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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his mate’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin.

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips.

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears.

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was.

But that was his own fault.

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.”

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing.

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered.

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there.

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass.

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured.

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now.

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame.

No.

Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own.

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you.

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look.

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!”

“I have more just like them.”

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips.

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel.

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.”

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.”

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out.

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another.

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.”

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word.

“Yes�� I know.”

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home.

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter.

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching.

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it.

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him.

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again.

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong.

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.”

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching.

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin.

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it.

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him.

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else.

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.”

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.”

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.”

“I like it when my clothes are loose.”

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth.

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!”

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door.

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing.

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others.

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now.

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward.

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics.

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome.

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!”

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered.

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go.

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace.

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?”

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!”

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care.

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!”

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face.

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating.

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled.

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave.

“Well?” You snapped.

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.”

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy. “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…”

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.”

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.”

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was.

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged.

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly.

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his.

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs.

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic.

But his hands.

His hands.

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste.

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree.

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there.

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt.

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt.

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more.

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving.

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…”

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.”

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth.

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Azriel, it’s ok.”

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—”

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.”

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it.

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried.

He couldn’t help himself.

He started laughing too.

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support.

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled.

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.”

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere.

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily.

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones.

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.”

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.”

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away.

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted.

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone.

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in.

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt.

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides.

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath.

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.”

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening.

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore.

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this.

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears.

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms.

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.”

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.”

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions.

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.”

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.”

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House.

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself.

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst

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rafeys-baby · 1 month ago

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𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 2 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Dumb!Ditzy!Reader x Rafe Cameron <3

(For @lolabunnyworldss - fyi when I say JJ I mean John B and Sarah named their baby after him he’s not dead in this AU!)

౨ৎ

It started again on a Thursday.

Not a special Thursday. Not a holiday or an anniversary or anything fancy like that. Just a regular, soft, sleepy kind of Thursday. The kind where she wore one of Rafe’s big sweatshirts with nothing underneath and fuzzy pink socks that slipped down her ankles when she walked across the hardwood floor.

She had curled up on the couch with Bemo, her sweet little bunny who smelled like hay and warm laundry, and was watching baby TikToks on mute while absentmindedly eating marshmallows straight from the bag. Not toasted. Not dipped in chocolate. Just the fluffy kind that stuck to her fingers and made her lips glossy.

One video played after another. Chubby-cheeked babies learning to walk. Giggly twins wearing matching overalls. A little girl with a flower crown saying “daddy” for the first time.

Her heart squeezed in her chest like someone had tied a ribbon around it.

“Bemo,” she whispered, holding him closer and pressing her cheek to his tiny head. “I want one. I want a baby so bad.”

Bemo twitched his nose and looked mildly annoyed. He had never been interested in babies, except the time JJ drooled on his ear and he refused to come out from under the couch for two hours afterward.

But she was serious. Her brain might’ve been a little scattered most days, but her heart was big and full and ready. At least that’s what she thought.

So when Rafe came home, all sweaty from the gym with his jaw tight and his t-shirt clinging to his back, she launched herself at him like she had just seen him after a month at sea.

“Rafe,” she said dramatically, clinging to his chest. “I need a baby. I actually might die if I do not get one soon. Like physically die. My body is literally craving one.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You’re back on this again?”

She nodded seriously, curling her fingers into his shirt. “Yes. Like my uterus is crying. I think I’m ovulating. Maybe. Or whatever the thing is when your eggs start screaming.”

He snorted, walked her backward until she flopped onto the bed, then hovered over her with that look he always gave her when she said things that didn’t make sense. Affectionate. Confused. Slightly worried.

“You remember what happened last time you got baby fever?”

She blinked up at him and tilted her head like a puppy.

He stared.

She blinked again.

“…No?”

He exhaled. “Bemo. I got you Bemo.”

She gasped. “Oh my gosh yeah. But that was different! That was starter baby fever. This is like… final boss level. I think I’m nesting. Do you think I’m nesting? I rearranged the snack drawer by color earlier.”

“You put all the pink Starbursts in their own Ziploc bag,” he said flatly. “And called it ‘princess energy.’ That’s not nesting.”

“It could be,” she argued, pouting. “Princesses have babies. Royal ones. I could make us royalty.”

He just looked at her.

She kicked her legs a little. “I just really want one, Rafe. A real baby. A squishy one. That cries and has those little toes that look like tiny corn kernels.”

“I’m not getting you a baby because you’re obsessed with baby toes,” he said slowly.

She rolled over dramatically and buried her face in a pillow. “Fine. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You think I’d be a bad mom.”

“I think you’d lose your keys in the baby’s crib.”

She gasped. “I only lost my keys three times this week and one of them wasn’t even my fault. I thought the microwave was the fridge.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

She popped her head up. Her hair was tangled. There was a tiny smear of marshmallow on her cheek. Her eyes were wide and wet.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just give me a chance.”

Rafe sighed. A long, deep sigh that said I love you but you’re literally out of your mind.

“All right,” he said finally. “You want a baby that bad?”

She nodded, eyes hopeful and shiny.

“Then prove it. You’re on trial, baby girl.”

She sat up, brightening immediately. “Oh my god like a baby test?”

“Exactly,” he said, voice firm. “Starting tomorrow.”

She squealed. Bemo leapt off the couch in terror.

౨ৎ

Trial Day One:

There was a paper on the fridge.

It had been typed. Printed. Taped down.

She stared at it with a cup of milk in her hand and a slice of cold pizza in the other.

TRIAL RULES. FAIL = NO BABY.

By Rafe “This Is Serious” Cameron

1. Take all your meds every morning. No reminders.

2. No drinking. No smoking. No wine. Not even white.

3. Eat real meals. Breakfast is not marshmallows.

4. Bemo must be clean, fed, and not dressed like a doll.

5. Babysit JJ twice a week. No calling me unless someone’s dying.

6. No crying over nothing.

7. Act like a mom. Not like a bunny princess.

She gasped.

“I am a bunny princess though,” she mumbled, half insulted.

But she took it seriously.

She got up early the next day, set five alarms on her phone labeled “PILL TIME OR NO BABY,” and made a sticker chart shaped like a heart.

She found glittery stickers in her drawer and decorated it with little cut-out bunnies and the words Mommy Mode Activated in sparkly pink marker.

She didn’t drink wine. Even when Kiara offered her a cute fizzy one that tasted like watermelon and was in a cup with a tiny umbrella. She just held her lemonade and sipped dramatically.

“I’m in training,” she said proudly. “My womb is in boot camp.”

Rafe just sipped his beer and stared at her like she was some kind of adorable alien.

౨ৎ

Week Two:

She babysat JJ three times because Sarah was exhausted and John B had accidentally put frozen peas in the coffee maker.

The first time, she panicked a little when he pooped mid-diaper change and she screamed so loud that Bemo ran into the laundry room and hid in a basket.

But she figured it out.

She sang songs. She invented lullabies. She read JJ a picture book about frogs and added dramatic sound effects even though JJ mostly just chewed on the corner.

She wore soft sweaters and fuzzy socks and made sure to wash her hands like fifty times. She googled everything. How to burp a baby. How to tell if a baby is too hot. How to entertain a one-year-old without accidentally teaching them swear words.

Rafe came home once to see her dancing around the living room with JJ in a baby sling while holding Bemo in the other arm like a furry handbag.

“What are you doing?” he asked, blinking.

“We’re bonding,” she said seriously. “It’s called multi-momming.”

And honestly, she looked ridiculous. But also… kind of perfect.

౨ৎ

Week Three:

She didn’t miss a single pill.

She didn’t call Rafe for non-emergencies.

She stopped crying when she accidentally burned her toast.

She started eating real food like oatmeal and grilled cheese and cut-up fruit in little bear-shaped bowls.

One day, she caught herself humming while organizing the diaper bag and paused.

She looked down at herself. Hair up. Big hoodie. Baby on her hip. Sticker chart full of hearts.

She was doing it.

She was actually doing it.

౨ৎ

Final Day:

She stood in the kitchen in a soft baby-blue dress that barely brushed her thighs. She had baked muffins. Real ones. With blueberries and everything.

JJ was asleep in the playpen. Bemo was flopped on his pillow with a leaf of lettuce in his mouth. Her sticker chart was complete. Her pill bottle was empty because she had taken every single one.

She had even packed a mini emergency baby kit. Just in case.

Rafe came in, tie loose around his neck, face unreadable.

“Trial’s over,” he said.

She froze. “Did I… pass?”

He walked over to her, grabbed her hands, and looked her in the eye.

“You passed,” he said. “You proved me wrong.”

She gasped.

“You did everything right,” he continued. “You made real choices. You showed up. You didn’t whine or quit or burn down the house.”

“I only almost burned it down once,” she whispered.

“And you handled it,” he said. “You handled everything.”

“So… we can start trying?” she asked softly, hope blooming in her chest like fireworks.

Rafe smiled.

“After the wedding.”

She blinked. “What wedding?”

