomes undeniable that Voldemort is back - or, as the MoM spins it, someone is pretending to be him to gain power.

Sixth Year is spent with Voldemort on the offensive. Dumbledore tries to counter with the Order, but after 3 years of seeing Freya gradually erode his power base for failing so badly in the aftermath of the war - and 3 years of seeing a DADA teacher teach their children and stand up for them for the first time in living memory - it's to Freya and Sebastian most turn.

Between Freya's Ancient Magic and Sebastian's knowledge of the Dark Arts, they're able to determine Voldemort made Horcruxes without having to wait for Dumbledore to cough up the knowledge. They're able to use runes to track the others down and Ancient Magic to destroy them. When they face Voldie during his attack on Hogwarts in May 1997, he is mortal.

Though they both fight, Sebastian is the one who casts the final blow this time, and he's hailed as the wizarding world's latest savior.

Sebastian goes on to hold the DADA post for 25 more years before going on to replace McGonagall as Hogwarts Headmaster. He holds that post for half-a-century before retiring as one of the most beloved headmasters in Hogwarts history.

Freya continues her research into runes and Ancient Magic, eventually succeeding in making the mirror-portal she so desired. These come to replace long-distance portkeys, with mirror-portal "airports" set up in each of the largest wizarding cities to facilitate travel. She remains a strong political force as Countess of Orkney, but largely stays out of British wizarding affairs after Harry comes of age...

...and Harry, following her example, goes on to use the training they gave him and his own political power as the Boy-Who-Lived to reform the MoM from the inside - starting with the Aurors. It's a long a difficult journey, but by the time he steps down after his third term as Minister of Magic, the MoM utterly unrecognizable. And actually worthy of being called a competent wizarding government.

Bonuses include:

It never being clear what caused the time bubble that catapulted Freya and Sebastian from 1898 to 1993, although Freya comes to suspect it has something to do with having been approximately 4 weeks pregnant at the time. Twins Aleksander and Irene are born 1 February, 1994 - nearly a full century after their sister Ingrid - and both start showing proficiency in Ancient Magic upon reaching their 15th birthdays;

Harry spending nearly his entire Third Year being confused by kind, loving guardians who sweep in and care for him in a way no one ever has before. It's overwhelming and would be oppressive if they didn't also realize that he's a teenager who's been taking care of himself most of his life and therefore try to take his opinions into account. (He also proves to be the best big brother ever to Alek and Irene after they're born);

Harry himself is never a Horcrux, as Horcruxes cannot be made accidentally. Dumbledore's whole plan to have him sacrifice himself is predicated on a misunderstanding of how the Dark Arts work and thus unnecessary. Whatever connection the two share is because of prophesy, not magic;

At least a third of this fic being about the differences between the muggle world and the wizarding - not just national borders, but culture, language, religion, clothing, food, and everything. The wizarding world does not exist in isolation from the muggles, but it is largely self-contained with only marginal influences from the muggleborns who join each year (who, for the most part, adapt to wizarding ways). This should have a variety of cascading effects beyond what we see in canon and should be most obvious with Freya, who is very much a Nordic Witch despite being from what in the muggle world is a British island. It should also create all sorts of political tensions as the wizarding various powers within the British Isles brush against each other (perhaps the English MoM bulled the Scottish MoM into allowing Dementors at Hogwarts in Third Year and the Scots hold a grudge? &c); and

Freya Magnusson and Sebastian Sallow being the example of love among magicals for the next two hundred years. He respects her power and influence, never begrudging her the time she must spend dealing with her earldom or resenting the power she or their children have. She loves and respects him in turn, never judging him for his occasional slips into the darkest of Dark Arts, and trusts him in all things. They are a BAMF battle couple - and loving parents. They care for Harry as much as they for for any children of their blood, and want to make a world a better place for all of them.

As you can tell, I have a lot of ideas for this plot bunny, most of which is background information. Although the hopping off point for this fic was giving Harry a responsible adult, most of the action centers around Freya and Sebastian, and it shows. As always, feel free to borrow this bun. Just link back if you do anything with it.

More HP Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[lostywrites]

Summary:

The Hidden Ones encounter a mysterious traveller from Azeroth. Recognising an opportunity to forge new alliances and expand their influence, they appoint Basim Ibn Ishaq, a devoted disciple, as their representative.

In a realm where ancient lore and magic are as tangible as the air he breathes, Basim must rely on his wits, skills, and newfound connections to fulfill his mission and unlock secrets that could change the fate of both worlds.

A Warcraft/Assassin's Creed Mirage crossover fic. Set before the events of Dragonflight and Valhalla.

Playlist

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - The First Ones

Khadgar let out a soft sigh as he leaned back. “I’ve always admired their resilience. Always in search of opportunities to grow and make our world a better place to be in. And you, Basim, have significantly contributed to this mission.”

Basim, aiming to sound modest, replied, “Much of it wouldn’t have been possible without Wrathion’s support.”

“True, but you’ve tackled much of the heavy lifting. That’s exactly why you’ve earned your spot here in my private hot spring,” Khadgar said in jest. Then his voice lowered, a more personal note creeping into his tone. "And Roshan, how is she managing all this?"

A slight smile played at the corners of Basim’s mouth as he picked up on the hint of concern in the mage's voice. “Why the sudden interest? Is this why you invited me here? Hoping to dig a little deeper about Roshan?”

Khadgar chuckled, a flush creeping up his neck, visible even in the steamy air. “Well, she is an impressive woman, commanding respect and admiration. It’s hard not to be,” he cleared his throat, “impressed.”

“You should speak with her more.”

“Ah, but my command of languages isn’t as polished as yours, Basim. I fear I might just embarrass myself trying to communicate.” 

Basim’s laughter echoed around the warm space, blending with the murmur of the hot spring. “Perhaps, but I suspect Roshan would find your efforts more charming than foolish.”

Khadgar's face brightened, though a hint of uncertainty lingered in his eyes. “If she ever gets a break from her work at the bureau, I'd be thrilled to have her visit my workshop at the Violet Citadel. I've been doing a bit of tinkering myself, and given her passion for explosives...well, it's something I've developed quite a knack for, too.”

“It seems like you two have quite a bit in common, and it could be a great way to break the ice. You should extend that invitation, then.” 

“Perhaps I will,” Khadgar considered, his expression thoughtful as he relaxed further into the warm water. His smile persisted, softened by a contented sigh.

[timew0und]

a year or so ago i posted this on my previous blog & have finally found it, so here is part one of the soundtrack to remilia’s life aka before the main questline of skyrim begins .... i hope u enjoy <3

before the title reveal [ . . . ] title reveal. skyrim's main theme by taylor davis (cover).

SCENE . . . begins overlooking a vast flowing field, of soft greens & hazy violets. springtime breezes stir the tall grass & lavender stalks with lover's caress as the beginning of the cover plays. a young woman appears before the camera, back to us as the audience. with dark, dark hair to her hips, braided messily but with care, simplistic dress of white close to body & feet bare of shoes. one hand comes to brush against nature before her, & the camera pans upwards, around, to her face. eyes of green fire meet ours, & the theme picks up, as if saying: ah, here she is! our girl, our hero. camera continues to rise, up up up to the pale blue skies—thus title is revealed [0:41], & then a line from a poem fades in. it reads: CHORUS: o, sad one. some heavy god has put more pain on you than any other human being.

the beginning. talia's theme by two steps from hell.

SCENE . . . begins pitch-black. howling winds, mournful & cruel. night sky is shown, pale stars barely evident under blanket of darkened clouds & blanket of night. howling winds fade & theme begins as we follow a snowbank up to a tiny, ramshackle barn of rotting wood & rusting nails. upon a straw pillow—oh, how scratchy & uncomfortable it looks—& with a lone wool blanket 'round frame, a young woman sits within barn; the same young woman from before, but more frail, more terror-ridden, more frightened prey even with no predator in sight [0:18]. a blackbird with its beady, all-knowing eyes stares from windowsill, cloaked in darkness. her eyes are closed for a moment, then open & lift to the landscape outside. her knees are pulled towards her chest, head leaning on arms, mesmerized by sights & sounds of a rare winter upon the land of high rock [0:25]. lonely, lonely, lonely… she is terribly lonely. is this all there is? is this all there will be? same blackbird is our camera, flying out & back to the sky [0:32], beginning its roam over the village. not a soul is out, & all lanterns are extinguished. then: pitch-black once more.

the dreams (visions?) begin [ . . . ] the divines call! prologue by ramin djawadi.

SCENE . . . where are we? where is that young woman? it is unknown as of yet where we are, what we are seeing; what we are supposed to be seeing. a cave, perhaps? deep within the earth? coal-black walls, yet cracks reveal bright, scarlet fire, or mayhaps molten lava. [0:00 - 0:46] then, a monstrous roar, a shaking of the screen! a voice, a language guttural & powerful & ancient. dovahkiin! somewhere within the depths, there rises a cacophony of a girl's screams & wails & sobs. we, as the audience, know only one concept from what we are given: everything is hurting, everything is burning, & everything is changing. nothing shall be the same again. NOTE . . . this theme plays all the way through, the ferocity of the flames & the shaking of the screen growing stronger & stronger as do the wails.

awakening [ . . . ] where are you, child? fate awaits. eastern path by vangelis.

SCENE . . . the young woman is back in our sights. she is in a restless state of sleep-wake, eyes moving rapidly under thin lids, bottom lip quivering & brow furrowing. expression of terror & despair stays frozen 'pon delicate features, sweaty & flushed. awakening with a startle, her chest heaves & she gasps for air, hand coming to bosom as if heart hurts. despite the almost-freezing temperatures she has lain in, she feels as though she is on fire; as though her body, her soul itself, is aflame. tunic-dress is ripped off with violent, frenzied movements, though nothing is shown except her bare back. a call to run, to move: she knows not where she shall go, but she knows she cannot stay here any longer.

journey begins [ . . . ] fate will not wait for thee. wandering jane by dario marianelli.

SCENE . . . o'er hills, o'er ice-lands. the journey is not pleasant, nor kind. weather does not sympathize, nor do the gods wait. she stumbles, she falls, she rises. she cries into her palms, she skins her kneecaps, bruises her body, speaks to no one but the watching wilderness & watching moons & sun. yet she falters not, for fate is a rope 'round ivory neck, & it pulls her ever-forward.

border of change [ . . . ] border of rebirth. winter by paul halley.

SCENE . . . the crone who took her in, brought her away from death's arms, spoke in prophecies with glazed hues of the bluest blue. in a language unknown to all but the pillars of reality itself, she asks: what is your name, girl? & thus the girl speaks: remilia. secret revealed: it has been her fate since her birth, since before her birth, since before her great-grandmother's birth, before her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother's birth: this prophecy. she feels the heaviness of the world upon her frail shoulders, feels the burn of the rope of prophecy upon the tender skin of her neck, threatening to hang. from past to present to future untold: it is her duty to defeat the great evil that shall follow her to the ends of time. only one shall survive, & it must be her. sobs escape her mouth as she dashes out of the tent. falling to her knees, she lifts her head to the sky & gives a soundless scream of why? why me? i am nothing, i offer nothing. please, this cannot be given to me. NOTE . . . as soon as the woman looks up from remilia’s palms & says but one phrase — you are the last dragonborn, it must be you — in her quiet, slow voice, the scene cuts to the tent flap being shoved open, as if the poor girl cannot get out fast enough.

stages o' grief unfolded, denial [ . . . ] must i truly do this? once upon a december by emile pandolfi.

SCENE . . . she has not written much before. though taught by those in the village that saw & pitied her, she has not had need nor want to simply sit & write. her letters are small & a bit lopsided, the ink messy from where she pressed too hard on certain strokes, & while she tries to angle her head away when tears begin to flow, they too stain the paper. it is a note of leaving: a thank you & goodbye to the woman who saved her life & taught her so much; of the gods, of the land, of survival, of what she must endure.

stages o' grief unfolded, acceptance [ . . . ] yes, i must. under an ancient sun by jeremy soule.

SCENE . . . evidently, some time has passed: perhaps a day or two. dawn arrives, with birdsong & breeze. we see nothing but the whiteness of snow, as far as the eye can see, mountain-tops & pine trees. the crackling of snow underneath footsteps. then, a fur-lined boot comes into view. the camera rises to her face: she is nervous, terrified even. but her mouth is set into a tight line, her brows furrowed. she raises a hand to the amulet of kyne now lain ‘round her neck: a gift from the woman before. with a shaky inhale, her journey begins. NOTE . . . the music is already playing by the time the sun breaks over the mountains. it continues on.

[potassium-pilot]

FFXIVWrite 2023, Prompt 2: Bark

As Dia sat on a rock in upper reaches of Elpis, healing herself after fighting Venat to prove herself to Argos, who appeared but the golden dog himself as he gently laid a head on her thigh and looked up at her with sad wet eyes. Dia looked down and couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the display. "Oh, look who's all nice to me after I win something." The dog did not move, and willfully sat there, awaiting his well-earned pets.

"Oh, who's an opportunistic little boy, hm?" She took a hand and patted the top of his head, Argos closing his eyes and simply enjoying her attentions. She moved a hand to behind his right ear, making the dog's left hind leg move up and down in response. "You like that?" The dog panted happily.

Dia went down to her knees to give him her full attention. "Do you like this?" She took another hand behind his other ear and started scratching there too. Argos leaned into her for more and she brought her magic hands up and down his back. "Oh, you love your scritches, don't you?" The dog whined in affirmation.

"Now come on, speak!"

"Boof!"

"Speak!"

"Boof!"

"Speak!"

"...boof!"

"Oh, you hesitated!" She stopped her scratches and started petting from the neck back with both of her hands. "Who's the most hesitant boy in the world? Who is it? Who is it?"

"Boof!"

"That's right! You are! Yes you are! Oh, yes you are!" Dia cooed, patting him with even more excitement, Argos lightly lifting his paws up and down like he was performing a little dance.

"Take care, Dia. You're on the verge of babbling", Venat teased. Dia looked up to her from the ground and smiled. "Wouldn't you?"

"Well..."

"Don't you dare try to tell me that you haven't patted this dog until you've lost grasp of any sort of language."

Venat looked away sheepishly. "Perhaps I may like to pat him every now and again."

Dia bore into her with a knowing look, complete with a smug curl of her lip.

"All right, on multiple occasions." Venat bent down and joined Dia in petting the familiar. Dia laughed and said, "If I live at the end of this, I might try looking into getting a dog. Might be handy to keep one around."

"You could have Argos, if you wish." Venat offered. "If what you say is true, I sincerely doubt I could keep him in my possession, and you did mention that you met him on this 'moon' of yours."

"Of yours", Dia reminded her. "You made it, not me." She looked back to Argos and pondered the idea. "Only if he'd want to, I suppose. And I'd have to ask my..." Dia stopped herself to come up with another word, unsure of what the tradition for romantic partnership is in the world of the Ancients, "...roommate, for permission. I suppose he's already okay with Eos."

"Oh...roommate, is that what he is?" Venat teased again. "Don't worry; though we do have our customs, lovers yet live abound."

Dia breathed a laugh. "Yes, my partner is also my roommate. I live in his house, so I'd need him to agree to a dog."

Venat smiled. "A fair point. Keep in mind, however, that though he takes the form of a canine, he is but a familiar. He can be called and dissipated as needed.”

Dia gave the idea heavy consideration. “Well, what do you think, Argos? Would you want to come home with me someday? Would you? Huh?”

“Boof!”

Argos startled himself awake with his own bark. The familiar's dream of the distant memory of that new woman and his creator slipped past him like sand through his paws. Upon waking, he sat up against his hind legs and stared at the prison of Zodiark. The god was but a fraction of Himself and the Crystals of Light yet worked to keep Him bound. Argos then looked to the massive blue star that bowed to the silver majesty of the moon. He knew that place once, but it looked even smaller somehow.

His creator didn’t give him a way to tell time. She only gave him precious and fragile memories of a time long, long ago. He had awaited someone on the moon this entire time. He had awaited his creator. As simple as a memory is, it was up to him to hold onto it. Perhaps his creator made it that he could never forget, but memories were worth more to him than any gold or silver. Memories carried him through his silent vigil as all that awaited him on the moon were the shade of the Watcher, the Lopporits who were in stasis regularly, and the millions who bound together to form Zodiark.

He sat down against his front legs, and closed his eyes before giving a soft, soft whine.

Such were days that passed over and over and over, time a yawning void that yielded no change. But one day, something seemed different. Something happened to the crystals that bound Zodiark. Spirits sprung out of Zodiark's prison. Strangers appeared on the horizon.