Then he dropped to one knee.

She squeaked. Literally squeaked.

He pulled out a tiny velvet box.

“This ring belonged to my mother,” he said, opening it to reveal a delicate gold band with a perfect oval diamond. “She told me to give it to someone strong. Someone who’d raise a strong child. Someone who’d never stop loving.”

Her eyes flooded with tears.

“I didn’t think that would be you,” he admitted. “But you proved me wrong.”

She dropped to the floor, mascara running, and wrapped her arms around him so tightly the ring nearly flew out of his hand.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes yes yes yes yes!”

Bemo thumped approvingly.

JJ yawned in his sleep.

౨ৎ

Twelve Months Later

She was lying on her side in bed, cradling her enormous belly, one hand rubbing slow circles over the bump while the other held a half-eaten cupcake.

Rafe walked in, eyes soft, holding a tiny pink onesie that said Daddy’s Little Chaos in sparkly cursive. “She kicked again,” she said sleepily. “I think she likes cupcakes.” “She gets that from you,” he said, smiling.

They curled up together, her head on his chest, his hand on her belly. And just before she fell asleep, she whispered, “I still wanna name her Marshmallow.”

Rafe groaned. But he would say yes. Because she had earned everything. And he would give her the whole world.

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ghostyuri · 17 days ago

Text

just can’t resist you

hiii

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…nat is only your friend. she plans on keeping it that way, because she swears a girl like you would never be into her.

before you read…angst with comfort. sexual and vulgar language. reader is described to be girly! nat thinks you’re straight. creepy guy being a weirdo. wc 3.4k.

the trailer smells like burnt popcorn and spilled beer.

you had burnt the popcorn; nat’s spaghetti-o-stained microwave is nearing its end, and apparently, three minutes had meant burning the kernels to a nearly inedible crisp. natalie didn’t complain, she grabbed a bowl and snacked on it with pleasure.

not surprising, she's also the same woman who picks black licorice in a candy store.

natalie had spilled the beer, knocking it over on your cherry red skirt when she moved in closer to you on her couch, peppered with small circular burn holes and fur from a stray cat she lets sleepover during stormy nights. she apologized immediately and with an insane amount of worry, like the liquid would cause you to melt.

you were fine, you told her that again and again, even when she was wiping the fabric of your skirt with the nearest dirty laundry on the floor and a rushed hand—you had grabbed hers softly with your own to stop her.

she looked at you with those gleaming puppy eyes that always made you weak.

it was a miracle you made it seven months on the dot with her—just like this. two people who somehow fit in this dull town like pieces from different puzzles, that still managed to click. natalie had even called you her friend. and she didn’t use that word lightly…it made you blush. whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could have with just anyone.

it’s special.

you are too fucking sweet, and initially that made her want to vomit.

when you fluttered your eyes at her at the diner, offering her the special pie of the day with a kind smile she didn’t commonly receive. she said ‘no,’ with a lifeless expression; the first time.

the second occasion, the ‘no,’ was spoken above a whisper. she was sitting in the corner and avoided your eyes at that time.

you didn’t pry; you had absolutely no room to. a pretty and mysterious stranger’s problems were not your own.

then came the next week, when you saw her one-of-a-kind face again. she had looked at you, all of you, from the top of your head down to the tip of your white gym shoes. you wore the same inviting smile but spoke with less cheer. natalie had to ask you what pie was on the menu; it had seemingly slipped your mind.

you served her peach pie that evening. next, blueberry. then apple on saturday. it was an unspoken routine, and no wonder why hanging out with her outside of that lonely diner came so fast.

why you’re sitting in her trailer, curled up on the worn brown couch, painting her nails.

“stop fidgeting, natalie,” you warn with no real threat, leaning in closer to angle the brush better. you just barely miss her skin, the black paint still somehow almost perfect despite the woman growing antsy. “alllmost done.”

“shit takes five years,” nat whispers, though the painting itself isn’t why she can't remain still. she’s done this shit time and time again, though less precisely. she'd leave the dark smudges and would shrug it off. natalie is unsure she’s ever even owned a bottle of nail polish remover. what is making her shift so subtly, she doesn’t even know how you notice—is your hand holding hers.

for the past half hour. so incredibly soft to her calloused. they’re consistently scraped, but natalie liked to joke with you, too much at the serious times. she’d say she fought the new jersey devil or ran into the ninja turtles. fucking stupid, and you’d laugh at it. that noise she’d kill a man to hear on repeat.

“got a date or something?” you tease her, doing the last few strokes on her pinky. there’s a strawberry shortcake band-aid on her knuckle, placed by you the night prior.

the cut wasn’t deep enough to warrant worry, just your undying care. she didn’t even feel like washing the dried-up blood off, eager to get really close to you on the sofa without saying it was cuddling. but you’re you. treating her like porcelain. it makes her sick. nauseous with hot and vile love.

but that, that wasn’t allowed. she swallows those forbidden thoughts, pissed at herself for going there again. down the route that allows her to fall for you—just to embarrass herself when you put on that over-friendly voice you first did at the diner while you reject her.

because you…you weren’t any of this. you might be the beautiful wallpaper, but not the yellowing from the smoke that left her lungs.

maybe even the angel figurine abandoned by her mother, placed on a shelf with the rest of her junk. it got damaged in a moving box, and the wings had fallen off. she’d still catch herself studying it when the sun peered through the blinds at the right time, at the right angle.

the dozens of layers of glass within it would make it reflect a rainbow. she never had time to admire that when she was younger.

you’re not a guy she picks up when she’s so pathetically lonely—while you’re probably with some country club dipshit that’ll try to make you his housewife. someone undeserving of you and everything that you divinely are. natalie could not say the same for herself—that prick she distracts from bothering the bartender isn’t all that better than her.

you are. you must know that. the idea this friendship was based on pity filled her mind constantly, but you really fucking good at making it feel genuine. something you want. she wishes you wanted more, then she thinks shes a moron for hoping for such a thing.

she states blankly, “i might. is that a problem?”

“it is if it’s another jason—or something, again,” you respond, natalie taking notice in the way you remembered his name when she’s pretty damn sure it was uttered once in a regretted mumble. he siphoned her gas the morning after. but, she doesn’t know why you even care about who she sleeps with. it irritates her.

“won’t be…” natalie says, almost bitter. you don’t seem to catch it or acknowledge it. you twist the nail polish shut and place it beside her ashtray on the oval table and continue to talk, “or what was it—michael? that literally stole your cash?”

It’s not meant to come out so ill or make natalie uncomfortable. you wouldn’t hide your disdain towards who she was into because nat had some god awful taste. she never kept the good ones, and you wondered from the little details she’s spared about her past lovers, if she was the one who pulled away.

you lean back on the couch, and natalie straightens up at the very same time. any emotion on your face drains—realizing nat is upset. it happened when you asked too many questions; she despised those.

“you keeping track or something?”

the annoyance in her tone is evident, and you’re immediately shaking your head.

“no, i just—i don’t get why you keep doing that.”

“doing what, exactly?” she asks back like it’s a challenge; it’s nat, so it is. there were few times arguments occurred between you two, they never mattered though. it was over tiny things like you making her bed when she’s ‘super capable of it.’

you were always the calmer one; you had to be.

and now, you still are, even leaning in closer with a gentle approach. your perfume hits her in the motion, a warm sugary vanilla she wants to suffocate in. then, her eyes fall to her lap when you reach over, placing your palm on her knee.

“settle for…i don't know…pieces of shit?” your voice is soft, followed by a short chuckle, an attempt to ease the newfound tension. the truth, delivered in a way that wouldn’t have her even more pissed at you.

if only.

“well,” natalie’s mouth opens before her mind can form a coherent sentence, “maybe that’s what i fucking want and you should mind your damn business.”

she barely even pauses, “not like i tell you what prissy daddy’s boy you can go fuck.”

you blink at her.

a painfully heavy silence hangs in the air, thick like the nasty humidity outside. you don’t know if the heat in your cheeks is due to the summer evening or the carelessness of her sentence, which came out so raw. as if it’s something that crosses her mind, you and another.

she angles her body away from you.

“you should go…” natalie says with a hushed voice, and you’re trying to understand why and how the moment with her had been ruined so abruptly. an innocent night tainted by something so minor. she’s right; it’s not your business. anything nat does isn’t. or who she does.

you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“okay.”

you get up, adjusting your skirt with her guilty, watchful pupils. she gulps, following you to the door; she never let you walk out alone.

natalie brings you all the way to your car, her fists in the pockets of her ripped jeans and a cigarette already lit when you’re in the driver’s seat. only two words are exchanged. short byes.

you don’t see her the next day.

she doesn’t even stop by the diner the rest of the week. nat, honestly, feels like an asshole. and it itself is another reminder why she picks people like her—she doesn’t have to carry this unbearable weight of guilt with someone else. only you.

and maybe it’s self-punishment to avoid you.

but you hated it.

it is a cool friday night when you drive over to her place, but your knocks are left unanswered. through the cracks in the blinds, you notice it’s dim. only the orange porch light is left on. you even called out her name, worried this was nat really ignoring you.

that’s when you hear a rattling off of a car. it’s not natalie’s. there’s a headlight out, driving down the path to her trailer, the bass pounding to metallica.

you step down the stairs from her door, hugging your arms, kicking yourself for not throwing a jacket over your dress. it’s one of natalie’s favorites on you, a pale yellow that could nearly appear tea green. it’s short and thin for the heated weather, complementing the traces of your skin she sees in her dreams.

though, when the navy car parks and an unfamiliar face gets out of the driver's seat, you wish you wore something else.

natalie exits the passenger side, speed walking towards you while glancing at the dark haired man taking his time behind her. he’s eyeing you in ways that he doesn’t have the right to.