Then he smelled it. A smell he hadn’t had waft past his nose in over 12,000 years. It was distant, but it was there. It approached him slowly but surely. He looked to his right, then to his left, and he saw its source. A woman approached him. She was tall like Venat, but her hair and her ears were different.

This was the other woman.

She seemed hesitant upon approaching him, but he didn’t care. He rushed to her and propped the whole of his body against her, startling her as she let out a "Whoa!" before he licked her face relentlessly. "Oh gods, you're a friendly thing. A very friendly thing. A bit of a disturbing thing- Nymeia, those eyes are...something." Despite her reluctance, he didn't care. He waited through the torment, his patience paper thin, and he would indulge himself before becoming the guide Dia would need. "Boof! Boof!"

"Yes, yes, you're a good boy! Now can you tell me what's going on here?"

As quick as she came, she left, but she did not leave him alone again. Now that he knew where to find her, she could call on him and he would come. Even when she didn't, Argos was never out of reach.

There are times where Dia swears up and down that when she was bedbound after fighting Zodiark, when none were to be found in the house and she was too tired to keep her eyes open, that the feeling of a fluffy snout would scooch itself under her hands, and the weight of a kind, well-meaning animal would lay itself gently against her, helping guide her to sleep.

[ragingbookdragon]

She's A Bird! She's A Plane! She's...Spiderwoman?

Justice League x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: IDK where this came from but I was watching ITSV, so...there's that. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“This is your fault,” Barry griped, hacking away at the glowing fauna with the makeshift machete—in reality it was just a really big stick that had a really sharp rock tied to the end. “I told you our trajectory was off and what did you do? You said, ‘I’m Hal Jordan, the greatest pilot in the world. Watch my big head crash us on an alien planet where our central battery gets displaced during the impromptu crash land and thrown miles from our position’.”

“Do you want some cheese with all that whine, Bar?” Hal asked, an unimpressed scowl on his face as he illuminated their footpath. “It’s not my fault the orbital windspeeds were faster than the sensors picked up on. Blame the tech, not me.”

“That sounds like you’re just trying to pass off the blame,” he shot back, swiping down at another vine that wriggled like a dying snake and spat out fluorescent blue liquid on the broken end. “Y’know? Like you do best?”

“Seriously, find a better thing to do than complain, Flash. We’ve got bigger fish to fry than blaming each other.”

“Each other? I didn’t do anything! This was all you!” Barry spun on Hal and glared at him.

They glowered at each other when a clicking sound echoed above them and they both jumped a foot in the air, spinning back-to-back as they looked around in every direction, up and down and side to side.

“What the hell was that?” Hal worried.

“I don’t know,” Barry replied, just as concerned. “It sounded like clacking.”

“That did not sound like a chicken.”

“Clacking, Hal, not clucking.”

“Same thing,” he retorted, lifting his arm in the air, shining a bright green light amongst the glowing red treetops. A bunch of branches, neon red leaves and purple flowers, a darting limb—a darting limb?

Hal shifted the light back, jolting Barry’s shoulder in the process. “What is it?”

“There’s something above us,” he whispered, watching with cautious eyes as something shifted on the main branch of the tree, the outline of a dark head coming out, just enough to catch the edge of their bright gold eye. “It’s watching us.”

The something shifted back into cover, the clacking sounding once more, then the treetop ruffled, dropping red and purple fauna on the two men as it jumped to another tree. Hal tried to follow it, but it was too fast for his eyes; the only thing it left behind though was a string of long white webbing, hanging down from the blue tree branch. And Hal being the idiot he was, decided to touch it to see if he could figure out what it was, and only managed to get it all over his hands.

He pouted, trying to pull apart his hands. “It’s sticky.”

Barry let out a long and heavy sigh, placing one hand at the small of his best friend’s back, the other holding the machete. “Come on, dumb-dumb. Let’s go find that thing again.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of how the survivors live? I know we’re white, but I didn’t think we were that white.” He was half tempted to see if he could gnaw the webbing with his teeth. “This shit isn’t coming off.”

“Here,” Barry said, vibrating his hand as fast as he could and to Hal’s surprise, the webbing cut, falling to the ground.

“Thanks!” he chirped, holding his arm out again to shine his ring. “What do you think that thing was?”

“Alien lifeform.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The alien world?”

“I’ve just about had it with you,” Barry growled, cutting through another rough patch of vines. As the path cleared, they stepped out of the heavily forested area to see one older tree in the center of the circle. It rested atop what looked like an ancient cave, the rocks crumbling around the front.

“I’m not going in there,” Hal immediately stated. “You couldn’t pay me all the money the US owes in debt to go in there. Fuck that.”

“You’re such a big baby,” Barry chuckled, walking up to the entrance; it was about the twelve feet high and ten feet wide, big enough for the two of them to walk in. “Come on. It went in here.”

“Barry, please! Why aren’t you more worried about this?” Hal begged. “You should be more worried!”

“Hal, if it wanted to hurt us, it would’ve done so already.”

“Or maybe it’s luring us to our deaths!” he countered, even though he was following Barry into the cave.

There was more webbing along the walls of the cave, swirling around patterns of purple and blue. The farther they walked the stickier it got, and at one point, they were struggling to lift their feet off the cave floor to take the next step.

“Christ, what is this stuff?” Hal asked and Barry bent down, poking at the webbing.

“It’s like spider webbing, but stickier and stronger.” He vibrated his hand to dislodge it from the strings, then did it around Hal’s feet. “You might wanna float for now. I’ll vibrate my feet to keep from sticking.”

“Good idea,” Hal agreed, lifting a few inches off the ground. “Do you think the lifeform is intelligent?”

“Intelligent us or just intelligent?”

“Intelligent us.”

“Anything’s possible. It seemed sentient so I believe it’s probably intelligent.”

“What do you define as intelligent, Barry?” Hal questioned and the forensic scientist hummed.

“If it’s capable of calculus it’s intelligent.”

“Really? If it can do math homework you think it’s worthy?”

“Calculus is a difficult skill. You need the ability to think and to calculate in order to solve and understand it. That requires sentience and intellige—oh shit!” Barry’s words tipped into a yelp as the ground gave way beneath him and he sunk down, shouting all the way.

Hal’s eyes shot wide, and he flew down the hole. “Barry!” he yelled. “Barry where are—oof!” he collided with more of the webbing, this time enough that the entire left side of his body was stuck to it.

“Hal! You okay!”

He looked over, seeing Barry stuck on his back. “I’m okay? You!”

Barry nodded. “I’ve been better. What is this?” they looked around the best they could. Spiral upon spiral of iridescent webbings surrounded them, stuck to the walls for support, them in the center.

Hal’s eyes narrowed and he glowered at Barry. “I fucking told you it was luring us here.”

“Shut u—”

The clacking sounded above them and with panic, they both turned their eyes to the ceiling, watching as the alien lowered down near them. It looked like a human, two arms and two legs, no extra limbs at all. Hell, it didn’t even look like an alien spider; it just looked like a normal human, gazing down at them with two normal eyes. That was until it opened all six of its golden eyes and stared down at them with it’s mouth open, two one-inch fangs protruding from where the canines were.

“Ohshitohshitohshit,” Hal whispered, about to shit himself in terror.

The alien reached for Barry, and he watched as his friend sunk back into the webbing from the outstretched hand. Except he couldn’t go any farther and turned his head to the side, quietly whimpering as the long black claws touched his cheek.

“Barry!” Hal hissed and blue eyes met his, then,

“Friends!” the alien shouted. “New friends for Rhiezheveir to have!”

Their expressions pinched in confusion as the being started to twirl in the air, one hand holding to the webbing they’d lowered down on, the other elegantly flowing in the air.

“You can understand us?” Barry wondered and they looked down.

“Yes!” leaning down, they got in his face, and he saw the rather feminine looking features. “Rhiezheveir saw the ship come in the sky and land! I waited until you left it to search! The ship’s memory functions in this language!” she seemed rather excited. “Rhiezheveir found the core you were looking for! I did not know how to get you here to return it!”

She climbed up the webbing, disappearing quickly only to reappear with the ship’s core under her free arm. “Here it is! Rhiezheveir brought it back!”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Hal inquired and she lowered down next to his face, hers right in front of his.

“Saying what?”

“Rhieza-something-reservoir?”

“Rhiezheveir?” she offered, and he nodded.

“Yeah, that.”

“Rhiezheveir is my name! I am named after the brightest star in the Kosialaran sky!”

“In the what sky?” Barry asked.

“Kosialaran!” she answered. “This planet’s name! My planet!”

“Are there more of you?” Hal questioned. “You’re the only intelligent life we’ve seen besides bloodthirsty beats trying to eat us.”

“Yes, I saw you fight with the Erqurcus. They are not nice lizards. They like to bite Rhiezheveir when she tries to feed them.”

“Why do you refer to yourself in the third person?” Barry piped up. “Sometimes you use first too.”

“In Aissaveed culture, we commonly refer to ourselves in the third, though I learned from watching, that humans use first. Rhiezheveir is learning to mix them.” She smiled and the clacking sounded again.

Hal tried to look at her. “What is that noise?”

Bending down to his face again, she flashed her fangs. “They click when I get excited!”

Barry cleared his throat. “Um, Rhiezheveir, are there more of your kind in the area?”

“Not here. On the other side of the planet there is. Rhiezheveir has travelled far to get away from her people’s hunters. They do not like me.”

“How come?”

“Rhiezheveir broke tradition. Refused to be royal consort. Fled and hid here.” She let the tips of her toes touch the delicate silk webbing and then crouched, the web bouncing lightly with the weight. “Rhiezheveir is not welcome amongst her people anymore. I am alone now.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Barry murmured, even empathetical of the alien. “You’re here all alone?”

“Yes! Though not anymore!” she patted both Hal and Barry’s thighs. “New friends!”

Hal wiggled. “I hate to break it to you, Reservoir, but—”

“Rhiezheveir,” she corrected, and he sighed.

“Rhiezheveir. But we have to get back to our own planet. We have responsibilities.”

Barry nodded. “We need to get back to our ship.” he tugged against the webbing. “Can you help us get out of this? We’re stuck.”

“Of course!” she chirped, starting to snip the webbing with her claws.

“Wait a second!” Hal exclaimed. “There’s nothing underneath meAHHHHH!” the last thread snapped, and Hal tumbled down the dark and dimly lit cavern.

“Rhiezheveir!” Barry yelled. “What are you doing!”

She held up a finger in a wait motion, then a wet plop sounded, followed by, “NEVERMIND! I’M OKAY! THIS WATER SMELLS FUNNY THOUGH!”

The Speedster sighed. “Oh, there’s water down there.”

She looked at Barry oddly. “Rhiezheveir would not try to kill her new friends. That is not nice.” Snipping the lines around him, she held on as he fell and she let out a squeal as they dropped, though as Barry hit the water, she merely held on to the web in her hand, just above the body.

Barry broke the water and spit out the remaining in his mouth. “Water tastes funny too.”

Hal rolled his eyes. “Rhiezheveir, how do we get out of here?”

She smiled. “Follow me!” she shot out her free hand and another string of webbing left her hand, attaching to the roof of the cavern; letting go with her other hand, she swung like a monkey on a vine, then repeated the process, alternating her hands. And boy she was fast. Barry and Hal had to freehand like they were in the Olympics to keep up, and even then, it wasn’t fast enough.

***

By the time they made it back to the ship, their hair and clothes had dried off. They noticed that she didn’t like to be on the ground and crawled along the tree limbs above them. Bioluminescent flower petals shook from the branches every time she moved, creating an aura of beautiful red and purple around them.

Barry took the battery from her and slot it back into place, watching as they ship powered back to life; he walked over to Hal who was sitting in the first seat. “Everything good?”

Hal nodded. “A few nicks here and there, but the engine and all other vital systems are good.” He looked up. “We should be good to go once the power levels reach operational.”

The Speedster smiled and turned to her. “Well, Rhiezheveir, this is goodbye.”

She merely blinked. “What do you mean goodbye? I am coming with you.”

“There’s not enough room,” Hal said, and she smiled, those fangs clacking as she raised her arms.

“I will make myself small!” her dark body illuminated in a bright gold, then the shape began to shrink and shift, eight long legs appearing out of the main shape that had evolved into two orb like shapes. When the glow dispersed, she raised her front legs and waved, then skittered up Barry’s leg and body to his head.

“I have a spider on my head.” He said dumbly. “I have an alien spider nuzzling my hair.” Barry looked at Hal. “There’s a spider in my hair.”

Hal shrugged. “So long as it stays on you, we’re good.” He peered at her. “Rhiezheveir, can you understand us in there?”

She waved her front legs as Barry climbed into the ship, sitting on his seat; she scurried down his head to his shoulder and sat there, perfectly balanced, her beady golden eyes occasionally blinking.

“That’s a big ass spider,” Hal noted.

“She reminds me of a Goliath birdeater.”

“A what now?”

“Goliath birdeater. It’s the biggest spider on earth.” He examined her. “But her legs are so long…like a huntsman spiders’. I wonder if she’s got the abilities of different species?”

Barry reached up, holding out his hand and she climbed on it, letting him lower her to his lap. “Can you sit there while we take off, Rhiezheveir? Once were out of atmosphere, you can wander around the cockpit.”

All she merely did was raise her front legs and wave them once more before settling on his thighs, curling her legs in contently; he smiled down at her, then the realization of what bringing her meant and he blurted out, “I have no idea how we’re going to explain this to the others.”

“What do you mean?” Hal questioned.

Barry looked at him. “The crash land will be easy—you’re an idiot.” He ignored Hal’s outcry of offense and gestured to her. “How do we explain we picked up a shapeshifting spider…lady?”

Hal shrugged. “Hostile environment navigated by a peaceful intelligent lifeform who managed to be a stowaway?”

“I like the first half up until ‘who’.” Barry met his gaze. “She was threatened by her own people and begged to help her flee?”

The pilot pursed his lips. “We’ll need to use her reasoning for leaving. The whole royal consort business.”

“Sounds good.” Barry glanced down at her. “Rhiezheveir, does that sound—oh…I think she’s asleep.”

Hal looked down to Barry’s lap and sure enough, the hand-sized spider wasn’t moving on his legs other than the occasional leg twitch. “Sure she didn’t die?”

“Hal!” Barry hissed. “Don’t be mean!” he gently scratched her the top of her abdomen with his pointer finger.

“You’ve pack-bonded with a spider,” Hal noted. “Nice job, buddy.”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t find her friendly.”

“She’s a spider.”

“She’s an alien who turns into a spider.” He watched the planet get smaller and smaller as they exited the orbit and into the stars. “Bruce isn’t going to be happy that we brought an alien back.”

“I think the pressing matter is that we have no idea what she eats.”

“Bugs?”

“You said she was an alien who turns into a spider, Bar. What’s she going to eat when she’s human…like?”

“Meat?” Barry wiggled his fingers in Hal’s side. “Man-flesh.”

Hal choked on a laugh, batting at the hand against his ribs. “Stop that.” He steered the ship through a debrief field with ease. “We’d better figure out or she’ll eat somebody in the middle of a fight.”

“In a fight?” Barry asked.

Hal shot him a look. “We didn’t take this Lady Spider with us just to get her off her home-world. She’s gonna help out somewhere.” He shrugged. “Might as well stick her in the Justice League.”

Barry’s lips pulled satisfactory. “That’s…actually a good idea.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to show her to Bruce. You know he doesn’t like spiders?”

“He’s scared of spiders?”

“I didn’t say he was scared of them, Hal. He just doesn’t like them. I think creepy crawlies make his skin crawl.”

Hal shoved him in the arm. “Don’t call her creepy crawly. She’s a pretty spider.”

“What happened to making fun of her?” Barry smirked. “You pack-bonded with the pretty alien spider lady, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Hal griped, going still when she shifted and crawled up the dash of the ship and stared out the window; she turned, waving her front legs. “Yeah Rhiezheveir? What is it?”

She pointed to the stars, drawing her front legs in downward arcs as if to say, “Wow!”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Barry murmured and she did it again; he looked curiously at her. “Hey Rhiezheveir, you can understand us, right?”

She waved.

“Okay. Since you can’t talk to us until we get back, how about this—front legs up is ‘yes’ and front legs down is ‘no’. Do you understand?”

She lifted her legs up and he grinned.

“Good. Now, do you like warm places?”

Her legs went up, then down.

“Sort of?”

Up.

“You like warm and cool weather?”

Up.

“We’re going back to our world. There’re many habitats there. Some really hot and really cold. Others are in the middle.” He explained, watching her almost nod. “We’ll be meeting the group Hal and I work with on another ship. You’ll have to stay there for the time being. Is that okay?”

She lifted her legs up.

Hal leaned over. “Rhiezheveir, are you a spider that sometimes turns into a lady?”

Her legs stayed down.

“So, you’re a lady that sometimes turns into a spider?”

Up.

“Nice. Can you fight?”

Up and waving wildly.

Barry looked at Hal then back to her. “You said you refused the position of royal consort. Were you chosen because you could fight?”

Up.

“So, you escaped because you didn’t want to be forced into that position?”

Still up.

Barry nodded solemnly. “Rest assured, Rhiezheveir, you won’t be forced into anything like that on Earth. You’ll be free and able to live openly and not in hiding.”

Her legs stilled in the air, then the curled and Hal muttered, “I think you overwhelmed her emotionally.”

The Speedster cupped the spider in his hands, letting her crawl back into his lap. “Sorry, Rhiezheveir. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She merely snuggled into his lap and stayed there.

“Rhiezheveir,” Hal started. “Your name is really complicated for humans to say. While I think it would be a good identity for a superhero life, I think you should find an easier name for people to use.”

She waved a single leg, signaling she was listening.

“How about (Y/N)?”

Barry smiled. “Ooo, I like (Y/N). That’s a pretty name.”

She raised her front legs and waved them excitedly.

“I think Rhiezheveir likes it too.” He scratched her torso. “Welcome to the Justice League (Y/N). You’re gonna fit in perfectly.”

(Y/N) waved her front legs, rearing up on her back.

“HOLY FUCK LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HER FANGS!” Hal shouted.

[natewriteslol]

The Wonders of Magic Pt. 1

Non magical!Twisted Boys x Witch!Reader

A/N: This has been sitting in my brain for a while since I have Little Witch Academia brainrot and I love snooty rich boys asdfljsfaj

Characters: Keep reading to find out!!

Warnings: Language and Y/N goes by she/her pronouns 

Summary: Dealing with magical adventures and society deeming magic as “flashy but worthless” doesn’t deter Y/N L/N from reaching her goal of becoming a powerful witch. However, what will she do when she has to find a way to stop the selling Calypso Academy? 

~~~

All your life you had dreamed of being a witch, however there was a slight problem. You weren't a magic user.

And as magic use had started to become more oppressed and scarce, magic schools were starting to open their doors to all walks of life. Making the most elite schools fall to their knees.

Either you lose your elite status or fall into debt.

So this was good opportunity for you, you managed to make it into one of the most renowned magic schools in the country, Calypso Academy. But it wasn't all peaches and cream, you weren't exactly accepted among your peers. Your family weren't magic users, nor were they wealthy. Yet you still pursued magic, there was a fire burning in your heart that just drew you in all your life. And you couldn't let your dream go just because of some mean girls. But this is the story of how you met some of your greatest obstacles.

 ~~~

It was the night of the great Ball, Calypso academy was having it's 350th anniversary. And you unlucky for you, you still didn’t know how to ride a broom since you were learning from the ground up. 

So there you were, by yourself, in one of the open fields of your campus. Trying to make this broom fly. 

And in your flight teacher Ms. Flint’s words, “If the broom doesn’t leave the ground, you can’t step a foot in the ball.” And so far, your feet have been stuck on the ground.

You felt horrible. I mean, what witch doesn’t know how to fly a broom? And while you were incredibly dejected

 from your failures, you knew you couldn’t just let it go. 

‘The trick it to be determined, yet feel as light as a feather. Be one with the broom’ your manifestation teacher, Mrs. Fairi had softly advised. You had to do this for for her, she already put so much faith in you, she would be so disappointed if she didn’t see you at the ball. 

“Nubes Volant ro!” You casted, pushing your leg to lift. Expecting your legs to come back down and for your shoes to hit the softness of the grass... but it never came.

You opened your eyes and there you were, suspended in air. 

Your excitement was indescribable, but you needed to be skilled enough to meet the requirements for Ms. Flint. So you tried and tried again, and while a little shaky you still managed to fly and do a stable landing! 

“I did it! Screw everyone in this academy who doubted me!” You  squealed a little loud, doing a little dance. You heard  footsteps and chuckling, but you brushed it off as some of your classmates. Too excited to care, you grabbed your things and ran off to show Ms. Flint.   But there was one problem, the entire point of this celebration was to both celebrate the anniversary but... it was begging as well. It was no secret that Calypso was losing money to pay taxes, but they were being pressured to give it all up. So to persuade the buyers, they had invited their son's to be enriched in witch culture and tradition. To prove them wrong and show that magic has value. However the students of the academy weren't aware of the true intentions behind the invites of the son's of these rich men. Many whispered in the halls about the upcoming ceremony. Talking about how handsome the young men attending were. But the day of the party was finally here! The banquet was absolutely incredible with 25 foot tables of food on both sides of the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers with floating candles illuminating and creating a heavenly golden light. And the great ancient tapestries that surrounded the room. There was no way that anything could mess up your night. 

But then, you heard a shout from a classmate in the crowd. "The nobles sons! They're here!" You stopped stuffing your face for a moment. Everyone cleared the way for the grand wooden doors as they opened, a red carpet elegantly draping the piece of floor it laid on. Designer shoes clicked as they touched the ground. Every girl eyes followed as they walked, you snuck past some trying to get a glimpse of their features. They were five of them being escorted by one older gentleman, all incredibly handsome young men. One had a bright smile that was genuine and waving at some of the girls in the crowd. While the other had a smirk not paying anyone any mind, as if he was calculating something. One held a solemn expression, yet was incredibly poised and graceful. The last two however wore scowls, one that showed he most definitely didn’t want to be here while the other just looked strict. 

They sat down in their seats in the front table that awaited them. Each seat was just as fancy as a king’s throne, with gold embellishments and velvet seats. 

It was a cookie cut scene, they were made for this life of luxury.

~~~

It was an hour into the ceremony, showcasing tricks and theatrical dances from every witch culture from around the globe. But it was almost as though nothing was satisfying them, besides the one with white hair. While he adorned a smile, there was something behind his eyes, as though he was doing some critical thinking. 

Nothing was enough for them. 

But it was toward the end and the noble’s sons were promised a tour. Every witch in the school was made to study up on knowledge of the campus. So that if you were the “lucky winner” you wouldn’t look like a complete fool. 

As you snacked on your chocolate filled croissant, Ms. Flint with her booming voice had called everyone’s attention to the center of the stage. Raising her wand, a split of golden light had displayed random names. 

Knowing your luck, you knew you wouldn’t be picked. I mean this was probably a tactic to get people to study the school’s magical history. It did work, as if there was a slight chance you were chosen you wouldn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of people like you usually did. But, Principal Hendrix wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to let a random student represent the school, right? 

Exactly. But even then, you sure did feel sorry for whoever was to give the tour-

“Y/N L/N!”

...

Remember what you said about shitty luck? 

Shocked was an understatement. Even though you had your two best and only friends Silva and Miete patting you on the back telling you congrats and to do your best, the hammering of your heart was too heavy for you to handle. 

Whispers broke out for a moment, a lot of girls were incredibly disappointed but cleared the way for you to go up the stairs and talk to Ms. Flint and Principal Hendrix. 

“Good job, Y/N. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please give these young men a tour of Calypso, would you?” Principle Hendrix said gently with a smile.

“Ha, ha, of course! But surely there’s been a mistake, I mean Lydia could probably recite the information without having to read a single book-” 

“No way, L/N. You were chosen, now do the tour please, the latest you can be back is at 9pm,” Ms. Flint replied, cutting you off sharply. 

“You’re an incredibly charismatic student, Y/N. Just keep them entertained,” Principle Hendrix whispered as you walked toward the table.

Be charismatic, not awkward! Got it!

“Alrighty then! Who’s ready for a tour?” you said, almost giving finger guns as a mechanism. 

“Oh, I am!” 

“Yes,  I’ve been wanting to see the range of this property in person.”

“Yes, I would like to get this over with. I have an appointment tomorrow and I would not like to miss it.”

Other than that, all you received was a nod and an eye roll. But it’s better not to pry and ask for more from them. 

Each getting out of their seats, you walked outside. Hearing cheers from the crowd and the occasional “Vil! I love you!” which made you a little embarrassed. 

Feeling the night breeze and seeing the stars poke through calmed you down slightly, it was 7:45 and all you had to do was blabber at them about the school until 9. 

Easy task, Y/N. Easy!

~~~

Once you got outside, the tour had been running smoothly for only a couple of minutes. But you couldn’t help but feel as though they started scanning you, as if they saw you from somewhere. Until unfortunately, the sunshine of the group’s lightbulb had went off. 

“Oh! You’re the girl with the broomstick towards the front of the school! You looked so happy practicing.” 

“There must be a mistake-”

“Are you sure? If so then I guess you have a doppelganger” the boy with glasses teased. 

“Didn’t you say, ‘Screw everyone at this academy’?” the short, red head questioned, persecuting your behavior. 

“Well some people here aren’t exactly the nicest. It was just an excitement of the moment thing, sorry,” You said, trying to get Mr. Non-Rule Breaker off your back. 

~~~

So... you had accidently overshared about your adventures on campus. 

It had all started when one of the boys looked shocked that the ancient Willow tree was thriving and looking beautiful as ever. When he looked at it from pictures given to him, it was completely lifeless and grey. 

“This tree, it looks completely different? It’s been sickly for years! How is this possible?” He asked, as his main piece of evidence the white haired boy gave to his father to buy this property was foiled. 

“Oh, that was me. They had willow worms in the roots that were ready to hatch and I accidently brought them out,” you said, a little prideful, yet it was quickly stomped out.

“That is highly irresponsible, you should’ve had a professional complete that task, not an inexperienced student,” the red haired boy scoffed, it seemed as though he didn’t respect this school at all. Yet the boy with grey hair and glasses paid him no mind, still incredibly astonished, but it was quickly wiped from his face and replaced with a somewhat of a sour look. As though you beat him at some game he was playing.

“...Interesting. I never knew magic could do something of that caliber,” he remarked,  pushing up his glasses. 

“Magic is incredibly useful, Mr...” 

Shit. You didn’t get their names...

“My apologies, I didn’t catch your guy’s names,” you said, placing a hand behind your head. 

You had never in your life seen a group of people get so surprised, besides the other white haired boy, who was happy to tell you his name. 

“I’m Kalim, Kalim-Al-Asim!” he said, shaking your hand with a vigor, “It’s a little funny that you don’t know who we are, but I like that about you!” 

How was it funny? You’ve never seen these people in your entire life? The blonde man was especially offended as you glanced at him for his name. 

“Vil Schoenheit. Actor, singer, dancer, beauty influenc-” 

“Hmmm, Vil I can’t help but feel that you’re angry at Ms. L/N for not knowing who you are,” the boy with glasses remarked before taking your hand, “Azul Ashengrotto, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’m Riddle Rosehearts,” the short red-haired boy said.

“...Leona Kingscholar.” 

“Alright, I’m glad I got your names! Let’s get a move on! I have got to show you some more stuff!” you said before moving along, gaining more confidence as you talked to them. 

Maybe this tour wasn’t so bad after all!

~~~

Coming up:

“How did you not know who the noble’s sons are?!” Miette yelled, but her soft voice wasn’t exactly giving the shocking boom to emphasize her feelings.

“I’m sorry! Everything was completely fine after that, if this whole tour was such a big deal then I would’ve studied them more instead of the school,” you said, completely pooped out from last night. 

So much pressure on you made you very tired out, and all of these new details coming out made you feel even more guilty for your half-assed tour. 

[imagine-it-to-be-true]

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 1

Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading. Hope you like the one shot. I do take requests! Please have a look at my list of characters, and the rules. Feel free to reach out.

Notes about the One Shot:

Summary: As Caius walked around the streets of Volterra, he came across a girl being assaulted and badly injured. He couldn't explain the pull he had towards her, but all he knew was that he needed to save her. Caius Volturi x Fem!OC. Mentions of blood, injury and death. Nothing too gruesome though. Also posted on my Fanfiction page.

Word count: 2679

Firstly, I don’t own Twilight, the Volturi, or the image used.

I sincerely apologize for my Italian and Greek phrases; I don’t speak a word of the languages and was at the mercy of Google Translate. 

Caius’ wife Athenodora does not exist. 

Also, imagine him how you want but I much preferred his appearance in New Moon, so that’s how I described him.

~ Enjoy :)

Cloud cover in Volterra was a rare sight. Most days the sun shone brightly, making the town not particularly an ideal place for vampires. Yet here they were, the powerful three, the ancient kings who were tasked with up-keeping and enforcing secrecy of the vampire world, in a town where they remained inside the walls of the Volturi Castle. Caius often wondered why the coven chose to remain there, and not move to a less sunny place. A lack of opportunities for outings meant that he was falling intellectually behind. One need not look further than his clothes, not to mention his mentality to see he was not one for modernity. Not that he cared. Humans and their achievements were so minuscule in his eyes. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the opportunity to venture out into the town, feel the cool breeze on cloudy days like today and observe the lesser kind. It was remarkable for him how the world changed since his childhood in Ancient Greece, yet the scape of Volterra harked back to it with its old buildings.

Caius was lonely. He was angry and cruel; many would even say sadistic. But no, the last part was not true. After over 3000 years of living alone, never aging, never moving forward, being forced to hide himself, and never seizing to hunger, it’s no surprise that one would become angry. But he was not a sadist. He did not enjoy the pain of others. He fed only when he could no longer contain his thirst, not over-indulging himself. But he understood the need for justice, and was not tolerant when punishment was due. This was often mistaken for sadism.

Volterra was extra busy lately due to an overwhelming influx in tourism. One could no longer walk in peace. The pushing and shoving of the crowded streets became too much for Caius. He looked around him, and noticed a less busy street to his right. The more he followed, the less people were there. He kept going until he was left alone, in peace, and stopped, and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. And that is when he heard it. 

From his right, came a feminine scream. It snapped Caius out of his thoughts. It sounded desperate, and then quieted down before he heard the female’s voice again, yelling in English with an American accent, “PLEASE! Somebody help me!” In one swift motion, Caius pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the pleas. He rounded a corner and between two buildings, there was a thin, dark alleyway. It was there that he found the source of the commotion.

A tall, heavy-built balding man had a significantly smaller female pinned up against the wall with his body. His left hand grasped her around the neck, while the other clutched a gun to her head. Caius spoke Italian - one of the many languages he’s mastered - so he understood plainly the filth coming out of the lowlife’s mouth as he barked at the poor girl. She, however, was clueless and sobbing, begging him to leave her. 

In the split moment that he observed the scene, Caius’ eyes landed on the female. She was small, about 5”2, looked to be in her early twenties and very slim. Her hair was golden blonde, long and fell in thick, luscious curls down her back. She did not appear to be wearing much makeup, yet her eyebrows were naturally prominent and neat, and her lips were full, petal pink in colour. But it was her eyes which Caius noticed immediately. They were large and the most captivating colour: a mix of emerald and sapphire. It was as if staring into the waters of a deep, stormy ocean. However, when they met his eyes, they were full of terror. She quieted her struggle and looked at him, as if calmed by his presence, mentally begging him to save her.

Typically, Caius did not give two thoughts about humans. Yet this time was different. The girl before him stirred something inside of his frozen ancient heart. His eyes shifted from the girl and landed on the lowlife.

“Togli le mani da lei, feccia.” (Get your hands off her, Scum.) he snarled.

The man jumped in surprise and turned towards Caius. When he saw him, the lowlife sneered. Compared to him, Caius did not look all that threatening. He was tall and well-built, but thinner than the scum. His fashion choices didn’t help either. His near-white blonde hair combed to perfection and pushed behind his ears. He wore a blood-red dress shirt, paired with a black blazer and black dress pants, topped off with a silky red scarf. He looked like an escaped runway model, not a man that could do damage.

The man Caius addressed continued sneering and chuckling. 

“Cosa hai intenzione di fare al riguardo, bel ragazzo?” (What are you going to do about it, pretty boy?)

Caius took a large step forward and retorted, “Strapparti la testa e bere il tuo sangue è divertente?” (Does ripping your head off and drinking your blood sound like fun?)

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise at the viciousness, but still obviously not taking the situation seriously. He laughed and turned back to the girl.

“Vedi, bella ragazza? Sta cercando di mettersi in mostra per te. Ma è solo un ragazzo. Lascia che ti mostri cosa fanno gli uomini.” (You see, pretty girl? He's trying to show off for you. But he's just a boy. Let me show you what men do.)

Before Caius had a chance to comprehend or react, within a fraction of a second, the gun pressed against the girl’s temple was lowered. The scum aimed it at her stomach and shot twice. She screamed in pain, and dropped to the ground, gasping.