“what is this?” nat questions when she’s stood in front of you, her poorly chopped band tee lifting slightly when she puts her hands on her hips.

“i wanted to se—”

“could’ve fucking’ called, you know?”

“you wouldn’t have answ—”

“exactly,” she cuts you off for the second time, not releasing her eyes from yours, her tone sharp and mean. you have nothing to say back to her. you wish you did call and saved yourself from her hardened eyes and the wandering ones from the stranger.

a typical bar pickup. you could gag.

“is this…?” his voice is rough when he speaks, and not in the way nat’s is when she just woke up or fighting a nasty cold. it brings you shivers, especially when he points between you and natalie, then himself. he chuckles, “shit, i ain’t complaining.”

“no.”

natalie turns her head to the guy, shutting down the disgusting idea he assumed, and regretting her decision to invite him over. she mistakenly thought maybe your face would slip from her mind for the night. that’s all she fucking saw on the drive home.

if anything, she manifested you on her doorstep. she truly has no right to be so angry.

you scoff. “guess i’ll go.”

“the fun’s just starting, princess,” the man laughs through his nose, inching closer. you’re subconsciously clinging to yourself tighter and averting your gaze to the dirt you stood on. nat notices, of course she does.

her knuckles twitch.

natalie drops her purse from her shoulder, digging in the leather bag and finding her keys, placing them in your hands that just barely open in time. with a head tilt, she motions to the door. you don’t say anything, and neither does she. she’s already telling the man to start walking to his car while you’re letting yourself in the trailer.

you shut the door behind you when the yelling begins. or, the yelling begins the moment you shut the door. perhaps nat waited.

you flip the lights on, even tidying some of the mess she abandoned earlier in the day. you’re unaware that natalie has him pressed against his own car threatening his life—a rusty pocketknife taunting his manhood through his pants. she’s done worse than whatever she’d do for you.

the door opens and shuts again when your back is turned, putting a collected pile of dishes in the sink before facing her. she throws her purse on the couch, scratching the back of her head and figuring out what the hell to say. you’re first.

“really know how to pick them, nat.”

“i didn’t fucking know you were here.”

“and that changes what?” you ask her, an already defeated voice while you cross your arms in defense. you’re irritated, not just by tonight, but the fact she’s been blowing off your calls. pretending like she didn’t care and that your absence hadn’t bothered her at all. not when she can just be with someone else.

why can’t you?

“do you seriously not have somewhere better to be?” natalie takes a step closer, pupils blown and canines showing when she speaks, “get a fuckin’ boyfriend already—i know that shit isn’t hard for you.”

nat takes your breath away.

not the good kind where when her touch lingers too long while the credits roll on the tv. or when you sit next to her in the diner booth after flipping the sign on the door to closed, watching her lips curl around the fork when she’s finishing her dessert.

this is nothing like that.

her words are heavier than she surely pictured them in her chaotic brain, and it’s not as though you haven’t heard it before from nat. it’s been casually said in passing: why you’re you and how on earth you’re single.

the same way she avoided your nosy inquiries, you laughed it off sweetly, the answer lingering in the air.

“maybe i will.”

it’s spoken quietly; you almost allowed it to die on your tongue.

“good.”

her nostrils flare and her teeth grind, then the quietness of the trailer starts to swallow you both. you’re unsure if this is the part where you walk out. you fear if you do, you won't be back for a long, long time.

that was the last thing you wanted.

this is all so fucking stupid because what you want is standing a few feet away from you—with hurricane eyes that you’re drowning in the longer you hold this unspoken staring contest.

natalie chews the inside of her cheek. you fold in your bottom lip then gnaw at it, your heart picking up speed and thumping loudly in your ear. you’re both waiting for something from the other.

she’s expecting you to exit with the slam of the door behind you. nat often pictured the worst outcome first, and she's searching for the strength to prevent that. she’s so pathetically desperate for you to stay here. even if that means this awkward as fuck standoff you're having.

at least you’re looking at her through your long lashes. and she can still smell the heavenly perfume you showered in. it’s all over that pretty little dress you’re wearing. probably wore it just for her.

she mutters a ‘fuck’ to herself, squeezing her eyes tightly and running her fingers through her unbrushed hair, before looking at you again.

she says a lot without saying anything at all. the light brunching of her brown brows and her mouth parted slightly, glancing at the soft skin of your lips. you do the same to her—and she takes a timid step closer. giving you time to say something, do anything.

you don't.

then, nat is closing the space between you.

fast and at once.

her hands find your waist first, gripping the material of your dress and slightly clawing the skin beneath it. she could break the fabric, and you wouldn’t care. natalie could tear it off of you, to unrecognizable shreds, and you’d watch her with admiration.

with zero patience, she pulls you into her. one palm on the back of your head while her rough lips crash against your smooth ones. you taste like a strawberry shake, topped with your cherry chapstick that's now coating her tongue.

it's messy, but unrushed. she's simply greedy, satisfying the constant craving she’s had for you. a lazy yet precise tango with your tongue, taking you all the way in.

nat isn't the only one hungry.

you’re pushing yourself into her, taking the hand she had on your waist and traveling it down to the lower side of your back. natalie does the rest without your guidance, resting it on your ass, listening to the beautiful noise of you moaning into her mouth. you feel on fire. unable to tug away and put yourself out, her lips burn so fucking good against yours.

you've never been with someone like her. a woman you loved so intensely in your head—that she was almost the only soul you thought about. yet, you couldn't show her how you felt in all the ways you possibly imagined. and that hurt more than any heartbreak you’ve ever experienced.

to hold her hand fondly. trace love letters on the bare skin of her back. you want to give her a lovely bouquet on a random thursday morning solely because you could. you didn't need a special reason. loving her and her letting you, was enough. she'll let them die and still keep them.

little do you know, natalie had the idea first.

it’s the next saturday night when you're closing up the dead diner, a wet rag in your hand as you drag it across the counter. kate bush plays throughout the restaurant; you're humming along when the bell above the door rings. you don't pay attention, not until you hear her dramatically clearing her throat.

“i believe these are for you?”

you look up to natalie, your wrist stilling and pupils widening on the yellow lilies and pink roses wrapped neatly with brown paper at the base.

the ribbon keeping it together is pale and twisted into a pretty bow; you almost forget to speak amid the trance of admiration. she reaches out to give them to you over the counter, her own cheeks flushing red as she does so.

you take them, bringing them to the tip of your nose, breathing them in. like a thriving meadow on the world's most perfect day. when you peek at her over the flowers, you could almost giggle at the contrast from the pastel colors to her leather jacket and midnight eyeliner. that grin she's unable to hold back reminds you just how gentle nat is despite it all.

she slides onto an empty stool, and you tilt your head at her sweetly, “apple pie, on the house?”

“s' long as you're the one serving it,” natalie says lowly, elbow on the counter and holding her chin up with her fist. you roll your eyes at her, turning around and disappearing into the back. with a sway of your hips that she does not fail to notice.

when you come back out, you place a plate in front of her, humming again in harmony to the upbeat song over the radio. nat watches you walk around the counter, swiftly pulling the stool beside her closer with her foot. you don’t realize, sitting on it and allowing your knees to touch, her dark and worn denim against your sheer tights.

nat takes a bite, nodding her head in bliss.

she manages with a mouthful, “wouldn't taste this good if someone else served it.”

“you're stupid,” you playfully mumble, a fidgety hand finding her thigh, fingers fiddling with one of the many rips, twirling one of the stray threads. you wait for her, and when you look up again, she's licking the fork.

there's filling on the corner of her mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb instead of pointing it out.

embarrassed, she licks her lips, gawking at you when you slip your finger into your mouth. your teeth scrape against your skin while you suck away the delightful cinnamon. her throat dries, and she blinks dumbly—you had done it so casually. innocently.

even holding to her thigh again, tenderly, with your irises twinkling beneath the fluorescent lights.

natalie gulps. she's only had you, all of you, for a few days. and she swears you're already the death of her. a death as sweet as candy.

#woot woot #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie x reader #natalie yellowjackets fic #natalie yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #nat x reader #natalie scatorccio fic #wlw fanfic #lesbian fanfic #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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Gojo Satoru x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, fantasy au

gn reader

Thinking about hunter Gojo and the pretty little nymph that gets themselves snared in one of his traps.