Caius took a second longer than normal to realize what had just unfolded. The man had the gun pointed at him now. He aimed at his chest and fired. When Caius was hit, he did nothing but stand there. Then came the second shot and to the scum’s surprise, he did not drop. A smirk began to form on the vampire’s face, before he simply said, “Avresti dovuto scappare quando ne avevi la possibilità.” (You should have ran when you had the chance.)

As the man continued pointlessly shooting at Caius, the vampire closed the distance between them in less than a second. He grasped the man’s neck with his right hand and pressed him up against the wall, lifting him up with one arm. The man squirmed and groaned, futilely attempting to free himself. Caius didn’t enjoy hurting people. But this time was different. He snapped the man’s neck and threw him down, like discarded trash. He took a breath and turned to the girl on the ground.

She was no longer making sounds nor moving, but lay there motionless, face down on the ground. Caius could see a large red spot in her stomach area, with blood seeping through the thin fabric of her white summer dress, her blonde curls hanging like closed curtains over her face. Caius leaned down, extending a hand to gently move them aside. He pushed the curls behind her ear, running his knuckles down her soft cheek. Those beautiful storm eyes were closed.

“Can you hear me?” He whispered to her, but she did not stir. 

Caius felt a deep pain in the pit of his stomach, and a pressure rising up to his throat. He felt anger, rage, but most prominently sorrow. He had this feeling like he never wanted anything more in his life than for her to look at him and say she was alright. The situation was not made easier by the fact that her deliciously smelling blood was pooling more and more. 

Quickly, he reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his iPhone. Alec had gifted it to him the year before, and this was the first time he’d use it. He couldn’t figure out the damned thing; books and scripts were more useful anyway. With some effort, he found the number he was looking for in his contacts and dialled it. The ringing seemed to go on for ages, until finally…

“Dr. Carlisle Cullen speaking.”

“Cullen. You are speaking to Caius.” He barked into the phone. A silence followed before Carlisle hesitantly responded, a hint of fear in his voice at what the Volturi king might want.

“Lord Caius. I was not expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am with a human. She was shot with a gun in her stomach twice. There is a significant amount of blood. She is not responding to me. Her eyes are closed and she is not moving. What shall I do?” He spoke in a hard, fact-based tone.

“Well Caius, it sounds like she might be dead…” before Carlisle could finish his thought, Caius cut him off.

“You are foolish to think that I would waste my precious time calling you to hear something so unacceptable. Tell me how to fix her!”

“Okay, I’m not sure if she can be. But let’s try. I need you to put the phone on speaker.”

“What is that?! Talk quickly Cullen, her bleeding has not seized!”

“Okay, Caius, you see the small picture of a loudspeaker on your phone? Push it.”

Caius did as he was told. “Now what?”

“Put the phone down on the ground. I need you to turn her on her back. GENTLY! Don’t forget you’re a lot stronger than her.”

Caius gently pushed the girl’s shoulders and was able to turn her on her back, grabbing her head so it did not hit the concrete. It was then that the significance of the wound became apparent, as did the scent of her blood. It became nearly too much for the vampire. He was close to damning it all and indulging in her sweet taste. But then he looked at her perfect face. How he longed to see those beautiful eyes again.

In a struggling voice, he spoke, “Alright, it is done.”

“Now, take your index and middle finger and push both to her neck, under her chin, on the side of her throat. You should feel her heartbeat if she’s alive.”

Caius did as he was told, but initially could feel nothing. After a few failed attempts, he hung his head. Just as he was about to remove his fingers, he felt it. So faint and tiny, but it was there.

“I feel it! It is very faint! But I feel it.”

Carlisle waited a moment before speaking. “Can you describe the wounds to me? Where are they specifically?”

“They are both in the same place. One is at the base of her ribs to the left, and the second is just under it.”

Carlisle sighed and softly spoke, “Caius. She’s not going to make it. She’s on her last few breaths now, and we can prolong her suffering, but we can’t-“.

“No!” Caius cut him off, “She will not die. There must be something to be done!”

“Well… you could always change her.”

Caius let out a breath. He would not wish his own endless existence on anyone. Not to mention the unbelievably excruciating pain of the process. After 3000 years, there was one thing he remembered with vivid accuracy: his own change. But at the same time, he was in a panic. He was not sure what it was, but the thought of her dying was destroying him inside.

He swallowed and spoke in a gentler voice to Carlisle, “Is there any way to manage her pain during the change?”

“Morphine. It needs to be injected before the venom. Give it 5 minutes to take effect and then change her.”

“Thank you,” Caius whispered before hanging up.

He immediately gathered the woman into his arms, lifting her up with ease, and began running back to the castle. He made it in a matter of minutes, storming through the doors of the great gathering hall, where Aro and Marcus were speaking to Jane. Immediately, all eyes were on Caius and the little bundle in his arms.

“Brother,” greeted Aro with his child-like smile, “you came home with takeout, I see,” he cackled. 

“No! Do not approach me now brother. I wish to change her, and so it will be. No one comes near her!” Caius exclaimed. His two fellow kings looked at each other, befuddled. “Jane,” Caius turned to her, “find me a shot of morphine immediately and bring it to my chambers.” With this, he stormed out of the hall. 

Aro, with a confused look on his face, took a step to follow, only to be held back by Marcus. “He cannot just bring some random off the street and claim her as his own!” He exclaimed, but Marcus shook his head and smiled.

“I felt their bond. He has bound himself to her. Neither might realize this yet, but they are mated. She is his now.”

———

Caius rushed her to his room. He gently placed her on his bed, which he hadn’t used in years for obvious reasons. As he laid her down, the girl began to gain consciousness. She began feeling the pain of her injuries. Tears started fall down her cheeks and she softly, weakly moaned in pain.

Caius sat down next to her, brushing her tears away with his thumb, gently pushing her hair back away from her face.

“Shh, it’s alright. Breathe.” She seemed to respond to this by attempting to open her eyes, yet not having enough energy to do so. Caius was dying inside, seeing her suffer. He couldn’t explain why. This was the first time in 3000 that he cared so deeply about the well-being of anyone, let alone a weak human.

“Breathe for me. That’s it. You’re alright.” He whispered. She tried, but couldn’t. She attempted to say something along the lines of “I don’t want to die,” but was only emitting squeaks.

“Shhh, don’t talk. He’s gone, I’ve got you. There is not a place in the world safer than here with me.”

Just then, Jane burst through Caius’ doors with a large syringe filled with clear liquid. She quickly handed it to Caius and stepped back, lingering. Caius turned to her and harshly barked, “Leave!” She bowed and turned on her heels, heading out the door.

The girl had opened her eyes briefly and saw the large syringe. This frightened her, and she attempted to cower away. Caius returned his attention to her.

“Shhhh. Don’t be afraid. This will help you stop hurting. I will fix this. I will fix you,” As he spoke those words, a tear formed in his own eyes and rolled down his cheek. He was about to change her. Was it really fixing her, or was he selfishly wishing she would fix him? Give him companionship he so longed for? He didn’t care. He took the syringe and injected the morphine into her quickly, being as gentle as he could. Then, he waited. He needed her to stop crying. This would indicate the pain was gone and the morphine had taken effect. He held her hand, whispering sweet nothings to her. When she began quieting, he gently asked her.

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?” (My beauty), the last part in his native Greek.

She gasped and whispered, “Andromeda.”

Caius smiled and thought about how fitting the name was. The pain was gone now. He turned to her and brushed her hair out of her face. 

“Close your eyes, my beauty.” He gently brushed her hair back away from her neck. Leaning down, he brushed his lips on her ear, whispering “do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” 

With that, he sunk his teeth into her soft skin, and the journey to her transformation began.

[bxllafanficc]

Lady of mischief- Part five

Pairing: Loki x Greek!goddess f!reader

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory against his brother as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

One week later and you found yourself at a sea cliff on Asgard’s largest known bay. You’d brought Henna with you, just like every other day since you got officially banished. Now you couldn’t stand being in the castle and spent almost every waking hour in the city, avoiding the royal family at all cost. Odin even demanded you ate breakfast with them since you were an honored guest but of course you never showed.

Zeus left the day after the banquet and not a word from your parents. They probably didn’t even blink the second he told them their daughter had been locked in with an entire castle of self-centered gods.

“Gods are assholes!” You threw a rock at the size of a basketball into the water and glared at the splash, secretly hoping your father Poseidon would sense it and feel guilt. That was impossible, of course. A Greek god holds no power at the realm of Norse gods.

“My lady, you’re a god.” Henna stayed seated at a comfy rock she found the first day coming to the cliff. She said it was the perfect fit for her to relax her always perfect posture without sloping. You always told her you don’t care if she sloped at non-formal occasions.

“Yes, Henna. Me included.” You were just surprised she didn’t faint because you used such a mundane word, a thing you picked up from the humans on a visit once.

“I can’t stop thinking about what I said to the prince. It was a decade ago, yes, but he still remembers it. Probably thinks about it every time he sees me!” You tried to concentrate on the real reason you were here. To practice. You’d never win anyone’s respect if you couldn’t control your powers. You started with the hardest, the sea; a force that doesn’t want to be tamed.

A pulsing body of water drove up from the sea and flew in front of you. The goal was to force it into a perfect shaped globe, forcing the sea to obey so thoroughly. To your luck the liquid started obeying your wish when you put all your concentration to use. Almost a solid globe. You’d only need a few more seconds to-

“And I’ve already said you should apologize to him. Who knows, you two might hug it out and the next thing you know you wake up naked in his chambers the next day.”

The almost globe burst into millions of droplets and salt burned in your eyes at the shock. Your vision blurred out and you coughed on the water that went down your airways. Heat went to your cheeks and you looked down at your soaked clothes.

“Goodness, Henna! You’ve spent too much time with the Asgardian maids.

You can’t say stuff like that!” Your voice was still faint from the couching as you scolded her. You had to put your focus to use once again to extract the water into fine droplets hanging midair in front of you. The dress was far too pretty to get stained with saltwater. The jewelry looked surreal in the light the dress radiated. Every thread of the fabric seemed to be created of pure shining starlight or liquid diamond. The dress held the beauty of a thousand stars.

No one knew where it appeared from, however. You had your own guess, of course. It laid neatly folded on your work desk one afternoon and if it was the first born prince, he would’ve left some grand note with it as well. The dress just laid there in absence of anyone claiming the rights. An apology for sure.

“Well, you said asshole if I’m not mistaken.” There it was. Henna cleared her throat as a sign to drop the subject but you knew she had a big smirk on her lips. You didn’t want to turn around to confirm it.

“Let’s try again, my lady. Why don’t you try claiming the entire wave coming right there?”

You analyzed the wave and realized what Henna was asking. The size of it was huge and it would surely crash into the cliff side underneath you. Your job was to stop that impact and lift it up to your level.

It was dead silent as you waited for the wave to arrive. With a last big engaging try you felt the power of the sea surging through you. Blocking the impact of the wave lashing itself forwards was similar feeling to getting that same wave right in the face like a wall of bricks. But it was not in vain. The water started to rise to the cliff you stood on and you had to replace your feet for a better stance. Every second the sea threatened to leash out of your hold.

“How mighty.” A soothing voice, yet laced with viciousness, appeared only a hot breath away from your ear and you screamed.

The scent of new books hit you too late and the wave had already been unleashed on the threat behind you. The water had devided around your frame, covering Henna and Loki from head to toe in seawater without showing mercy. The sea held no mercy. Right…

A moment of silence and Loki still had his eyes tightly shut, his entire body frozen in place. He’d been less than an inch from you and you hadn’t noticed. He was still less than an inch from your bodies touching.

He slowly went to wipe one of his eyes clean of water and tasted the layer of salt glancing his lips. You cursed yourself for noticing the shameful way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Did he take the warm weather with him somehow or why was it suddenly growing hot again? And why did he look so different with the drenched clothes hugging his frame, hair slicked back. The dripping from the each strand fell and caressed the heavy outline of his collarbones.

What were you even thinking about. He must’ve done something. A spell of some sort.

“That was unnecessary.” He said it as simple as ever and it made you grit your teeth.

Stop staring at his abs, dammit!, you thought.

It had to be a spell. This couldn’t be real.

“Why are you here?” You weren’t prepared for this. He was supposed to be on a mandatory meeting right now. Did he just right up ditch that?

“You’re no fun… I came with a proposition.”

“Of what sorts?” You eyed him with careful detail, trying to sense a trick of some sort. His gaze lingered on your appearance a little too long from what seemed appropriate. It was a thorough scan up and down and the soul behind the eyes held a strange glow. Of course he was shocked you wore the dress he bought.

“We can teach each other things. You tell me stories and history of the Ancient Greece, your kind’s gracious era and I teach you illusion magic.” He could tell your raised eyebrow was a sense of confusion. “Like, combining water and light into something entirely new. I’ll teach you how to conjure spells-“

“Like the one you’re doing now?” It just slipped out of you and it was too late to ignore. It was now his turn to look confused. The tip of his tongue came out once again to wipe off some salt and you looked away.

“What?” He asked.

“Whaaat?” You repeated along with a dumb giggle you had no idea where it came from. The already tight fabric of Loki’s shirt was riding up from the wet fabric rolling itself up. You really did try not to think about how the pearls of droplets looked like glitter in the sun on his toned stomach, but realized that you already failed. You swallowed a hot lump of dryness that caught in your throat.

So no spell then?

Loki sighed and cracked a tense muscle in his neck, a green light drying him and his clothes from bottom and up in a matter of a second (Henna remained drenched).

“Just say no quickly, there’s no reason to drag it out. I’ll leave you be when you’ve answered.” You bit your bottom lip and actually took a moment to think about it.

“Actually, it doesn’t sound too awful. But don’t you already know everything about my realm there is to know?” That earned a genuine smile from him and you thought about how that was a rare sight.

“You’d be surprised of how understocked Asgard’s library is when it comes to your history, your highness.”

“And stop calling me that! It’s weird. You never did it before so why do it now?”

“I thought you disliked me being informal.”

“Oh do shut up!”

Loki laughed and nodded in agreement. It was just then you realized how you were still inappropriately close to him and how his breath smelled of something sweet. Something brushed past your hand and Loki retracted his own with a flinch and an apologetic look.

“I’m s-“ Loki started but Henna’s loud cough and pointed glare.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I don’t… I don’t find you disgusting.” You watched his expression and expected him to get upset but nothing in his body language seemed tense. If anything, his jaw and shoulders seemingly dropped.

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His chuckle was bright but your gut still twisted in shame.

“No but like, I don’t find your touch disgusting. I never did, actually-“ The amount of truth you entrusted this man with was almost too much. The words were so tense on the way out that you started coughing.

“Then why did you-“

“I don’t know! No more questions though. All I know is that it was far from unpleasant and that’s all you need to know for now.” Loki raised his eyebrow, lips slightly parted. You understood you’d talked before your brain caught up with you again.

“No, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean!” Your hands fiddled on the edges of the dress, only to flatten out the fabric right after. The dry lump just couldn’t seem to go down.

“Oh I sure do… And I agree with you on how we speak to each other. I hate speaking to you formally! It doesn’t sit right for me especially. Then I wouldn’t be able to say the stuff I actually want.”

“Like what?” You regretted asking immediately but couldn’t bring yourself to step back as he leaned in.

Lips brushed against your earlobe and his scent was all up in your world, along with the surreal warmth that always seemed to follow him.

“That dress looks absolutely ravishing on you, (Y/n). I never thought you’d wear it to be honest. We’re you really planning on fleeing the castle on such an occasion and not letting me see any of the beauty?” His voice turned low again and the always present rasp seemed extra present today.

The dry lump finally went down.

“You could’ve gifted it to someone else if you wanted to see the dress on an actual body instead of a hanger.”

A low rumbling came from his chest and erupted in his throat. It took you a moment to realize that the sound was a chuckle.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. Yes, any person could wear it, but I can’t think of anyone else who could wear one of the most beautiful things crafted ever and the most beautiful thing in the room would still remain the person in it.”

You couldn’t move your body. It was frozen in place even though the blood in your veins was literally boiling. You were almost thankful that he was so close. That way he wouldn’t see your red cheeks.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Why would I lie about it? Meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast. I look forward to our time together.”

(A/N: Hi! Don’t hesitate to comment on each chapter what you thought about it/if you liked it since that keeps me motivated to keep writing. Also reblog so my story reaches a wider audience, if you really liked it! Your support is much appreciated. Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series. Have a good day, lovelies!)

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Tag list: @liffydaze

@queen-of-mischief

@girl-obsessed-with-things

@obsessivelysearching

@reverse-iak

@perpetually-exhausted-and-tired

[nikethestatue]

The Heirs of Shadow

Prompt: here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff

Part I

Calanmai

 The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.

Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.

Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.

Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.

The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.

Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.

“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.

He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.

His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.

“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.

“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”

Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.

“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.

She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.

“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.

Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.

“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.

They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.

The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.

They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.

Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.

The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.

For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.

And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.

The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.

Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.

“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”

“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.

There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.

Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.

He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”

Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push.  He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.

Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.

So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.

“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”

She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.

Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.

He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.  

Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.

“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.

“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”

He nodded, “I think I did well.”

“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”

He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”

“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”

“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.

“What else?”

“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”

Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”

He laughed, amused by her indignation.

“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”

“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.

He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”

Elain smiled at the title.

“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”

“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”

Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.

Remarkably, it also made him hard.

Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.

“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,

“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.

“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.

Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.

“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.

“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”

She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”

She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.

He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.

He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.

“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.

“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.

“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.

The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.

“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.

He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.

“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”

“Good. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”

“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.

“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.

Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.

“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.

With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.

He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.

“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.

“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.

He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.

Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.

The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.

But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.

Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.

The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.

At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.

Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.

Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.

The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.

Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.

“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.

“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’

 Part II

The Heirs of Shadow

 Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.

The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.

The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.

“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”

Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.

“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.

“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”

“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.

“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”

The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”

“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.

“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.

“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.

“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”

“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”

“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.

“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.

Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.

“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.

“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.

“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”

Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”

“Ma!”

“Ma!”

Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Alright, but,”

Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.

“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.

The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.

It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.

“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.

“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.

“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.

“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.

“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.

Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.

Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.

Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…

There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.

Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.

“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.

Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.

“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”

Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.

Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”

“Oh,”

“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”

“Really?”

Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.

She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”

“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”

“No! I want to do this more!”

“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”

Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”

Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”

“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.

“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”

“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”

Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”

“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”

Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.

“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”

“I think she is adorable,”

“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”

“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”

They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.

“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”

“Dusk?”

“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”

Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.

“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”

She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.

“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”

Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”

“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”

“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.

“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.

Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.

“And you?” she asked instead.

Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.

“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”

“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.

Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”

“But…what?”

“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”

Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.

“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”

Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.

“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”

“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.

 …The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.

“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.

“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.

“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.

Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”

He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”

“What?”

“Something for the house, I am sure.”

 Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.

It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.

Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.

He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.

“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.

“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”

She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”

“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”

He snorted a laugh.

“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”

“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”

He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.

“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.

“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”

“Dinner!”

He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.

“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”

In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.

“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”

“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”

“Then perhaps I should have two?”

“Perhaps…”

“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.

“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.

He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.

Then stilled, abruptly.

Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.

His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.

“Az?”

Confusion and fear were written on her face.

“El,” he sobbed.

He…sobbed.

Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.

“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.

“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”

“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.

She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.

“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.

“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”

“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”

“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.

“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”

“What did she say?”

“That we amalgamated into one scent,”

He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”

Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.

“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”

“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.

“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.

“I am certain,” he nodded.

“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.

  It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.

Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.

He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.

Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.

“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.

“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.

His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.

Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”

He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.

“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”

The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”

His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.

Elain was laughing.

“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.

“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.

“Stupendous, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”

“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”

“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”

“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.

Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.

“You can play with them,” she offered.

“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt.  She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”

Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”

“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.

He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”

Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.

The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”

“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”

He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.

“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.

“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”

His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.

Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.

“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”

She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”

“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”

 Cassian could barely breathe.

He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.

Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.

He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.

“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.

“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”

So here he was, being casual.

Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.

The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.

Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.

It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.

Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.

Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.

Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?

Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?

Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.

 Azriel had scented his brother nearby.

Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.

 Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.

“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”

Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Were you hiding there long?”

“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”

“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.

“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”

“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”

“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”

“I don’t need to be reminded!”

Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.

“I’ve missed you, petal!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”

She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”

Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.

He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.

“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”

“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”

She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.

“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.

His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.

Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”

Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”

“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.

Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”

“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.

“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.

“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”

“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”

“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Elain.”

“What about Elain?”

In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.

“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.

“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”

Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.

“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”

[hrina]

1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

    July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals,  because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening.  That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.  

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[boimgfrog]

hey @pantoranprincess​ i uh. i wrote it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139768

full fic under the cut

The two men were seated at a table, enjoying lunch despite the… cozy size of Luke’s office. Conversation flowed easily, albeit mostly one-sided.

               “anyways, that’s when I saw Obi-Wan, my first master-” Luke paused, noticing Din’s helmet tilt slightly at the name, “you do know who Obi-Wan was, right?”

               Din froze, not expecting the Jedi to pick up on his confusion, “the name sounds familiar… Bo-Katan mentioned him once,” he took a sip from his straw, “said he was a sister-seducing- man-whore? Was he some kind of escort?”

               He waited as his words washed over Luke. The jedi blinked twice, a smile flickering past his lips.

               “yes,” Luke nodded, “he was, excellent job,” he spooned more soup into his own bowl, hiding his smile behind its large spoon.

               “and he was your master?” Din asked, tilting his head forward.

               “mhmm,” Luke set the spoon back into the bowl, matching din’s gaze through his lashes, “taught me everything he knew,”

               Din coughed, turning his attention back towards his lunch. he sipped at it, ignoring the blush that crept under his helmet.

The jedi huffed, eyes twinkling. Something told Din that maybe, just maybe, he’d lied about the Obi-wan thing.

                                                          -><-

The back of Luke’s head hit the ground, pulling a wheeze from his body. Above him, Din stood poised, cradling a very fussy green toddler. He extended a hand toward the fallen jedi, but Luke waved him off, leaning up on his elbows.

“’s nothing, no offense but,” he gestured to Grogu, who had calmed down some, “he’s no Vader, I’ll be fine,” this time, he accepted Din’s hand, hardly dwelling on how easily he pulled him up.

“Vader?” Din asked, shifting the baby to his hip, and pocketing the darksaber he’d previously been using.

Luke looked up at the Mandalorian, tilting his head with a smile, “Darth Vader? The emperor’s right-hand man?”

Din’s helmet betrayed to hint of recognition. Unbelievable. No way, there’s no way he was this clueless.

“big cape, scary helmet? Red lightsaber?” Luke tried, wracking his brain.

“oh, you mean like the guy on those old recruitment posters?”

“those- the recruitment posters?”

Din nodded, “I’d see ‘em plastered up in bars and stuff, back before the empire fell,”

Recruitment posters. Din, one of the best bounty hunters Luke had ever met, king of Mandalore himself, had only heard of Darth Vader via recruitment posters. Luke felt his chest flutter. He nodded along with whatever Din said next, mind elsewhere. If he hadn’t heard of Darth Vader… what else had he managed to miss?

                                                         -><-

“Din!” Luke called from down the hallway, footsteps tripping as he ran inside Din’s ship, “Din! My sister’s here,” he said, knocking on the solid metal hull, “She wants to meet you!” his voice made it sound like an important event, though Din could hardly see why exchanging niceties with the sister of a backwater jedi warranted such flare.

“mm,” Din pulled back the door, peering down at Luke who was bouncing on his toes, “why?”

Luke ignored him, grabbing Din by his gloved hand, and dragging him towards his office, “this could be a big opportunity for you,” he rattled on, eyes shining beneath his mess of dust-streaked hair, “it’s good for you to make connections like this, given your newly-found title-”

“connections?” Din interrupted, “what do you mean?”

Luke spared a confused glance back at the Mandalorian, still steadily walking him towards his sister, “my sister? Leia Organa?”

Din offered up no response, but Luke was enamored by it nonetheless. He could understand not knowing much about galactic history, after all, he was under the impression that Din lead a particularly... sheltered childhood. But things that were happening now? The new republic?

“she was the princess of Alderaan? She helps lead the New Republic?”

“Alderaan...” Din paused, “that’s the one that blew up, right?”

“yes,” Luke dropped Din’s hand, unhooking the tarp that shielded his office from view, “yes, it’s the one that blew up,”

“mm,” Din hummed thoughtfully, “is she a jedi too?”

“sort of, I’ve been helping her train,” Luke said, checking his hair in the gleam of Din’s helmet.

“must’ve been why they blew up Alderaan then,” Din held still, “they were trying to kill her before she got too powerful,”

Luke’s hands stilled. He stared up into the Mandalorian’s visor, “huh,” he said, unable to stop his lips from twitching, “maybe so,” Luke turned around, brushing the tarp aside for Din to enter, hiding his smile behind the fabric.

                                                          -><-

It was almost cute, how little Din seemed to know about the galaxy he lived in. it didn’t really matter, of course. Most of it was just history lessons, nothing that would seriously impede him on a mission or in battle. And he wasn’t stupid by any means. He could speak more languages than Luke could count on his hands, flesh and robotic, and had flight skills that could rival even the most trained X-wing pilot. Still, it was hard not to feel fond when the Mandalorian only just now realized that Luke and Leia were twins.

“how was I supposed to know!”

“Din, starlight, our father would’ve been found out the second one of us was born, how exactly did you think he managed to swerve the jedi code to have another baby?”

“listen-” Din huffed, biting back his argument when he saw how ecstatic Luke was over this whole ordeal. Luke only nodded along expectantly, crossing one leg over the other. He was nothing if not encouraging.

“to be fair,” Din started, scowling at Luke’s twinkling smile, “she’s a princess, and you grew up on Tatooine,” he huffed, “and you never mentioned your dad was a jedi,” he added quickly, hoping Luke would miss it in his euphoria. No such luck.

“Din,” Luke stood up, reaching to cradle the Mandalorian’s helmet in his hands, “Anakin Skywalker? Did you think that was a coincidence?”

“it’s a big galaxy, there’s like half a billion ‘Djarin’s out there,” Din answered, but the bite had left his voice. It was hard to be frustrated when Luke was so close, all soft smiles and saying “Din” like it was a prayer.

Din leaned into the jedi’s touch. He’d blame it on the weight of his helmet later, and Luke would play along, teasingly offering to hold the helmet if it ever got too heavy. It was only ever teasing though. Luke never asked for more than Din was willing to give.

                                                         -><-

 They were pressed together, Din’s arm wrapped lazily around Luke’s waist, the jedi’s head leaning against his cold, armored shoulder. The beaches on Luke’s planet were nothing special, but the sunsets, oh the sunsets were spectacular. Grogu had been poking at Luke’s brain all day, playing memories of beach days on coruscant and building sandcastles with the crechemasters, until Luke finally caved and suited the baby up for a day in the water, inviting Din along.

Grogu had the time of his life, taking turns force-throwing sand at his dad and splashing his master until they joined in the fun. After a full day of entertaining the little gremlin, though, the two men had decided to impose Nap Time on the kiddo, sprawling out together on one of the many beach towels Luke had brought. (“you didn’t grow up on Tatooine, Din. Trust me, sand gets everywhere”)

The baby was fast asleep against Din’s armor, wrapped up so his head didn’t get bruised by the beskar.

“this was nice, huh?” Luke asked, shifting to look up at the Mandalorian. His eyes brushed over the thin stripe of exposed facial hair before he pulled his gaze away, embarrassed. Even the smallest of glimpses got his heart racing. Ridiculous, honestly.

“mhmm,” Din absentmindedly rubbed circles on Grogu’s back with his thumb, “could’ve done without all the sand in my armor, though,”

Luke laughed, “ugh I know,” he shifted again, pulling his arms from the poncho he was wearing, “I always get so much sand and dust in my hand, it’s the worst,”

Din tilted his helmet, “in your hand?”

“yeah,” Luke fiddled with his glove, pulling it off before tugging on one of his fingers, revealing the intricate system of wires, “you didn’t know?”

Din knew he was staring, and he knew that wasn’t polite but he just- “you’re… part droid?”

Luke laughed at that, a full, hearty laugh, one that had him gasping for air and rolling on his back. Din reached for his hand, holding it up so that it didn’t hit the sand as Luke fell back.

“yes,” Luke said, catching his breath, “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he flicked his finger again, closing the wiring hatch. Din hadn’t removed his hand, so Luke twisted their fingers together, “you really didn’t know?”

“how was I supposed to?”

“the lifting things six times my weight didn’t tip you off?”

Din sputtered, “you’re a jedi??? You lift things six times your weight all the time???”

That got Luke laughing again, eyes twinkling in the setting sun. He was teasing Din, yes, but he was also so, so deeply fond of him. This, Luke asking questions, Din answering truthfully even though it made him look silly, this was everything to Luke. Luke trusted the Mandalorian, of course he did, and this made Luke feel like Din trusted him as well. just the thought alone was enough to make the Jedi smile wider, letting his head fall against the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more.

                                                           -><-

Luke paced around Din’s ship. It was bigger than his last one, and somehow even harder to navigate.

“Din, where’s your holoprojector?” Luke had promised to tell Leia when they were getting close, and they’d be closing in on Coruscant within the hour.

“don’t have one,” came the response from the dashboard, stopping Luke in his tracks.

“don’t- do you at least have a data pad?” no holoprojector? Maybe Din was poorer than Luke thought.

“yeah,” Din shuffled around for a moment, before handing Luke a beat-up data pad that was at least a century old.

“Din this thing is ancient,” he said, frowning at the actual layer of crust on the screen, “does it even have holonet?”

“nope,”

“wh-“ Luke was dumbfounded, “how do you get your news? What if something big happens??”

“if I need to know it, someone will tell me,” Din said as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy, but the thought left Luke reeling.

“Din, starlight, you didn’t know who Darth Vader was,”

“I did so-”

“yeah, from recruitment posters-”

“it still counts-”

“no it doesn’t-”

They fought like that for a moment, back and forth, until it dawned on Luke.

“holy stars,” he said, cutting Din’s rant short, “Din, is this why you didn’t know about Obi-Wan? And Anakin being my father? And Leia and the new republic?” Luke sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, scooping up Grogu and setting him in his lap.

Din grumbled, turning his attention back to hyperspace, “it wasn’t important,”

“starlight it was Darth Vader-”

The two started arguing again, bickering in that old married couple kind of way. Luke couldn’t help but smile at the situation. All this time, all these silly little accidents and conversations, all because the Mandalorian hadn’t bothered to install a holoprojector in his ship. It was amazing, really.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, you don’t know anything about Mandalorian culture,”

“Din no one knows anything about Mandalorian culture,”

Din slumped in his seat, hands gripping loosely at the steering controls. Luke leaned forward, bumping the Mandalorian’s with his head until Din faced him, pressing their foreheads together softly.

“hey,” Luke said in hushed tones, “for the record, I thought it was kinda hot,”

Din let out a breathy laugh, pulling back slightly to look in the jedi’s eyes.

“that says more about you than it does me, Skywalker,”

Luke matched his laugh, Din joining in before resting his forehead against Luke’s again. They were gonna get an earful from Leia when they landed without a party to welcome them, but for now they would simply rest, all shiny armor and gentle curls, bathed in the glow of hyperspace.

[onceupona-chaos]

Feathers and dawn

Day 15 of Elriel month/ Explosion of power

The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeth flashing against her dark skin, and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

Word count:  3838

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: This was a huge challenge for me, because English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Part II is coming out on day 18 (I think). Be kind!

“ELAIN!”

Azriel was kneeling on the ground, panting through gritted teeth as he tried not to succumb to that invisible force covering him like a heavy blanket. Whatever spells and wards casted upon that place were draining his magic little by little as if he had been hit by several ash arrows - only ten times worse. 

Even with the cold rain soaking him, the raindrops like ice needles against his skin and wings, he managed to fix his eyes on the cave, scanning and scanning through the dark dots that were beginning to form, trying to see something, anything. 

But the cave was as dark as the sky above him. A never ending darkness that seemed to swallow any blue light from his almost drained Siphons.

His shadows detected nothing. Not a whisper, not a move, no sign of her. 

After Elain had disappeared inside the Cave and his shadows couldn't get a reading, he had immediately sent Nuala to get Rhysand whilst he tried to find a way in. But he couldn't pass the wards just like his shadows couldn't sense her.

When a female scream echoed from inside the cave, Azriel couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Pure, clear panic was all he knew.

When he had been summoned to the river house in the morning, not in his five hundred years he’d expected it to turn out like this. 

 Shit. Shit.

________________

Azriel hadn't been able to sleep for more than a few hours, and even so dreams and nightmares made him roll in his bed the entire time. He’d  been awake for hours, staring at the two Solstice gifts he’d got from her when dawn came. And with it, Rhys’ orders. 

He made a point not to arrive earlier than he needed, so he wouldn’t be - couldn't be -  in the same place as her longer than necessary. Keeping his distance when he wasn't at the river house was torture enough, but being in the same house and still feel as if they were at opposite edges of the same abyss…  

And yet when Azriel landed outside the river house, his shadows quickly whispered in his ear that Rhysand wasn't alone in his studio. 