You can’t get your poor leg loose, having twisted your ankle in your fall to the ground – something’s wrong with your wing too, you can feel it – the thin network’s been folded, almost broken – so even if you did manage getting loose, you wouldn’t be able to fly away.

Branches snap around you along the crunch of old leaves – and your heart’s beating out of your chest in fear of it – knowing something large and dangerous is not far behind, that whoever set the trap is not something that wishes you well.

“You’re not a rabbit.” The man says, having crept in close before you’d even heard him approach – crouching in front of you with a hunter's grace. Hawk-eyes ice-blue and piercing, hair as white as pure snow.

He’s got three daggers sleaved in his belt – a fillet knife, a gutting knife, and a larger one you imagine is meant to slice throats. He doesn’t carry a sword like most men but has a bow and sack of arrows slung on his back. Otherwise, dressed lightly – brown leather boots, brown slacks, and a blue cotton shirt. You could have mistaken him for a woodland elf if it weren’t for the thick stench of man.

“Eating creatures from the holy forest is forbidden.” You snip, despite your wide eyes and the wobble of fear evident on your lip.

He only smiles at the quip, a grin like a predator humored by prey. “You wouldn’t tell a wolf not to hunt.”

He stalks you, leaning in closer, and you try shuffling away – but the movement only makes you wince.

“I’m just another hungry animal…”

Rope gnaws into your fine skin while his breath puffs hot and dewy on your face.

“And tonight… seems lady luck has favored me once again.”

He gags you and ties you further up before redoing his snare for the next unlucky creature – then carries you over his shoulder until he’s dropping you down on a bed of furs.

Your skin flushes with goosebumps at the thought of being skinned the same way – mouthing a little prayer around the cloth he’s split your teeth and lips with. He’s cut trees down as well; you hear their pitiful screams when he lights a fire with their bodies. You mourn them, too.

At his full height, the man must be two heads taller than any male nymph you’ve ever seen and at least three heads taller than you. You hope you’re enough to satisfy him tonight, to spare the forest of further bloodshed.

You shiver and sniffle when he starts prepping you – removing your clothes and groping your tender, fleshy places with a strength you’re not used to – hands large and crass – kneading you like dough – probably to assess the quality of your meat. He has a smile on his face while at it.

Humans make you sick – to think he’s planning on roasting then eating you despite the soul fueling your spirit and the beating heart in your chest. But you’ve long known that all death but their own matters little to them – they don’t feel the same way nymphs do – they don’t regard life with the same respect they’ve donned themselves. It must be a sad and lonely existence, you think. It even makes you feel a little sorry for him.

You yelp when his gritty fingers brush the area between your legs – shimmying when he lowers his mouth down to the same place. Oh God – does he plan on eating you raw? While your body’s still hot and pumping blood?

But the bite never comes – not yet eating but tasting it would seem – licking and slurping and sucking on you.

He takes his shirt off. Probably to avoid spilling on it, you think.

You don’t really understand what’s going on until he’s got his fat manhood pointed toward your kernel-sized hole. Eyes wide as he splits you apart slowly and unabashedly – as though it isn't as deviant as a dog mating a cat – sinking in inch after meaty inch.

You whimper at the stretch – wincing when the plush mushroom-shaped head grinds against that special place inside you.

It doesn’t fit more than halfway, but that doesn’t seem to bother him – rolling his head back with a rusty groan, even with just the tip gaining purchase within you – pounding into you like a beast in his rut.

“What's the matter, pretty nymph? Did you think I was gonna eat you?” He laughs, bearing over you – his hands steadying your hips to meet his sharp thrust – each hit deeper than the last. “I’m the only hunter in this forest; I can eat what I want when I want – but eating you?” He scoffed and snickered. “That would just be a waste.”

The blood on his breath makes you wrinkle your nose – squeezing your eyes shut as his tongue sweeps up the tear streaks on your cheek.

“My stomach’s already full. Time to empty my balls.”

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

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A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say.

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed down to him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth.

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door.

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side.

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.”

“It’s hardly quarter after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?”

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving.

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Your lashes kiss as you smile back at him, unwrapping your scarf. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?”

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.”

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to these things.”

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James (and by extension, Sirius) most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger.

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand.

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous.

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts.

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.”

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.”

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.”

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises.

He goes into the kitchen. A second later, you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with your string trailing all the way back to the couch.

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat.

“Mhm. You like them?”

“Never had one.”

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?”

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned.

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments out of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat any. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.”

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.”

“Yes!” you cheer. He laughs when you start working quicker with the needle.

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.”

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour.

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives.

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her.

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock.

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!”

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple of sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms.

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Awe, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not very difficult, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.”

“Sorry,” says Lily as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.”

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.”

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry.

“Come here, my handsome little guy.”

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap.

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it.

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious sound Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again.

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly.

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.”

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“I,” Remus cuts them off, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.”

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always find you avoiding everyone’s eyes. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry.

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax.

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story about a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?”

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists.

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her home.”

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees.

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.”

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.”

“Bleak.” James looks slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.”

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you seem to have something from every person there.

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.”

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.”

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know.

“Shit, I forgot to check.”

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, love.”

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile.

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.”

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one, it’s his favorite,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness.

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it. You’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge.

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go.

“Oh, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands.

“No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.”

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir.

“That’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is hiding the bashfulness in your smile. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.”

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.”

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn.

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.”

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.”

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.”

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.”

Remus smiles, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.”

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat.

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.”

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks fairly bad to me.”

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live rather far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.”

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d rather if it didn’t come to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a massive downer for us every year.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

“Babe, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly formidable when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.”

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of fruitlessly on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you inside Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.”

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!”

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door.

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you.

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.”

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry while James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.”

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out.

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet.

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering.

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees. The look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.”

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you. Your knees are curled towards him and he has one leg crossed over the other, angling him towards you.

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.”

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours.

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during a scene near the end.

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.”

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.”

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.”

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.”

A while later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?”

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.”

“I want to finish the movie.”

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.”

Soon the credits start. Neither of you move.

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.”

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you.

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes.

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.”

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.”

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. You’re my guest, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.”

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.”

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.”

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.”

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down.

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.”

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious.

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you.

“You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.”

“You can think that if you like.”

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his. You’re warm and weighty against him.

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing.

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb across your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while.

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together.

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says.

You hum.

“Unless you mean it’s working.”

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words.

Remus sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you.

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.”

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.”

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him.

“Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.”

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you.

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back.

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his.

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. A low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to grant access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?”

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.”

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech.

“Do you want to move to my room?”

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip.

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?”

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?”

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.”

❆ ❆ ❆

You always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth.

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him.

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this.

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to Remus’ voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?”

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d asked you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating this warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you.

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees.

“You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it.

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy.

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you.

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him.

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no.

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?”

You swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?”

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater. He tosses it onto the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan. He kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward.

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline.

“We can stop anytime you want.”

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.”

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs out further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue. He wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time.

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, tugging feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under.

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound.

Remus looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil.

“Come here,” you plead.

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise. You cup his head in one hand and wrap your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens.

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I want to. Do you?”

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.”

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces.

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another.

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?”

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his mouth, but it’s still a bit shocking.

His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.”

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you.

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?”

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside of you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face.

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?”

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.”

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound.

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint to Remus’ touch. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth.

“Come, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.”

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found underneath your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.”

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.”

“Come here,” you demand again. He wastes no time in obliging you.

He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you.

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all.

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?”

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.”

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway.

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s alright if not.”

“You can,” you say, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from Remus’ face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication.

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens.

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.”

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek.

“A little bit, yeah.”

Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now.

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.”

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?”

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.”

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?”

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.”

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee.

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead.

“That was really great,” you tell him.

“I thought so too.”

“You’ll stay here, right?”

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream.

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new.

Remus puts on the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall.

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you.

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim.

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? Remus can’t even think.

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?”

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?”

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression.

“Really?”

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?”

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.”

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.”

Your eyes have widened. Remus expects his face is about five shades pinker than normal.

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.”

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.”

They’re his own words, but hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs.

With his track record this morning, Remus really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face.

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?”

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.”

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did, too.”

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with him. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time.

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again.

“I understand if it’s too much for you.�� Your voice is quiet. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.”

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.”

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?”

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty.

“Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?”

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically.

“Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.”

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back.

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference.

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours?

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the creek behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you.

So much for opposites attract.

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face.

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving.

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops to a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re better at hiding things than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?”

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?”

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.”

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.”

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness.

“Would you come here?” he asks.

You comply with an eagerness he wonders how he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make up for it now.

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your forehead. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, your chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.”

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?”

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.”

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.”

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles.

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.”

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her fed.”

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.”

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly.

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.”

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.”

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.”

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effervescentwolf · 3 months ago

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nothing impossible <- ao3 link

“Hey, Buck!” Eddie practices in the car as he enters LA. “Christopher’s finishing his school year so I’m—”

He gets stuck in standstill traffic. He’s gotten used to it, used to any obstacle really, driving around in Texas, kind of expects it. Before, he’d complain to Buck about every little inconvenience on the road until Buck wrestled the keys from his grip.