The warning did nothing to stop his body from stiffen when he stepped through the door, the illusion of a meeting only between him and his brother quickly dissipating, and his eyes shot straight to the window - and there she was.

He didn't know if it was the lilac dress or the sunlight casting through the window, but her eyes were almost the color of pure honey. But something was off, her usually open expression was stark and hard, and then he noticed the pallidness on that beautiful face and the faint black bruises under her eyes. Even though he knew his face was the portrait of boredom, his shadows swarmed him, sensing his unease.

Azriel made his eyes move to where Amren was sitting crossed-legged, her petite body almost hidden beneath a white fur coat. Feyre cradling Nyx in her arms was sitting next to Rhysand, the baby soundly asleep, warm against his mother's chest. 

Azriel looked back to where Elain was, her shoulders tensing a bit as if she could sense his gaze on her even when she was peering through  the window, and he knew she was deliberately avoiding looking at him. It was only a stolen glimpse from his part - Azriel was well aware of Rhysand's violet eyes on him, almost daring him to disobey his orders. 

Azriel made the boiling rage cool down, kept his face carefully blank, his mask of cool boredom still in place whilst he faced his brother, lifting an eyebrow in question. 

Amren, on the other hand, didn’t bother to mask her impatience. “We’re waiting, Rhysand.”

The High Lord of The Night Court nodded to Elain, and Azriel felt his body stiffened once again. Rhysand announced, "It looks like we have another Made object to worry about.”

Silence.

Azriel’s blood went cold in his veins. He asked quietly, "How would you know?"

Elain didn't give many details. But she emphasized it was more of a sense than a normal vision, as if she could smell a storm coming but the skies remained clear. As if she could hear an ancient whisper in the wind. She wasn't sure what it was until last night - when  something long forgotten had presented itself in a dream. Azriel was well aware of what kind of objects could call for someone like that.

“What is this object?” Feyre asked.

Elain replied, “I… I can’t See what it is.” Azriel tracked the way she swallowed. “It’s veiled in shadows. Hidden among the silence itself."

Nodding more to herself, Amren said, "Whatever this is, it wants to be found at last.” She narrowed her eyes at Elain’s direction. "It's calling for you, girl."

Azriel's shadows gathered even closer, sensing his concern. He remembered of Oorid, how Nesta’s body shook after she retrieved The Mask. For Elain to be exposed to the same danger…

And yet, he couldn’t - wouldn’t interfere. He knew how much each choice Elain got to make was precious to her. She’d told him that herself on one of those nights in front of the fireplace. Her eyes had been filled with a mix of sadness and hope as if she still could feel her own choices slipping through her fingers as if they were grains of sand. 

He had only stared at her back then, imagining how it had been like for her going into the Cauldron - and then spending months trapped in her own visions to the point she couldn't tell dreams and reality apart. So he'd kept silent, let his understanding rise to the surface so she could see it and watched as her body relaxed under his gaze.

So different from now when she looked in every direction except his as she watched the harsh argument, Amren insisting vigorously that Elain should go look for the object. 

That explained why Nesta wasn't there, why Rhysand hadn't asked him to fly her down.

Whilst Cassian was in Illyria for an inspection of the aerial legions, the priestesses had recently received another female. Nesta didn't so much hesitate in wanting to help her the way she could and have been spending more time than usual at the library. But not to tell her, to keep this away from her… 

"Does Nesta know about this?", Azriel cut in.

"She would take this task for herself." Rhysand didn't even bother to look guilty. "And if it's calling for Elain, we can't risk sending anyone else, even if she chooses not to go. It could end very badly."  

"Maybe Nesta would be right to hesitate to send Elain,"  Azriel argued back, violet eyes narrowing. "Either way, that doesn't justify not telling her."

Feyre was glaring at her mate, undoubtedly saying something in his head, as if they had that discussion before. Many times. 

But before she could say anything out loud, Amren cut in, "It's not calling for Nesta, boy."

Azriel's voice was cold as ice. "Do not forget that we already kept information from her before." 

Amren didn’t even have time to open her mouth - to disagree or snarl, Azriel didn't know - before Elain stood up from her seat at the window, "That’s enough."

They all twisted toward her, brows raised. The only sound in the room now was the soft rustle of Nyx delicate wings.

Elain looked at Rhys, eyes sharp but voice even. "You of all people should know what it is like to want to protect those who you love and that is no excuse for keeping things from Nesta." Sadness coated her expression. “Not again, Rhys.” 

This time, Rhys had the decency to look at least guilty. Ferey intervened, "I'll tell her this afternoon. I want Cassian there, too."

Elain nodded. "I'm not a child for anyone to decide for me. If it's calling for me, I won’t run away.” She said squaring her shoulders, never looking away from her older sister, who was just about to say something. "And I am not asking for permission." 

And her posture, her words, her tone were so fierce, those large caramel-brown eyes flickering while she studied them all and Azriel knew that she’d do whatever was necessary to help this court. 

A  reminder that the Archeron sisters were forged by the same fire.

Azriel's chest ached with pride - and terror. Terror for her. But he pushed aside those instincts that were screaming to keep her safe, to not let her near any danger, and asked at last, "Then how do we find it?"

_________________

In a matter of minutes, Elain was sitting before a map, her eyes shifting beneath her lids as if she could See the entire world. Everyone was watching her as she searched for the right place, the one that appeared in her dreams - so Azriel used the moment to admire her.

Beautiful. She was so beautiful, he could admire her for the rest of his days in the same way he looked at the rising sun.

Elain’s hand hovered over that map, the creamy, soft skin marked by small scars, her delicate fingers were calloused, no doubt from her gardening. She cocked her head, as if listening to those whispering to find the right path. Azriel could’ve sworn the room was getting warmer.

She let a finger down and opened her eyes. For a second it looked like a faint golden glow shone behind the familiar brown, just like one could see the faelights behind a piece of glass, but then Elain blinked a few times -  and it faded away.

 "Here," she said.

Feyre sighted deeply as she cupped Nyx’s head as if she could protect him from her very words. "Of course it's in the Middle."

______________________

Nuala didn't ask any questions. She'd only showed up in the afternoon as they had agreed, passing right through the wall. Elain appeared a second later, opening the door and almost scrambling Azriel's brain cells to the point of uselessness. 

Her hair was braided behind her head, a blue surcoat, similar to the one she wore in the war, reached the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t Illyrian leathers, but the slits in the lower part of the surcoat  combined with her leather pants did absolutely nothing to hide her curves and the color made her skin look almost golden.

His shadows brightened as if to let him see all of her more clearly. He knew he was staring, that he should say something about them going somewhere, but he couldn't even remember his words. When Feyre had suggested he accompany Elain, he’d made his best to not look at Rhys, to just naturally nod in agreement. 

Rhysand wouldn't say a word about Solstice. Not in front of Feyre, that is.

But that didn't stop his High Lord to make Nuala play chaperone with a bullshit excuse that her gifts might end up being useful in the place they were heading to and her friendship with Elain could help. 

The message was crystal clear.

Azriel's eyes dropped without his acknowledgement to her lips, those sweet lips he had been so close to taste. He heard someone coughing, but his mind didn’t register the sound.

When he finally realized he was staring, he quickly snapped his eyes to hold her gaze. Despite the faint pink coloring her cheeks, a flicker of amusement sparkled in Elain’s expression.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. 

Azriel ignored the smirk curving Feyre’s lips just like he ignored Nuala’s amusement, trying his best to contain the heat spreading across his cheeks at the thought of them watching the staring contest between the two of them.

Finally Nuala decided to put him out of his misery and asked, "Shall we?".

________________

By the time the swirl of shadows disappeared, Azriel was half distracted by the feeling of Elain's small hand in his. But the moment Azriel was able to have a good look at the place before them, he felt the hair on his arms rose. 

A deep forest was revealed, huge, gigantic trees side by side, making him feel the same size as Amren. Nuala let go of his other hand and almost unconsciously he tightened his grip on Elain's as she looked wild-eyed at the view before them.

As if one could call it that.

Where the forest should be rejoicing with life, there was none. Not a single leaf remained in those trees, the naked branches curling above the small, meandering trail like black claws. There wasn't a single animal or insect anywhere beneath the dark gray sky, making the atmosphere grievously melancholic. 

No light, no life. A place of utter sadness, as silent as Death.

"I've seen worse." Nuala's midnight voice was almost a whisper, but still reverberated like a thunder in that deadly silence, her attempt of being playful covered by the tenseness in her tone.

Azriel studied Elain, who swallowed before saying, "Me too." Her face was cautious, tight. She cocked her head as if heading some inner voice.

He asked, "Can you See where it is?"

She gently let go of his hand, blushing a little as if she had just realized they were still touching. "No, not See it" She said, scanning the forest. "But I can hear it."

"The shadows don't hear anything," Nuala said, moving to be at Elain’s side. “Do you remember what we discussed?”

Elain nodded.

“Once we enter the forest, watch your steps and try to walk toe to heels most of the time. Listen carefully to our breathing,” Nuala said, gesturing to her and then Azriel, who was watching the scene with raised brows. “And match yours with it always. Be as quiet as you can.” 

To his surprise, Elain just lifted a brow at the command in Nuala’s tone, who gave her a Look. “I’m serious, if you can help it, do not make a sound in this place.” The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeths flashing against her dark skin and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

And then they walk right into The Silent Forest, living an almost dumbfounded Azriel behind.

_________________

They had been walking for what it felt like hours now. 

Even with his five hundred years worth of daily training, Azriel could feel his strength being drained slowly as if a heavy hand was pushing them back. With every step he took, it was like the forest itself, every single inch of that damn forest, didn’t want them there.

He kept his wings tucked in tight while eyeing their surroundings, once or twice he saw what seemed a glimpse of eyes watching them. The children of The Silent Forest. He could only pray for them to get the hell out of that place before sunset. 

Nuala seemed just as uncomfortable. Shadows gathered around her like a veil of darkness as if they could shield her from that invisible force, even though she was holding Elain’s hand now. 

Elain, who did not balk. She just kept walking, stopping sometimes along the way, her head cocked as if she could hear an inner voice luring her into the right direction until, at some point, Elain left the small forest trail to venture in an invisible path between the trees. 

More than once Nuala looked at Elain and smirked, causing a blush to spread across Elain’s pale cheeks.  

Despite the circumstances why Nuala was there, Azriel was grateful for the female attempts to distract Elain from her visible, growing tension. So he kept a few steps behind, offering the two females some privacy.  And when the temptation of using his shadows to know the cause of that blush crossed his mind, which was every five minutes, he pushed it aside and tried to focus on the surroundings or on the infinity, dark sky above them. With the sun almost down, the charged clouds waltzing through it in a promise of desolation.

They kept walking against that invisible force, almost unbearable now until… there. Azriel stiffened.

Deep in the forest, where the darkness seemed to unfold out of it, the entrance into a cave opened as if it was a path to another world, one made of Darkness and nothing more.  

Azriel’s shadows whispered to not go further. 

Nuala seemed to sense the same thing. "It feels… so wrong.” Her voice was quiet, but it seemed to be swallowed by the cave as if it was greedy to devour any sound, any light. 

“Strange,” Elain whispered back, brows furrowing. “It doesn’t feel like that to me.”

Azriel looked once again at the sky. They didn’t have much more time before night - and the beasts - came. He was almost suggesting to turn around, maybe they could convince Rhysand to come along. 

"I’ll be right back."

It took a moment to her words sink in, to Azriel make sense of what had just come out of Elain’s mouth. Elain, who was already moving. Elain, who was already walking towards the cave, getting closer with each step. 

Azriel moved out of sheer instinct, rushing forward to grab her hand, but again that damn force was pushing him back now. He flared his wings, trying to find some balance to keep going. "Elain," he snarled. 

She paused right before the entrance and looked back at him,  "I can hear its calling, it won't hurt me.”

Azriel was breathing hard, so lost on his mind that he didn’t realize the rain soaking him. He didn't like that one bit. He wanted to reach her, put his arms around her and shot to the skies. But he only unsheathed Truth-Teller and offered it to her. Elain bit her lip and walked back.  

He pressed his dagger to her hands, their eyes meeting - just like he had done once. Elain didn't hesitate this time. “Just…” He took his hand, trying to find the words. And there were so many words. “Come back," he said at last. A request and a prayer.

Elain squeezed his fingers and looked at Nuala before turning around. Azriel tracked every breath, every movement she made. His shadows speared toward the cave, watching over Elain, until darkness swallowed her. 

He was still monitoring her through his shadows, Nuala by his side. None of them dared to speak - not that he wanted to. Nuala worked as his spy long enough to know he kept to himself. His shadows were still curling around his neck to whisper in his ear.

Then, they became silent. As silent as they could be as they lost Elain’s track.

The screams came not long after she disappeared. 

______________________

"ELAIN!"

The female scream was still echoing in Azriel’s ears, his own panic was a fog he couldn't see through. He tried to use his Shiphons, but whatever twisted magic ruling that place, it could not be affected. 

And Elain was there somewhere. 

So Azriel lunged forward  - to be pushed back by that invisible form. He felt a tentacle of darkness grab him, sinking its talons deep in his very bones, sucking on his killing power.

He turned to Nuala, who was trying to summon her own shadows, to see beyond the darkness. “Go back, right now and bring Rhysand.” Her face drained of color. “Now, Nuala.”

“I won’t leave her.”

“That’s an order," he snarled.  

She looked back at the cave, before assuming her shadowy form and ran back, passing directly through the trees in her way. 

Fuck. Seven Shiphons never felt so powerless. He could only imagine what the hell was happening, ancient spells and wards, casted by god knows what kind of creatures and now Elain - Elain - was there and -

Think. He needed to try to calm the hell down and think. He was always planning, always calculating, that was his fucking job.

But he couldn’t think. Those talons thigned, more and more. He felt his magic leaving him slowly.

And then everything stopped.

When he  looked through the raindrops once more to the cave, - 

Elain’s head broke the darkness first. A solemn expression printed on her beautiful face and her eyes... they glowed. Nothing like Nesta’s silver fire, nothing like Amren’s once were, but gone was the familiar chocolate brown that Azriel had lost himself in it more times he could count, replaced by a light of white and golden. As if the sun itself was behind her skull and, just like that, the air in the forest grew hotter, wave after wave of heat crashing through him, his own strength being restored. He was only half-conscious about the dark forms of beasts older than Darkness who lived there in absolute silence, that now ran from that promise of light.

And in her hands… a small golden orb.

Any trace of that unholy darkness was gone as Elain stepped closer and on her back... the hair on Azriel arms rose, pure awe ran though his body. A pair of beautiful, strong, powerful wings, covered in feathers, each one white as snow, gleaming and glowing as if they have been sewed with golden thread, perfectly matching her otherworldly eyes. They seemed impermeable despite the water running down, like they were covered by a protection layer where drops glittered under starlight, similar to pearls. 

Azriel only stood there, drinking her image and memorizing it as she walked toward him. For she was something from dreams, from tales as old as the forest around them. 

Sweat began to run down his back, between his wings, in great rivers and in that moment she was the sun itself. Her face was sheer power, so luminous that radiated from her, warming the world, and he knew that despite the heavenly glow, she could release hell upon them all with nothing but a blink - no kindness, no mercy whatsoever.

Despite the heat, he did not flinch, did not so much as move. This was different from the fire that gave him his scars, a constant reminder of hate and fear. Whatever that fire was made of, this was something else entirely. 

It was the warmth of firelights on Solstice nights with his family, of spring days when he would sunny his wings. The warmth of Nyx’s laughter, of Elain’s smile. He wanted her closer, wanted to slide his arms around her and let her light cast through him until the darkness of his very soul faded away. For she was light, always have been. And for someone who is lost in the dark, light is salvation. 

Slowly Elain stepped out of the cave. The moment she crossed the dorway, after a few steps, that light dimmed, her wings dropped as if she couldn't sustain its weight any longer. Azriel saw when her hands tightened around the orb, bringing it to her chest. She blinked and every trace of light disappeared, her beautiful face was now mortal - and pale. 

Caramel-brown eyes met hazel ones before rolling back into her head. Azriel only had time to catch Elain in his arms before she could collapse on hard rock.   