“If you wanted me to drive, you could’ve just asked,” Buck would say, fondness all over his face, and Eddie’s whole body would go warm.

There’s a crash up ahead so he sits there, windows down, breathes in the smell of this place. El Paso and LA smell similar in a lot of ways, but there’s a difference he can’t quite put his finger on. There’s also an ease to the way he sits here rather than there, a rigid line of tension that he can’t find anymore when he searches for it.

There’s a difference between traffic there, where it would build up inside him, where everything was building and building, and traffic here where he’s a puppet cut loose, where he can simply sit and breathe and think.

He thinks of Buck when the traffic starts moving again.

“Buck?” he imagines calling, if he used the spare key safe in his pocket, trying to figure out where Buck would be in the house when he gets there. He glances at the time, nearing 4 PM. Buck isn’t on a shift today, he reasons. He probably went to the gym in the morning, got groceries sometime after. He didn’t have anywhere to be for lunch today, and there was nothing special in his calendar. “I’m home,” Eddie says softly, trying to imagine saying it in about thirty minutes, which is how long it’ll take him to get home if his estimate is accurate.

“Missed me?” could be on the table when Buck opens the door, and Eddie will grin wide and hold his arms open for a hug he kind of desperately wants.

Or, “Is there enough for two?” because dinner might be on the stove, or in the oven, and Eddie will be able to smell it from outside the house. Buck will turn, wearing that blue apron of his, and his eyes will widen, mouth in a perfect o, and Eddie will laugh, then.

“He’s coming home,” Eddie might say first because he knows that’s on their mind. That would happen after a silent hug, after Buck takes one look at him and maybe cries as he pulls Eddie in. If Buck cries, Eddie will too, and he gets a little emotional just thinking about it, them crying together on the doorstep, holding each other, and then laughing together at how ridiculous it is.

The minutes whittle down to streets and it hits Eddie suddenly that he’s home. He’s not nervous to see Buck the way he was nervous to see his parents, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, smoothing down his hair in his rearview mirror, over and over.

No, here, he parks, walks easily up to his door, grinning already, and all the debate about what he’s going to do dissipates. He knocks on the door because Buck isn’t expecting him. He’s not sure how Buck believed Eddie’s fumble of a lie about going out today and not being able to call, but he did, though he texted him throughout the day anyway.

Eddie waits a minute. Taps his foot, turns with his arms folded and surveys the neighbor’s houses. Knocks again, and frowns this time when there’s no answer, and then he lets himself in.

It’s quiet inside. “Buck?” Eddie calls anyway, halfway through kicking off his shoes when he looks up and realizes it looks the same. Different, because it’s not his furniture, but things are where they were when he lived there. He’d suspected over FaceTime, but it feels like Buck’s been preserving a little of kernel of him, and all of a sudden it hits Eddie that he’s really home. That he belonged here, and belongs, that he’s about to see Buck, and he’s going to have his kid, and that he has it, everything he’d ever wanted.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, runs a hand over the couch as he passes, says quietly, “Can I crash here?” That’s what he’ll say first, a joke about the couch, or Buck taking over his house, when Buck gets home.

He makes his way to Christopher’s room, opens it a sliver, sees it’s empty, and then closes it, putting his forehead on the door. Buck kept him too in his own way. Kept both of them there while they were gone. He didn’t replace them.

He doesn’t bother knocking on what used to be his own bedroom door, just opens it and oh, there’s Buck.

He’s sprawled out on his back, one hand on his stomach, not even under the covers. He hasn’t shaved today, Eddie can tell, and he doesn’t really think when he comes forward and sits next to him. Over FaceTime, he couldn’t see as much as he can now. Couldn’t watch the way Buck’s chest rises and falls with every breath, the scratch on his knuckle he whined about yesterday. Eddie can see it now, a little white mark on Buck’s hand, and he thumbs over it absently, not sure why he has to touch it, only that he does.

There’s a breadth to Buck that a phone could never approximate. A realness. He’s right there, in his bed in Eddie’s room, all of him, down to his socked feet. Eddie feels oddly emotional over seeing his socks, and he’s not sure why, but he’s been feeling emotional at a bit of everything these days when it comes to coming home.

“I missed you,” Eddie says, and he’s glad those are the first words he says with intention in this house, even if Buck isn’t awake to hear them.

His hand is still resting over Buck’s. He doesn’t move for a long time, just watching Buck breathe, and breathing it all in, and then he goes off to shower.

Buck is still asleep when Eddie walks back in with wet hair, barefoot, wearing shorts and a t-shirt he scrounged from the closet. Droplets roll down the back of his neck to dampen the collar of the shirt, which feels good after the heat of outside. He’d forgotten how much he missed that particular brand of shampoo, and the way the light in his bathroom looked on him in the mirror. Even the squeaky faucet, the way the door stuck a little when Eddie pulled. It’s like discovering everything anew, and it’s also like he never left.

He rummages through the fridge, discovers leftovers, and piles up a plate that he takes back to the bedroom so he can sit next to Buck and eat, munching thoughtfully as he mentally rearranges the house.

“I was saving that,” Buck mumbles, voice rough with sleep, and Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Warn a guy, would you?” Eddie says, turning to look at him once he’s swallowed, heartbeat still a panicked pace in his chest, and then he thinks only, that’s not how it was supposed to go.

Buck yawns, blinking blearily at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Where’s—”

“Finishing the school year,” Eddie answers, easy, and then he doesn’t want to eat anymore. He just wants to look. He wants to look at Buck looking at him. “You can have the rest,” he offers, something squeezing at his chest.

Buck ignores it. “But he’s coming back?” he asks, earnest. Sincere. Eddie can't put into words how much it means that someone's right there with him.

Eddie nods, manages to put the plate on the bedside table, and then Buck is sitting up next to him and pulling him into a hug. “Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie breathes him in and holds him tight, and he thinks, I did good. I did good.

“Proud of me?” he mumbles, like he can’t feel it in the way Buck is squeezing him.

“You smell good,” Buck says instead, and there’s a little thrill that runs up Eddie’s spine at that. “Have you been back for a while?”

“An hour, maybe,” Eddie answers, face tucked into Buck’s shoulder. “I showered.”

“Mm,” Buck says, nosing at his ear, and Eddie’s stomach swoops like nothing else.

"Buck," he complains, words soft around the edges. He doesn't mean it, and he's reminded that Buck knows him better than anyone because he doesn't move an inch, rubbing Eddie's back comfortingly, and that’s where it all catches up to him.

"Yeah?" Buck says, smile all over his voice. Eddie can hear the rumble of his chest from here, and that wasn't captured on FaceTime either, and he can hear Buck breathing right next to his ear. “I didn’t know what I was going to say to you,” he confesses into the safety of Buck's shoulder. “I was practicing in the car.”

Buck doesn't say anything for a moment. “Anything you said would’ve been good,” he offers, like it's obvious, voice warm all the way through, and there’s something different about Buck’s warmth than the sun on his skin in El Paso, something that cuts the last string keeping him there, that tames something within Eddie’s chest that has been begging to be let out.

Eddie sniffles, just a little. "Not anything," he protests weakly.

Buck's next breath is a little shaky, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize he's crying too. "Anything," he repeats, sure of it, and Eddie forgets standing on another doorstep, practicing what to say, fumbling over the words and feeling small under his own failures. Here, he has a million things to say, none of them impossible, but he only needs to reach up and squeeze the back of Buck's neck for Buck to say, everything like home, "Eddie."

#THIS IS SO MUCH LONGER THAN I EXPECTED #listen. this is really my last coda <- @ myself #just thinking about all the possibilities rolled up together #i might post my past two codas on ao3. idk i will decide later #8x12 coda #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #wolf writes

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harmonysanreads · 4 months ago

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Phainon and the artist who refuses to accept him as their muse.

You can paint the deeds of the Goldweaver on fine pottery, dress desserts in respect to the Undying Prince, weave tunes to unravel the Fool from his ineffable shell, dedicate verses to the untouchable Maiden — but you remain ever uninterested to grant the Deliverer the honor of being the reason your mind paces restless. The hero's soft spot for art, regardless of how niche, is common knowledge to any Chrysos Heir enthusiast. He just has mysterious ways of finding talent and celebrating it with his heart.

In the beginning, it was a wish he kept hidden beneath heartfelt praises and admiration. Your gaze charmed the man ; when you study any subject that you deem fit to feature in your art, you scrutinize, pick apart and reconstruct it from within before giving it new meaning. The prospect of having that gaze fixed on him alone for even a minute, studying him, had caused ripples in his daydreams. He so yearned for you to understand him, he believed you would be able to prove that he's not the titular blank canvas everyone says he is.

When his hints and nudges failed to inspire you, he opted for a formal approach. But you met him with a resolute rejection, unwilling to taint your ideals in exchange of fickle currency. That fearless response, the defiance you held so close to yourself made his heart ache. A hero's pride should've prompted him to abandon this chase for good, but he couldn't find it in himself to look away. He found himself pining for another glimpse of that light, the kernel of your soul.

“Go home, Deliverer. I've told you too many times by now, I won't accept you as my muse.”

There is that averted stare again, something in him stirs, whispering bitter revelations of how your eyes will deny him even if he cut himself to pieces and forfeited them to your feet.

He feels his fingers curl around themselves. Forcing a laugh, “And I have asked you too many times why. Even hatred can inspire people, but you... you're so utterly indifferent to me. You wound my heart. I wonder just what is my problem? Is there nothing special about me?”

You glance over your shoulder, your sudden bewilderment confuses him for a millisecond, “I don't know? Do you perhaps think there is nothing special about you?”

That stuns Phainon long enough for you to slip away.

And the question haunts him, chases him everywhere. The prophecy deems him as the perfect vessel that will save Amphoreus, but is he? Is the prophecy even true, just as how Anaxagoras has been saying? If there is indeed nothing within him worth earning him your recognition, then he should change — how will he change? What kind of person do you like? Is it the way he talks? Does he need to behave more refined? Or does he need to be cursed like Mydei and Castorice?

As he ponders about the possibilities and the ramifications of molding himself to your tastes, envy leers over him, replacing once tender affection with loathing for anything that monopolizes your interest from finding refuge in him. It wouldn't be too difficult to take upon a new identity, but what about the distractions that caused this situation to escalate in the first place? Wouldn't it be so much easier for you to... look at him, if he just makes it so that there will exist nothing else that will be capable of competing with him for your attention?

#said the artist who can't resist having him as her muse ☠️#(no seriously send help. i can't get rid of this guy from occupying my head aaaaaaaaa)#was tempted to explore villain phainon for a change #phainon #phainon brainrot #phainon x reader #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #phainon x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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ivy-elle · 7 months ago

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Their Acts Of Love

Ft. Albedo, Ayato, Diluc, Kazuha, Kinich, Scaramouche, Xiao

Albedo

The alchemist is known for his pragmatic approach to life

It’s evident in the way he works, functions and goes about the world

Albedo discerns what certain matters require, how to refine them and how to adjust accordingly

So naturally, as you are an essential and irreplaceable part of his life, it was important to him from the very beginning to figure you out and understand your very own kernel as well

Albedo has made it his personal little goal to identify what you need, what could make your life easier, more comfortable in various ways

He doesn’t even wait to see you struggle with something first, there have already ideas bloomed in his mind, and he’s off to spend the next hours tinkering away

It starts with small adjustments – like modifying your coat in a more practical way to keep the cold at bay and adjust better to the temperatures for when you visit him on Dragon Spine

Or he creates special compasses for you, designed in a way that they guide you straight to whatever materials you’re currently searching for

Special flowers, that never seem to wither, placed onto your desk for you to fin

Whatever you could need, he has it already at hand

He truly loves you to the point of invention

Ayato

Ayato is a very sought-after and busy man with countless responsibilities and people to attend to

And while he tries to spend as much of his free time with you, those times don’t come as commonly and as long-lasting as he (and you) might wish for

Yet, every morning without fail, even before the sun rises, he wakes up to you sleeping soundly next him in bed

He drapes his arm around your waist and softly pulls you closer to him, holding you just a bit tighter

And each time, knowing that duties are calling for him from all corners, he makes room for at least ten of those special minutes, where he spends just this one more moment with you right next to him, before rising up

Sometimes you notice him and awake as well, and it has gradually become a sort of ritual for you to spend these early minutes with him

You seldom even speak a word, instead just let gentle touches linger, and fingers intertwine as you soak in each other’s presence, tanking energy for the day yet to come

Diluc

The high quality of the Angel’s Share’s wines, drinks and beverages in general is famous and renowned all over the corners of Teyvat

And Diluc takes a lot of pride in his creation, dedicating time and love to the craft

And in the same abundance he cherishes and takes pride in having you by his side at every step as well

Sometimes he likes to convey these feelings into his world as well

That means shortly said – patrons of his tavern might need to get used to order drinks that carry your very own name very soon

Perhaps, there are even slight variations, nicknames of sorts or nods to certain insiders only to be known by you and him alone

Then again, Diluc also entrusts you to naming a lot of his latest creations as well, proudly adding them to the menu card afterwards

The extra bonus of it all is of course, catching some guests’ reactions – especially Kaeya’s, who knows more of the ‘insiders’ than he wishes for

Kazuha

Kazuha is away on travels plenty of times.

Sometimes it could be even weeks in which you’re not seeing each other at all, and while not a day goes by without exchanging letters, no amounts of words could soothe the ache you feel in his absence

And Kazuha misses your presence by his side tremendously.

So, while he can’t show you the places that he visits per se, and only manages to convey his experiences in words, he came up with a lovelier strategy

In every place Kazuha visits he gathers a bunch of different flowers, he finds to be especially fitting and prevail the essence of the scenery

But because he’s aware of how quick flowers once picked wither away, he places them carefully in between the pages of a little notebook he always carries with him and presses the flower inside

Each page with flowers is captioned in his neat handwriting with the location, the date and a little haiku – for the practice – as he claims

So, whenever he returns back home to you, you’d have also a book full of memories pressed between sheets and a bit of Kazuha’s love accompanied alongside

(Perhaps one day he could get in contact with Albedo to ask for a way to prevent flowers from withering. But then again, to prevail them in a frozen state between life and death forever, may contain its very own certain art)

Kinich

Kinich is an adventurer through and through; he knows the woods, he knows the deserts, he knows the mountains and he knows you.

He adores both of these worlds, and he loves nothing more than to combine them whenever possible

He’d like you to see the world in its wonders and adventurer and possibilities just the way he does, and if he could, he would do anything to keep that look of wonder on your face for as long as possible

Kinich brings you to many of his favourite places, he follows you to any new view you want explore and some days the both of you spend hours just walking and strolling along through different paths and places

Anything you haven’t seen yet? Here we go.

Something you haven’t experiences, yet? Well, now you have.

You mean you’ve never been bungee jumping? Consider it done.

Afterall, his bests adventures happen to be the ones he shares with you – watch out, soon he’ll consider you his personal lucky charm

He is the best guide there is, at least for you specifically, because he knows the world and he knows your heart

Scaramouche

Scaramouche isn’t exactly a man of many words in that regard

Not explicably nice ones, that is

And certainly not from the romantic sort

And yet, he cares

He cares so deeply at times, it feels it’s going to gnaw him from the inside out and set fire to his bones

And while he’s not (yet) about to let these words slip past his lips, it is his actions that carry the volume

So, no, his words might only indirectly reflect his inner turmoil and this deeply rooted sentiment, but there is no denying he is a gentleman around you.

From opening doors (although he will insist, “you’re slacking off again”), to waiting for you so you can walk to a destination side by side (“I can’t trust your sense of direction on your own”) and carrying your stuff (“Lest you end up face-first on the ground”)

And if you’re the one to ask something, it’ll be done. Reluctantly and with some grumbling perhaps, but it will be done.

Xiao

Xiao is used to solitude – it’s easier, it’s safer, it’s all he’s ever known

You somehow, slowly, delicately managed to climb through the cracks of the walls that shelter his soul and heart

Nowadays, the spot beside him on the tree of Wangshu Inn is seldom empty anymore

No longer does he has to endure seemingly endless nights, buried in his own personal torture, for there’s nothing, he desires any more now than to lay down beside you at the end of each day

You’ve managed to find your way into his heart and make him feel as if, life has some worth aside from the burdens he is bound to carry

Xiao quite literally worships the ground you walk on

As a yaksha, he sees it as part of his duty, but it extended into his very own personal mission to assure your absolute safety at all time

Especially when you’re out on your own travels and journey

Rest assured, no treasure hoarders, no hilichurls, and certainly no ruin guards will ever cross your path or pose a threat to you, as long as he has a say in it

#genshin x reader #albedo x reader #ayato x reader #diluc x reader #kinich x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #x reader #genshin fluff

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nopanamaman · 1 year ago

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How do mutants in the Facility live?

Patreon Loredump. August 2023

One of the most frequent types of questions I get are about life in the Facility. So it seems like a good topic to start my loredumping series with!

Apologies in advance for all the photo examples, I hope they work fine for getting the vibes across.

Overview

The facility dome is visible in the distance.

The facility in general – or, as it’s officially known, the Zh. I. Alferov National Institute of Anomalous Research – is a large structure located on the border of the Zone. Its most notable feature is the massive dome surrounded by an outside wall.

The wall. In real life, the famous building of НИЦЭВТ.

The latter is a building in itself, containing offices, lecture halls, resting and dining quarters for researchers, as well as minor labs. All entrances are supervised, though not totally closed off to the public. Excursions, official meetings, TV reports – all of those happen within the wall.

But you will not find any mutants here. As you may have already guessed, all the major laboratories, anomalous artefacts, and, of course, mutants are housed in the dome. The entrances to the dome are monitored and equipped with anomaly scanners, allowing only authorised personnel and mutants to travel between its sectors.

Mutants cannot traverse the facility unsupervised.