[thesightstoshowyou]

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

 ~~~

             The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

             Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

             “And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

             The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

             “I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

             Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

             “Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

             You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

             “You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

             You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

             “Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

             Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

             You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

              Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

             “What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

             “Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

             “Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

              Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

              Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

               Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

                The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

                 You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

               “Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

                You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

               “Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

             The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

             “Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

             You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

             If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

             It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

             “Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

             He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

             You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

             “Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

             “Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

             Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

             Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

             Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

             You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

             You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

             He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

             You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

             This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

             “It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

             He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

             Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

             Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

             Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

             You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

             “Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

             You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

             The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

             You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

             Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

             You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

             You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

             Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

             It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

             “Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

             Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

             Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

             You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

             Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

             The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

             Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

             A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

             All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

             “Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

             Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

             That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

             The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

             You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

             The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

             “Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

             You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

             You know he’s never going to let you go.

[thunder-at-dawn]

June 3rd

i really liked writing this one!! it ended up being way longer than i thought it would though lol

word count: 2,563 (jesus christ)

prompt: gang tickles

character: eret

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

Attachments.

No matter if it was toward a person, place, or a noun, people always developed attachments to certain things.

Eret had always found themselves getting attached to things in life. They became attached to the pet sheep they had found roaming around the museum. They had been attached to L’Manburg at one point, it was their first real home. They were attached to Puffy, Foolish, and other friends they had met.

But right now, at this very moment? Eret was growing an attachment to...a couch.

There was a sectional couch in the library of the castle. It was red, made of velvet material, and in Eret’s words, “a really fucking nice couch.” It could easily fit six people, maybe seven or eight if people squeezed together. There was also an ottoman where, if rolled into the right spot, could make a larger space on the sectional that resembled a mattress. Eret had been laying across this couch for a while, reading a fantasy novel that they had found while browsing through the shelves of the library. Their crown was placed on a table nearby, as they didn’t feel the need to wear it at the moment. They looked up when they heard the sound of the door opening, wondering who was currently visiting.

“Foolish!” Eret sat up, happy to see their old friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Eret.” Foolish waved, and the king was quick to notice that he wasn’t filled with his normal, bubbly charm. The god walked over to his friend, leaning over and resting his arms on the sectional’s armrest. “So, uh...I have something to say. And you might not like it.”

Eret blinked in surprise, placing a bookmark in their book and gently closing it. “Okay? What is it?” They asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, um...You know how you told me that you didn’t want to tell anyone details about your past until we figured out more stuff about it?”

“...Yes?”

“I...” Foolish hid his face with his hands. “I accidentally let some stuff slip in conversation. When I was talking to...um, Puffy.”

Eret could feel their heart skip a beat in their chest, but they kept their composure. “...Okay...did you tell anyone other than Puffy?” They asked.

The god let out a groan of frustration, sitting down next to Eret on the couch. “No, I didn’t, but I accidentally brought up how we were reading together a while ago, and she was like “oh, what book were you guys reading?” and I didn’t want to lie, and I got put on the spot, so I told her about the wither cult, and I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen, and-“

“Oh, thank god.”

“Wait, what?”

“When you said that you told someone, with how nervous you looked, I thought you were talking about like, Dream, or someone else untrustworthy like that.” Eret let out a sigh of relief, placing a hand on their chest.

“Wait, so you aren’t mad?” Foolish asked.

“No, of course not! Accidents happen.” They shrugged. “And honestly, Puffy was the first person I planned to tell after we figured this all out. So, if anything, you actually did me a favor.”

“Really?! Whew, that’s a relief!” Foolish could feel his muscles untense as he also let out a heavy sigh, leaning back into the couch. “I thought you were gonna be so pissed off at me!”

Eret laughed softly. “Foolish, when have I ever been known to be upset in front of you?” They asked. They weren’t an easy person to provoke, it was pretty rare for them to lose their cool.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He nodded, aware of how Eret had never really gotten angry in front of him in all of the months he had been in this land. “You’re not easy to anger. However, back in the day, you would get a little bit intense when you were angry.”

“Really?” Eret looked over to their friend with curious eyes. “How so?”

Before Foolish could begin to explain, they were both distracted by the door of the library swinging open. A familiar face approached, closing the door behind themselves.

“So, someone told me that you used to be quite the warrior. And you don’t remember, so I’d like to see if I can help out with that.” The sheep hybrid greeted, pulling down her sunglasses and sending the two a wink.

“Apparently, I was a warrior!” Eret chuckled, waving to Puffy.

“Puffy, hey! Come sit down with us!” Foolish said excitedly, tapping on the free couch seat next to him.

“In a second!” Puffy made a beeline to the bookshelves, skimming through the words on the spine of each book. “What was the name of the book you guys were reading again?”

“The history of withers, I’m pretty sure!” Foolish nodded.

“Right...author name?”

“Umm...last name started with an H, I think?”

“...Hodgman?”

“Yep, I think so!”

“Careful, it’s quite heavy.” Eret warned her, but was surprised to see that Puffy was easily able to hold onto it, with seemingly no struggle. She walked over to the other two, sitting to the side of Eret so that they were in the middle.

She looked at her son and grinned softly. “This is his first time on the couch, isn’t it?”

“This is such a nice couch!” Foolish said as he sunk deeper into his seat, much to Eret and Puffy’s amusement. “How come I’ve never sat on this before?!”

“It’s your fault for not exploring the wonders of my castle enough.” Eret joked as Puffy placed the book in their lap so that all three of them could easily access it.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Foolish rolled his eyes, sitting up to get a closer look at the reading.

The three of them sat together on the couch for a very long time, investigating more of the book that Foolish and Eret had read previously. Foolish would often have to help transcribe words in ancient languages that the other two didn’t understand, and Puffy would often need context and explanation for quite a few things, but still tried to help as best as she could. They would laugh at Foolish’s stupid jokes and share exchanges in between their research, still finding fun. However, after a while, they found it to be draining.

“Okay, how much have we accomplished in the past two hours?”

“What? Foolish, there’s no way we’ve been at this for two hours.”

“Actually, we have.” Puffy nodded, checking the watch on her wrist. “We should probably take a break.”

“I’m down for that.” Foolish was quick to go limp and sink back into the couch.

“Mhm...” Eret nodded, looking out of the castle windows. It was golden hour, and the sun was setting over the horizon, leaving a beautiful, golden gleam to leak through the windows and into the library.

“You tired?” Puffy asked them.

“Not really tired, just drained.” Eret nodded as they turned towards the sheep hybrid.

“I can tell, you look tense.” She said before gently grabbing them by the shoulders and moving them so their back faced her. “Here, let me help.” After observing no signs of discomfort, Puffy started to gently massage Eret’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Puffy.” Eret smiled, leaning back into Puffy a bit as she massaged them.

“It’s no problem.” Puffy smiled back, continuing to lightly rub at Eret’s shoulders. The three of them sat in a peaceful silence, all of them illuminated by the golden glow of the sunset. Man, this was nice. Eret found themselves relaxing quite a bit...but not for long. Puffy lightly pressed her fingers against Eret’s shoulderblades, and they let out a squeak of surprise before quickly covering their mouth.

“Woah- are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Puffy asked, quickly letting go when Foolish sat up, curious to see what was happening.

“What? No, you didn’t do anything. I’m fine, Puffy.” Eret said, trying to throw what had just occurred under the rug. They noticed Foolish staring out of the corner of their eye, knowing damn well that he had noticed.

Foolish blinked, continuing to stare, before a smile appeared on his face. “Ooooh, right. Puffy. I have known Eret far longer than you have, and there’s something about them you might not know yet.”

“Hm?” Puffy looked up curiously.

Eret immediately knew what Foolish was referring too. “J-Just ignore him, Puffy.” They said to her.

Foolish smirked, now fully sitting up and moving closer to them both. “See, even if Eret doesn’t remember the past, what I do know is that they have stayed pretty similar to their old ways, including their strengths...and their weaknesses.”

“Like what?” Puffy asked, now intrigued with what Foolish had been saying.

“The truth...is that Eret...”

“Foolish, don’t tell her.”

“Is very...”

“Foolish.”

“Very...”

“Don’t you dare.”

Foolish paused, a wide grin on his face, amused by the situation. Eret leaned back, but couldn’t do much with Puffy sitting near him. He didn’t necessarily mind this, but it was a bit embarrassing.

“...Ticklish!” He finally commenced, leaning over and digging into Eret’s underarms. The monarch let out a surprised yell, quick to erupt into laughter.

“Yohohou AHAHASSHOHOLE!” They yelled, squirming around as they were laid across Puffy’s lap.

“Aww!” Puffy laughed a bit herself as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, ruffling their hair.

“DohOHOn’t lahahaugh! Ihihit’s nohoHOt fuhuhunny, Puhuhuffy!”

“Then how come you’re laughing so much, Eret?” Foolish asked, grinning happily.

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Eret snapped back through their laughter.

“Wait, wait, stop, I want to try something.” Puffy said suddenly. Foolish drew his hands away, letting Eret catch their breath. After a few moments, Puffy scooped her arms underneath Eret, and after a bit of struggle, managed to pick them up.

“Woah, wahait!” Eret yelped in surprise, clinging onto Puffy as them was lifted off of the couch. The captain smirked, lightly tossing Eret onto the other side of the couch. The ottoman was pulled in currently, so there was more space for them to move around if needed. Puffy was quick to sit down next to him, lying him down.

“So, Foolish. Overall, how ticklish do you think Eret is on a scale of one to ten?” Puffy asked her son.

“From one to ten? Hmm...” Foolish paused to think. “It can vary, depending on the spot but...I’d say an eight! Maybe even a nine!”

“A nine?!” Eret repeated, the now mischievous look on Puffy’s face filling them with a bit of nervousness. “Absolutely not, I am a seven at the most.”

“Well, with conflicting answers, I guess I’ll have to find out for myself!” Puffy said, slowly closing in on her friend before digging right into the hallows of their underarms, just as Foolish had done before.

“NohOHOHO- waHAhaihit!” Eret yelped, squirming around on the couch and holding onto Puffy’s wrists.

“Man, I remember when we were at a party this one time, and you were a bit tipsy, and you nearly fell over and I grabbed your waist to catch you. And you started laughing and, I dunno, I just had this strange feeling that it wasn’t from the alcohol! So I squeezed at your sides again, and you started laughing more, and I put two and two together.” Foolish laughed a bit himself, thinking about the memory.

“Their sides, you say?” Puffy’s eyebrow raised up curiously.

“Yeah, just like this!” Foolish quickly leaned down and grabbed onto Eret’s sides, a shriek emitting from their mouth. He squeezed and pinched at the area, sending the monarchy into a squirming, giggling mess.

“SHIHIHIT- GUHUYS!” They laughed, attempting to bat both pairs of hands away.

“I also remember you being quite a sneaky gal, but you can’t try and sneak your way out of this one!” Foolish said, finding as much enjoyment out of this as Puffy was.

“Yeah, you’re definitely past a seven.” Puffy declared. “Just like Foolish said, you’re an eight, possibly a nine.”

Foolish quickly stopped with one hand, using it to cover his mouth as he quickly whispered something to Puffy. The two of them nodded before Foolish went back in with his free hand, and Eret continued to laugh. They were squirming around a lot less now, probably getting a bit tired out. The other two slowed down, giving Eret time to breathe.

“Alright...” Foolish said quietly, looking at Puffy, then looking back down at Eret. “Three... two... one... NOW!” At the god’s signal, they both dug their hands into Eret’s ribcage, Foolish tackling the upper ribs while Puffy got the lower ones. Another shriek tore out from the monarch’s mouth.

“FUHUHUCK- HAHAHAHA!! WAHAHAIT-“ Eret threw their head back, attempting to squirm and defend themselves with their hands, but they were simply too tired to do so.

“Oh, forget what I said earlier, you are absolutely a ten.” Puffy said with a smirk.

“I agree! Ten all the way!” Foolish nodded in agreement.

“I’M NOHOHOT A TEHEHEHEN-” Eret cackled, a small hiccup escaping from their mouth.

The two of them continued the attack, before Foolish drew away, and signaled for Puffy to do the same. “Alright, I don’t wanna actually kill them.” He chuckled a bit.

Eret was still a giggling mess, even after the two of them had stopped. The golden light from the sunset reflected on their glasses as they reached a hand up behind them to wipe a tear from their eye. Readjusting the glasses, they let out a sigh. “You guys are both jerks.” They said lightheartedly before giggling again.

“Aww, but we’re your favorite jerks, aren’t we?” Foolish asked, moving and sitting down next to Eret’s head.

“Yeah, sure.” They rolled their eyes.

“The king of the SMP called me a jerk. That’s something to cross off of my bucket list.” Puffy said out loud, making the other two laugh, and she too, laughed along with them. Eret finally sat up, and their two friends readjusted to sit next to them.

“We’re not sorry for wrecking you into another millennium...but, we hope you can forgive us anyway.” Foolish said as he ruffled Eret’s hair.

Eret couldn’t help but smile at their old friend’s antics. “I forgive you both, but don’t think I’m not going to get you both back soon.” They said, fixing up the mess Foolish had made.

“That’s fair.” Puffy leaned into Eret. The king laughed softly, putting an arm around each of their friends.

Eret suddenly remembered that they had something that they wanted to say. “Oh, and Foolish?”

“Yeah?” Foolish turned his head.

“...Thanks for fucking up earlier and accidentally telling Puffy about the Wither Cult.” They smiled. Puffy laughed at the statement, grinning wildly as well. Foolish snickered lightly, and now all three of them were happily smiling.

“It’s no problem, old pal.” Foolish said with a sincere smile.

Eret looked out of the window. Golden hour was starting to come to an end, and the golden gleam from the windows was starting to fade.

They had made a new memory today.

It was moments like these that they had to cherish. Fun times to be had with friends. Between the stress of all of the wars, rivalries, and new nations rising up, it was definitely important. And as Eret sat with their friends in a peaceful silence, they knew that this something they needed.

[missskzbiased]

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (18)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader  X Han X OC

WC: ~ 4,4K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness

Notes: If anyone got the notification, please tell me 😭 If you guys want to get notifications (hopefully) please go here

Updates: Tuesdays

                                                         ////

   There were a lot of rumors going on right now.

    You prided yourself on not being the type to care about rumors and things like this but being in the center of so many of those in the last few days made it impossible for you to not be at least curious. The whispers had been obvious for a while now ─ particularly after Paris’ performance ─ and you couldn’t help but wonder how people could have so much free time in their hands and use it like that.

    You should have known, though.

    It was more than obvious that befriending Chan and Hyunjin would put you in the spotlight and it was bound to lead to dumb rumors at some point. You just didn’t expect them to be so dumb. Although you must have heard about hundreds of versions up to now, the core of all of them was pretty simple to catch: Love affairs and intrigue. That was what those incredible undergraduate brains could do with all of their loose imagination and wisdom.    

    You could kinda grasp why people thought you were dating Chan. You really could. You were pretty close with each other so it was logical for people to misunderstand your relationship… The thing is that you had been like this with Chan for ages now and no one ever had commented anything about it ─ at least not to this extent ─ so the real question here was pretty simple: Why now?

    “Hey” You lifted your eyes from the counter, meeting Hyunjin’s ones “Daydreaming at work?” He chuckled, leaning on the surface as he rested his face on his hand, studying you closely.

    Well… Then there was that too.