What is the mutant classification system?

Depending on their anomalous characteristics, cooperability and method of containment, mutants are sorted into types and numbered groups. Individual mutant numbers usually look like XT000-000.

Let’s use Dmitry as an example.

Dima’s serial number is DT001-319.

The type constitutes the first part of the mutant’s number. Dima’s mutation is Directional Type, hence the letters DT at the start (for the record, KT stands for Kernel Type).

Next we have the 00X number. Mutants are assigned a 001, 002, 003 or 004 class depending on the potency and containability of their mutation – kinda like SCPs, yeah. Dima has a very powerful mutation he has good control over, plus he is sound of mind, making him suitable for 001 containment.

The last three digits are the overall number of the mutant within their type. So if Dima’s are 319, the facility has had 318 directional-type mutants on record prior to his arrival. This does not mean they were as powerful or had the same level of control over their telekinesis, just that they possessed a similar mutation to some extent.

How do different mutant classes live?

001

001 quarters example. Not too different from a hospital or sanatorium

Subjects ranked as 001 are extremely powerful, have good control over their powers and are, most importantly, docile. Since their mutations are very potent and difficult to forcefully contain, the go-to approach is making them not want to leave.

001s spend most (if not all) of their conscious lives surrounded by doctors. The latter foster a particular mindset in their subjects, where the world outside is presented as a place that is unanimously hostile to mutants. This is done by means of propaganda, reminders about their family’s supposed mistreatment and, in case a mutant has some favourable recollections of their childhood, gaslighting. Additionally, subjects are never left alone with each other.

001s get very luxurious treatment by facility's standards, with much bigger, more comfortable rooms than other mutant types. They're even allowed to have gaming consoles, TVs with VHS and video players, and their own bookshelves. Each mutant has their own separate room, which is kept under constant camera surveillance with the toilet being the only blind spot.

Special folders are issued to 001s before experiments with lower-ranked mutants.

Experiments held on 001s are relatively humane so as not to discourage them from staying at the facility. They do undergo daily checkups mostly designed to monitor their mental state. 001s are also active participants in experimentation on lower-ranked mutants, who they are taught and encouraged to treat as lesser beings.

001s are a high-risk investment, so their numbers are far smaller than those of 002 and 003-class mutants. Additionally, because of the potential danger they present, the institute is quick to dispose of 001 subjects by either termination or reclassification to 004. Though, if a 001 manages to stay cooperative long-term, they can become a very valuable asset for the facility.

002 and 003

002 and 003 quarters example. Though, they’re typically not as well-kept

002 and 003 mutant classes can be grouped together, since their treatment is largely the same. Both of these types’ mutations are easy to forcibly contain. The difference is their danger levels. 003s require close monitoring to not be harmful to others, while 002s are borderline harmless. Both types are characterised by general cooperability.

002s live in wards for 2 to 4 people, while 003s are more commonly placed in single-person wards to prevent accidents. A standard room includes a bed, a desk and a small bathroom (multiple beds and two desks in bigger wards).

KT got to take a dinosaur plushie to her room for good behaviour.

Mutants are allowed to borrow books from the library, as well as get drawing and writing materials. If they behave well, they can get a toy or even be lent a handheld console for a few days.

002s and 003s have breakfasts, lunches and dinners together, and can spend some time in the playroom with other mutants (that’s also where they can play computer games and watch TV) – all under very strict surveillance, of course.

In some ways, their treatment is much less cruel than that of the elite 001 subjects.

KT before the DT experiment.

Though, not when it comes to experiments. 002s and 003s are very common, and are thus treated as disposable material in a scientific sense. The people holding experiments on them are a lot less concerned with minimising the subject’s pain or discomfort. Consequently, it’s not uncommon for mutants of these classes to sustain serious injuries or die as a result of experimentation.

That said, 002s have the highest likelihood of getting released from the facility, given they meet the conditions for it (more on that below).

004

004 quarters example. Basically a prison bunker

004 is a special category reserved for powerful mutants that refuse or physically cannot cooperate. This number can also be issued as a temporary or permanent punishment to misbehaving mutants. The 004 quarters are located underground and have the highest level of security, acting as a sort of bunker for the most dangerous subjects the facility has.

004 rooms are even more barebones than those of 002 and 003s. They have no access to entertainment (unless it is somehow required to contain their mutation) and cannot leave their room under any circumstances. They are more weapons than test subjects.

Do mutants receive education?

All mutants from class 003 and above receive basic education, learning to read, write and count. They additionally get curated history and sociology lessons. Some mutants, namely 001s, attend mandatory classes in certain disciplines to better apply their mutation. For example, Dmitry studied anatomy to know the precise positioning of internal organs.

Mutants are also free to study whatever sciences interest them in their free time by asking for educational materials at the library. Needless to say, most kids aren’t too interested in that, and are very uneducated compared to their outside peers.

Is there censorship in the facility?

All the media mutants are exposed to at the facility is strictly controlled.

6 y.o. Dima and his politically correct PSP.

The only movies, cartoons, comics, books and games allowed are those that either don't feature the Zone or mutants at all, those that show the discrimination mutants face outside, or those that are very obvious anti-mutant propaganda.

In essence, there are no positive depictions of human-to-mutant interaction, aside from ones between mutants and noble scientists. And, of course, nothing that goes against the general government ideology.

Can mutants be released from the facility?

It is generally assumed that mutants that go into the dome do not come out.

While they are largely dehumanised, the facility is still publicly presented as a sort of scientific sanatorium and hospice for those that cannot safely exist in society. Releasing mutants that know the truth behind the institute’s experiments into the wild is simply of no benefit to the government. So the majority are terminated once their scientific potential is exhausted or if they become too expensive to contain. As a result, few mutants live to adulthood.

Though, there are exceptions to the rule. Occasionally, mutants deemed non-hazardous can be released back into society. This is applicable to mutants that have not experienced significant mistreatment from the facility, lack the ability to talk about their experiences and optimally have been brainwashed by an appropriate 001 subject.

Have other mutants before DT and KT ever escaped?

The funny thing is, escapes aren’t a particularly rare occurrence.

Dmitry and Katya’s escape in KT’s Official Guide to Coolness.

Despite getting a lot of funding, the facility itself is very disorganised. Most of the money is blatantly pocketed by the higher-ups, so a lot of its structures and equipment are subpar – this includes its outdated safety systems. To top it all off, the security staff isn’t especially well-paid, so their diligence is highly questionable.

With all that piling up, there are around 3 cases of low-level escapes every year. Because of tight budgets and plenty of work to do as is, these escapes are generally brushed under the rug. The institute still keeps tabs on the escapees in case they happen to show up on the radar, but it rarely organises active searches or alerts the public for that matter.

DT and KT’s escape stood out because it was anything but low-level, and pretty bombastic at that. But even that didn’t warrant a public announcement for fear of panic and reputational damage. So if you’re an 003 mutant looking for an opportunity to sneak out… Hell, man, just go for it.

Wrap-up

That’s about all I can say about mutants’ life in the research centre, scratch some small factoids here and there. I tried to answer the most common questions regarding the topic, so I hope your curiosity was satisfied!

#loredump #deepest lore #parties are for losers #katya #dmitry #dr temnova #comfort zone #kt's official guide to coolness

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valalice · 6 months ago

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݁₊ DECISION TO DECISIONS ARE MADE. ft. 𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓼.

pairing. ellie williams 𝑥⠀fem!reader

✦ summary. new year's is just a few days away and your roommate, dina, plans a party to celebrate the new year, inviting a certain special someone. ellie wanted nothing more to do than lay in bed, ignoring the fact that she's starting out yet another year without a kiss. however, she gets roped (or threatened) into attending a party she didn't even want to attend, for the sake of being a "good friend". now minutes before the clock strikes 12:00, both you and ellie are left without a special someone to embrace as everyone else welcomes the new year. what decision will the two of you make? wc. 6k

warnings. fluff. angst. modern!au. loser ellie if you dare. reader is a socialite. roommate!dina. drinking (everyone is of age). ellie smokes. mentions of joel. the both of you are lowkey crushing on each other so bad. self sabotaging. talk of new year's resolution & the future. kissing.

a/n. my little treat to you all, happy 2025! i was going to make this set in tlou universe, but i can't stop thinking of city living and ellie, so here we are. ellie definitely has a loser girl, self sabotage mindset in this, but trust all she needed was to get kissed silly by a pretty girl! anywho, happy new years, lovely's, and i hope 2025 brings you success, peace, and treats you gentle 🤍 remember to support your writers by reblogging & commenting !

m.list | tlou m.list

The TV screen illuminates the dark room, the whistling wind swirls around flurry flakes into the night. It’s the first big snow of winter, and you hope it sticks instead of turning to the grey mush that’ll occupy the crevices of the city streets. You push your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head against your knee and letting your cheek squish into it, allowing you to observe the storm and the snow building up on the window seals. It’s unfortunate you think, and perhaps a little funny that the snow storm decides to happen the day after Christmas. Maybe even a little poetic or just a big fuck you from nature. However, you’re content by it.