    Not only you were dating Chan but you were also cheating on him with Hyunjin… So maybe you could understand why people thought you were with Chan but where did this come from? It didn’t make any sense. First of all, they’re best friends living together! How the hell would you two-time Chan right under his roof with his best friend?! Second of all, you didn’t give away any hint on feeling something for Hyunjin! And he didn’t show anything similar for you either!

    No. Fucking. Sense.

    “Yeah…” You agreed mindlessly, mimicking his position to stare into his eyes “What about you? Why are you here?” You asked curiously, tilting your head as he smiled fondly at you; face too close for you to completely catch his shrug.

    “Can’t I drop by to see a friend?” He asked in a teasing tone “I should just have gone to see Paris… She treats me way better than you” He joked; hand reaching to fix a strand behind your ear “I should know you were just going after my body…” He sighed mockingly, chuckling as you rolled your eyes and tried to get away from his touch.

    “Stop it” You hissed “You know people are talking about us!” You frowned, getting a laugh as an answer. He leaned even closer, prompting you to lean back, trying to get more space between the both of you “You might like being the center of the attention but I don’t, Hyunjin” You mumbled, pushing him lightly so he would take a step back.

    “I didn’t think you were the type to care about what people thought about you” He pointed out, leaning back anyway “What are you worrying about? Do you think Chan will misunderstand us?” You weren’t really sure but his tone sounded a little bitter right there, and you couldn’t help but narrow your eyes.

    There was something wrong with Hyunjin these days…

    You were under the impression that he had been the target of those kinds of rumors throughout all his life and yet he was acting weirdly. Although he was quite playful about it ─ and by playful you meant flirty and touching ─, he also had those moments where he seemed to… Overthink? You weren’t really sure what was going on.

    It was like he couldn’t help but grimace each time you and Chan were mentioned on those. He seemed pretty okay in being the center of the rumors… Whether it was you or Paris, he didn’t seem to mind when either of you was pictured with him but he got clearly upset when Chan was involved. You were not sure if it was just his overprotective self over Chan or if he was suspicious of something going on between both of you while he knew the other rumors were just bullshit.

    He probably believed that both of you were hiding things from him. Again. You honestly had no idea why your friends had so much of a hard time understanding the things you said. You and Chan would never have anything! You were best friends, for Lord’s sake! And that was it.

    No. Romantic. Feelings. At. All.

    “There is nothing to misunderstand here, Hyunjin” You sighed “You and I have nothing going on and neither do I and Chan” You explained for the hundredth time already “Not wanting to fuel the rumors isn’t the same as caring about them” You added, grimacing at him in a matter-of-fact way that made him scoff.

    “I see…” He hummed, staring into your eyes for a second too long “Well… Anyway, I came here for a new book” He clarified, placing the last one he borrowed on the counter “This one was pretty good but I still preferred the first you lent me” He added, drumming his fingers on the book’s cover “I was wondering if you don’t have any other indications” He shrugged, averting his eyes from yours.

  “Oh? I thought you were a slow reader” You arched your brows in surprise, taking the book from the counter while looking at him “Are you sure you read that one?” You joked, chuckling.

   “I guess you still have a lot to learn about me” He giggled, leaning once more on the counter “Maybe if you started to pay attention to me instead of listening to those rumors…” He let the sentence hang in the air teasingly, smirking as you rolled your eyes “Or maybe we should start dating to give them a reason to talk” He chuckled, wiggling his brows at you.

   “Great 5th grade way to think” You praised him mockingly, giving him a thumbs-up as you pressed the book against your chest and made your way to the shelf it was supposed to be on “Do you have any genre in mind?” You asked mindlessly, checking the codes to match the book.

    “Surprise me” He joked, trying to do an awkward French accent that made you look funnily at him “Oh, come on… Ratatouille? No? Really?” He nagged, mumbling displeased as you giggled at his antics.

    You turned on the aisle, eyes roaming around as he followed you closely behind, gaze wandering around the many books displayed on the shelves. You put the one you were holding back in its place, humming as you studied the content on the shelves. He hummed along with you, playfully leaning closer to your ear as he pretended to be invested in looking for something to read.  

    His presence sent shivers all the way down your body.

    No… Not his presence.

    It was the setting… Yes, it had to be it.

    The library had that mysterious ancient vibe that thrilled you… The brownish solid colors surrounding everything in a majestic framing that made you feel too small… The hard-covered books’ scent in the air, a full-bodied heaviness that seemed to clamp you… The dim lighting that revealed each scattering mote fluttering around, agitated by the soft huff Hyunjin let out… The warmth that crept into your bones as you held your breath for just a half-second…

    It wasn’t him.

    The way your heart rammed against your chest had nothing to do with his presence… Nor it had anything to do with his hands slowly making their way to the shelves, trapping you between him and the books… And you were almost too sure that the cloudy thoughts flickering in your mind and the fluttering sensations in your stomach ─ that forced you to swallow dryly ─ had something to do with your skipped meal but, again, not with him.

    “Someone looks nervous” He whispered and somehow his breathing seemed to tighten your chest and quicken your heart pace once more. You could see both of his hands right in front of you and yet it felt like he was embracing you… The way you had to force your eyes open wasn’t a good sign to your brain “All stiff and…” He continued; voice purposely teasingly “… Panting” He added, a hint of amusement under his tone.

    “Stop joking around…” You managed to say, lips quivering as he chuckled huskily. Although you could feel his warmth and presence clearly, there was no inch of skin ─ except his chin making its way to rest on your shoulder ─ to seal the deal. It felt intimate yet distant… It felt like you were supposed to laugh it off but you didn’t want to.

    “It doesn’t need to be a j—“ He couldn’t finish what he was going to say, interrupted by a gasp that had both of your heads snapping at the side. There, facing the aisle with mouth fully agape and widened eyes, was someone who was bound to spread some more rumors around.

    “I-I’m sorry” They blurted out “I-I didn’t mean to interrupt” They rushed to say, clearing their throat before turning around, utterly flustered by what they thought to have witnessed. You groaned, resting your forehead on the shelf before flicking Hyunjin’s nose, pushing him away for you to look for a new book.

    “Read this” You spat, shoving a random one into his hands.

                                                          ////

    Your thoughts were filled with Hyunjin.

    Although your eyes were fixed on the TV, you couldn’t care less about whatever was going on there. The voices sounded like a buzz in the back of your head and the image was almost too blurry for you to understand but Paris’ distinct laughter was a good cue for you to laugh at some joke you didn’t listen to. Whether it was your chuckle sounding too fake or too off time, she seemed to notice that something was going on inside your head.

    She didn’t even say anything, pausing the show before looking straight at you with a questioning look, arching her brow as she waited for you to say something. There was it… The two-path road. You could either tell her that it was nothing ─ and she would probably narrow her eyes at you until you made up a random excuse ─ or you could actually tell her what has been on your mind lately ─ and then you would have to put up with the insufferable Paris state.

    Too late to back off now… You should have paid attention to the show.

    You glanced at her ─ unsure about what to say or do at a moment like this ─, biting your lip as you blinked a few times to buy some time to decide what you were going to do. You knew Paris well enough to predict her reaction… As soon as you said that you have been thinking a lot about all those rumors, she would instantly assume that you were worrying over it because you had some suppressed feelings that you were trying to hide.

    You just knew it.

    “So…” She stressed, still staring at you “What’s going on inside that little box of yours?” She joked, pointing at her own head before hugging her knees, sitting across you on the couch.

  Path N° 1: The finals are right there at the corner…

  Path N° 2: I can’t understand where all those rumors are coming from… I didn’t do anything suspicious with Chan or Hyunjin and suddenly people are talking behind our back. Either I messed up really bad about something and didn’t notice or someone misunderstood something I did… Or maybe it could be because Hyunjin has been flirting a lot lately! He pinned me against the wall thrice already. Do you think this is strange? I’m finding it a little odd... Maybe I’m being too sensitive over useless st–

  “Y/N?” Paris called you softly, tilting her head to the other side as if it could help her to see what was going on in your mind “Are you feeling okay? You seem a little bit… Off… Today” She said carefully, studying your features for a brief moment.

  “I’ve been thinking about the rumors…” You began hesitantly, checking for her reaction “Don’t you find it strange? I mean… You and Hyunjin had your rumors before but I hadn’t been dragged into this until now” You pointed out, shrugging “I find it odd that people are talking about me and Chan out of nowhere and… Well, talking like I’m hooking up with Hyunjin behind your back” You explained.

  Paris didn’t say anything at first, seeming surprised by your worries.

  “Well…” She cleared her throat “I mean… I have heard some things about you and Chan around… And you kinda… Well—“ She licked her lips, visibly stiffening up as she thought about what to say “You know? Some people saw you guys at the library… And you guys keep calling each other sweety and stuff…” She floundered her hand in the air as if it helped her to express it better “And you gave him your keys… And he slept here the whole week…” She trailed off.

    “What the fuck?” You blurted, surprised by all this “How do they even know about this?!” You frowned, wondering how many people heard all those kinds of stuff out of context and got to build up a rumor like this.

    “Yeah… Well, you guys aren’t really subtle” She chuckled nervously “And I think that you shouldn’t really have said that you guys used to… Have sex…” She practically whispered the last part, ashamed to talk about it “Before, you know? Especially on a party” She cleared her throat once more, fixing herself on the couch.

    You had what now?

    “I never said that” You frowned “I never had sex with Chan… I-“ You scowled in disgust “Why would I ever have sex with Chan? We’re literally best friends! He’s like a brother to me or something… Ew” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head to get rid of the thought “What made you think I had sex with him? What the fuck?” it would be an understatement to say that you were flabbergasted.

    “Well… You kinda did” She arched her brow, looking at you filled with confusion “You told us you used to hook up with Chan, remember?” She asked as if she was talking to a kid “At the party, you clearly said that you used to hook up with him…” She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows matter-of-factly, almost as if she was trying to transfer her memories to you.

    “No, I most definitely didn’t say this” You grimaced at her, finding all the situation kinda odd, “I said I hooked up with Chan’s friend” You emphasized, returning the look to her “I would never say I hooked up with him… You distorting what I said” You blinked, staring at her in confusion as she gasped.

    “Oh! It was Chan’s friend!” She chortled “Well, so you should roast Chan! He interrupted you, and I think everyone understood the very same as me” She huffed, seeming to find the situation amusing “Oh my God… I’m pretty sure that was what triggered the rumors about you and Chan, to be honest” She mused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

    “I can’t believe you guys thought—“ You sighed in resignation “Well… Anyway, I’m not dating or fucking Chan” You said dismissively, already done with how all this had started “And what have you heard about Hyunjin? What started it all?” You deadpanned, waiting for some silly explanation once again.

  Paris stared blankly at you.

  “You’re kidding, right?” She sounded taken aback, looking at you as if you tried to make a bad joke. The way you stood silent, staring back at her in genuine curiosity, must have seemed really sincere because she chortled before answering you “Y/N, he literally kissed you at the stairs” She reminded you slowly, trying to get the words to sink into your head.

  She didn’t need to do much.

  You didn’t want to admit it ─ and you would refuse to for as long as you could ─ but that kiss… Fake kiss! That fake kiss… You couldn’t help but gulp down as you felt your senses being electrified just by the mention of it. How many times did you push aside that thought? How many times did you ignore the flickering thought in the back of your mind? How many times you could practically see him leaning in for a kiss?

  You licked your lips, biting them to restrain the turmoil inside your head.

  Of course, you weren’t blind… Hyunjin was a handsome piece of shit. You knew it even when you hated him. You knew it even when you didn’t want to acknowledge it… Even when you wanted to believe that it was just the popular opinion about him.

    Now, you couldn’t ignore how pretty he was.

    You weren’t quite sure if it was all in your mind ─ he did lean it too quickly for you to notice every single thing ─ but you could still feel the fire on his gaze as he made his move. You could remember how eager he was… Or at least, how eager you believed him to be as you were crushed against the wall and lost all the air inside your lungs. Was it just you being surprised? Was it the abruptness of the situation? Or did he really pin you against the wall as if his life depended on it? You surely felt like it was the last one… But could it be you the one who wanted to believe it for dear life?

    No, of course, not.

    The warmth of his hands still lingered there on your skin from time to time, and the soft pressure in your lips seemed to be carved at the back of your mind. You hated that sometimes you pressed your lips with your thumb ─ the same pressure though not the same way he did ─ just to snap out of it a second too late. You also couldn’t forget the way he tilted his head to deepen a kiss that didn’t really happen… The way the realization washed over you right at that second.

    It wasn’t disappointment… It was something else.

    You could still feel how his touch changed on that second… The hold was firm and consistent… It was like he didn’t want to let you go; like something just switched on his head and triggered something that felt so much like… You gulped down once more, still refusing to stress that thought out. The way your breaths mingled and hitched… Faltered… It was almost painful to know that it didn’t really happen.

    There was it…

    Desire and passion.

    The urges of a single woman who hadn’t been getting some in a while.

    “It was a fake kiss” You finally answered her but by now, Paris knew too damn well where your thoughts were wandering around a second earlier.

    “Yeah, but it seemed pretty real for anyone who took a glance at it” She reminded you, and the suggestive hint under her tone made you scoff “And I don’t want to say it—“

    “Then just don’t” You grimaced at her.

    “—But I think both of you were pretty into it even for a fake kiss…” She grinned at you teasingly, and the tired sigh that left your lips seemed to fuel her “I can remember quite well how you just let your hands right on his chest… I don’t recall you pushing him away, you know?” her grin spread all over her face “I think you enjoyed feeling him under your touch a whole lot…” She raised her eyebrows, throwing you a knowing look that made you huff, rubbing your face in distress.

    Why did she have to say that?!

    You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the memories that you didn’t need to have right now… So what if his chest felt so warm and firm under his shirt? So damn fine under your touch? What about the way the water droplets seemed to caress his tanned skin? So what if the very same droplets must have rolled down and down and down and… Well, all the way down from his throat to his collarbone to his chest to… You couldn’t help but lick your lips, shaking your head to dismiss the thought.

    It didn’t matter.

    The way he bought you coffee and waited for you on Monday? It didn’t matter. The way his damp hair gave him a sexy vibe that looked like a plead for being warmed up on a cold Tuesday? It didn’t matter. The way he was trying to impress you with good food? It didn’t matter. The way he kept visiting you at your work to ask for indications? It didn’t matter. The way he kept flirting and teasing you around? It didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered because Hyunjin had been pretty clear before.

  He wanted you as a friend.

  A good friend.

   “I think…” You trailed off, darting your eyes away from her “I may…” You gulped down, reconnecting your gazes before sighing heavily “I guess I’m feeling attracted to him…” You admitted.

    It probably wasn’t the reaction she was expecting because Paris just let her mouth hang open as her eyes widened, utterly in shock to hear it coming out of your mouth. You pursed your lips, feeling kinda embarrassed by her reaction, averting your gaze once more as you played with your own fingers, refusing to look at her. Was it that strange for you to feel… Well, some kind of silly attraction towards your stupidly handsome friend?

    You didn’t think so.

    “You don’t need to be so surprised… It’s not like I’m a criminal or something” You muttered, peeking at her for a split of a second before focusing on your hands once more “I think the fake kiss kinda… Awoke something? Like a tiny little spark or something… Nothing too important or any—“ You were just rambling at this point.

    “No!” She blurted, hands waving exaggeratedly in front of her body “I mean- Yes! I’m not… I mean… It’s not that I’m shocked, I’m just…” She floundered her hands around, trying to find the right words in her mind “I think it’s great!” She chortled “Oh my God… Yeah, I think it’s great! It’s great that you have a crush on him or something!” She chirped, and you couldn’t help but frown.

    “How is it great?” You asked warily “We’re literally just friends and he’s the hugest fuckboy we had ever met” You reminded her “There is nothing great in it… Actually, I think that’s the worst thought my brain had ever had” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

    “He’s not that bad!” She retorted eagerly “He’s actually really sweet!” She added quickly, trying to convince you as she patted your knee “I mean… He’s smart! Isn’t he? You guys are always arguing in class!” You arched your brow at the distorted way to boost him “He also has good grades! I know you like smart guys” She threw you an insistent look.

  Well… You were not so sure the attraction had much to do with his brains.

    “He’s also really funny! You’re always laughing at things he says!” She kept her monologue “He also likes the foods you like! He’s always spending time at the hot dog stand! He even knows your favorite food by now!” She was so excited at all this that it was almost like she was selling him to you “He has an amazing taste for TV shows! I can testify that” She smiled proudly “And he’s also interested in your things! He’s reading the books you like and everything!”

    Yeah… She kinda had a point, to be honest.

    “You said yourself that he had been flirting! So… I mean- It has to mean something, right?” She asked filled with hope, looking at you expectantly “He wouldn’t flirt with someone he doesn’t like! So to the very least, he likes you!” She clasped her hands together, excited.

    “He has been flirting with me even when we hated each other” You pointed out skeptically, and she groaned in frustration.

    “Okay! He’s a fuckboy, I get it! Flirting is what he does” She rolled her eyes, impatient “But he hasn’t been fucking anyone for a while! He has a crush on someone and he’s being really romantic about it!” She insisted, making your chortle.

    “Yeah… Because not fucking people around when you like someone is a great romantic gesture” You sneered “You sound too… Eager to make your point” You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head in suspicion “You’re not being the usual…” You cleared your throat to imitate her “I ship you guys so much!” You chirped mockingly, clapping your hands repeatedly in a short and rapid motion “You’re… Did he tell your something?” You asked curiously.

  “What are you talking about?!” She asked in a high-pitched tone, snorting in a too anxious way to be natural “It’s just that you’ve never shown interest in anyone before! I’m excited!” She dismissed your thought, waving her hand at you “I’ve been waiting for this! The day you would talk to me about boys and stuff like this!” She whined, and for a moment she really did sound sincere enough for you to believe her.

    “It doesn’t matter anyway” You shrugged “You said so yourself… He’s been crushing on someone” You pointed out, uncrossing your arms and returning your gaze to the TV “Also, it’s not like I want to fuck him… Too much trouble, right? I know he isn’t the type to attach… He wouldn’t risk our friendship just to get his dick wet” You reasoned.

    “What if he’s crushing on you?” She asked unsurely, glancing at you.

    “Yeah, right!” You just laughed it off, gesturing for her to hit the play.