Your name's being repeated, it takes a moment for you to fully comprehend that you're being called upon, still wrapped within the thoughts of your own mind. Till something small and light hits your head, "What?" lifting your head up from where it rested upon your knee to turn to face the culprit, eyes flickering down to see the lone popcorn fallen on the couch cushion. "Dina—" you scowl, letting an arm fall from around your legs and picking up the kernel, throwing it at Dina's face. Her face scrunching up as it bounces off her forehead and lands in her lap. "What was that for?" it sounds closer to a whine than a question, the storm outside is now forgotten.

"You weren't answering me," she responds, her focus falling to her lap to pick up the popcorn kernel and pop it in her mouth. "and you're not even paying attention to the movie, you picked it out."

Twisting your lips, eyeing the TV screen, "Yeah, I guess you're right." It wasn't a movie you've never seen before, in fact it was a one you've seen more times than you can count. A safe pick for you as Dina let you choose the movie this night, and when picking it your mind was already elsewhere. So, even now with just a glance at the screen you can tell exactly what point the movie is at. "What did you ask me?"

Dina's hand piles into the bowl, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shuffles it in her mouth. Watching her demolish the delightful crunchy-buttery snack made you outstretch your arm, a silent ask for some popcorn. She takes hold of the bowl and passes it to you, taking your own handful of popcorn and eating it one by one. Dina swallows, "Was thinking of hosting a New Year's Eve party."

As if she could already sense your hesitance for the idea she continues on, firmly placing her hands on the plush couch to give her leverage to twist her body, making it face you as she tucks her legs underneath her. And as she leans forward, "C'mon it'll be so much fun. And we have yet to have a party in our new place, there's far better room here for one." she exclaims.

Your eyebrows raise at the last statement, "Barely." you remark, eyeing the room straight ahead into the kitchen. It was a nice place, far nicer than the shoe box you and Dina lived in months prior, but by no means is it more spacious.

"Okay, so maybe not by much. But, think about how much fun it'll be."

"I guess." You ponder the thought of it, dozens of people boxed in your guys' apartment like sardines in a tin can to welcome the New Year. Then you grimace at the thought of everyone drunk and sweaty, the booming voices counting down the clock, people scrambling to find someone to messily kiss. "I retract my statement, actually."

"Oh, c'mon." Dina huffs.

"Why can't we just invite over some small friends? A small gathering? Yes, a small gathering sounds far better." Nodding your head at the idea, trying your best to convince Dina of your idea.

"That's boring. It's gotta be a party, and besides, aren't you supposed to be a socialite?"

You let out a groan at her words, "Reluctant. It's a curse that I'm good with people."

"And that's why you're going to invite some of your fancy socialite friends over."

Your brows furrow deeper than you think they've ever done before. "I'm doing what now? And they're not really friends, just—" you pause to think of a nice name to call them rather than the ones you're currently thinking of. "acquaintances. And I thought you were just thinking of having this party?"

That cracks a smile onto Dina's face. "Well it's decided now." she muses, bunching up her shoulders and throwing up her hands.

"Really?" feeling unfazed by her.

"Yep!" Dina quips.

"Why do you always invite? They're not very good people." you confess.

Dina shrugs, "They suck but at least they bring good booze."

A laugh erupts from you, enacting a full body shake, pointing your index finger at the girl. "I like the way you think."

"I know." she smirks.

The mattress underneath Ellie vibrates, causing her to groan and flip over, giving her phone the cold shoulder. Sighing when it stops, feeling herself mold further into her pillow. Till the bzz bzz bzz begins again, she tries to ignore it and focus on getting back to sleep, but at this point it's been ringing an eternity. Dramatically turning her body back over, taking a hold of her phone and holding it up to her and squinting; Dina. A finger presses answer and she brings the screen up to her face.

"Hello?" she groggily asks, running a hand over her sleep ridden-face. Her body aches from the travels.

"Where are you going to be on New Year's Eve?" Dina demands.

Straight to the point she guesses, rolling her eyes at the lack of "Hello, to you too, Ellie. How are you feeling from your long travels?" Ellie lets her arm fall over her face. "In my bed. Is that okay with you?" she grumbles, hoping this isn't one of Dina's schemes.

"Wrong answer."

Ellie's head pushes further into her pillow, confusion written all over her twisted up face. "How?"

"You're going to be coming to my party." The girl on the other side of the phone corrects.

"Is that an invite where I can accept or decline?"

"No, you're attending this party."

Ellie lets out a long string of groans in retaliation. She didn't even why she bothered to ask if it was an invite, of course she'd be forced to attend another party.

"Oh, stop being dramatic. You always have fun."

A chuckle falls from Ellie's lips. "If you think me having a few beers and listening on to some random conversation is fun, then sure."

There's some rustling on the other end of the phone, like a faint jingle of keys. The noise alone alerts Ellie to check the clock on her night stand, moving her arm from over her face to peek at the clock; 2:54 p.m. She throws her arm back over her face.

Dina huffs and takes a breath, "You just never put yourself out there. That's why. You could easily spark up a conversation with a rando and they'll love you!"

Ellie scoffs at the image of her talking to some random person, let alone her initiating it. "Yeah, right. Besides, I don't really like any of the people that are at your parties, they're all outsiders from our group." Remembering a time at one of Dina's parties when she planted her ass on some couch then out of nowhere a small crowd started to surround her. One of the guys in the group had some weird bullshit rhetoric he was spewing, so she called him out, correcting him in the meantime as well. Everyone around her froze and started looking at her as if she grew another head; she carry's that memory with her to not fuck with any rando's.

"They're my roommates, friends, or acquaintances, whatever they are." Ellie perks up at the mention of you, her arm falling off her face once more, and this time she shuffles in her bed to sit up. "But, they bring that good beer you like."

"Ah, right. All's forgiven, I guess." she doesn't think her voice could get any sarcastic.

There's a moment of silence, Ellie clears her throat. "So, uh, how's your roommate?" It's an innocent question she asks, a hand coming up to her head to smooth over her messy bed head. She knows your name but she still calls you Dina’s roommate.

"Oh! She's good. Neither of us went home for Christmas this year, so we spent it together."

"Cute." Ellie hums. Whenever she hears Dina talk about you it makes a small part of her ache for a roommate, someone to always be around and grow a close bond with. But, not everyone gets as lucky as Dina in the roommate lottery, and the thought of it always gets pushed out of her mind in favor of a space entirely her own.

"She's going to be at the party." Dina blurts, knowing what Ellie is trying to do, she knows the brunette girl too well.

"Well, I would hope so." Her response was casual, holding her phone away from her face and unplugging it from its charging cord, deciding to press the 'Speaker' button and not succumb herself to holding the hot screen phone to her face. Swinging her legs off the edge of the bed, she stretches, a few small noises falling from her lips when doing so. Is it so wrong for her to ask such a question?

"I just bet you do." Dina teases, not convinced with the facade Ellie's putting up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ellie quirks, pushing the shirt that's ridden up her abdomen and pushing it back into its rightful position. The socks on her feet shuffling against the ground to move her body out of her room and to her liven area; it's living area and kitchen combined, she thinks it's a cool name since the entire area is open, but everyone else just calls it the dumbest name ever.

"You don't need to skirt around asking about her. I know about your little crush on her."

Ellie chokes at the word crush, playing it off back hacking up a lung. "I don't have a crush on anyone." she argues, still trying to recover from her coughing fit, wiping away the few dribbles of tears in the corners of her eyes.

"It's all that damn smoking." Dina retorts at Ellie's fit.

"You sound like Joel." Ellie snorts.

There's a beginning of an insult Dina begins to say until she gets interrupted. Being nosy Ellie tries to listen in to what it could be. “Uh, hold on a sec, Els.”

"Yep, it's not a problem." Ellie says, her mouth falling into a tight line. She takes a seat on her couch, listening intently to the chatter happening; as best she could, it's extremely muffled, almost like whispering. Placing her phone to be perched on her thigh she takes hold of her hand, picking at the skin around her nails. Picking at a stubborn piece of skin before she pricks herself and starts bleeding, "Ah, shit." bringing her finger up to her mouth to nurse at the bleeding spot.

“Ellie?” Your voice startles her to remove her finger from her mouth urgently, and straighten her hunchback.

She picks up her phone for some reason, clearing her throat. “Hey.”

“Hi!” You exclaim, enacting a small jump in Ellie's heart. Are you happy to talk to her or are you just like this? She'll settle on the latter. “How are you doing?” the simple question makes her feel embarrassed, a soft pink hue forming across her freckled cheeks.

“I’m doing all right. I just- uh," she pauses momentarily, and she thinks of lying, and telling you that she just got home from running errands, and before that she went to the gym for a few hours; to make herself seem productive. "I just woke up.” she tells the truth.

“Rough night?” there's something endearing in your voice and how it seemed to drop when you asked if she had a rough night, as if you're trying to work a dirty secret out of her by telling her you wouldn't tell a soul. And truthfully if she did have some wild night, it wouldn't take much for her to tell you about it.

Ellie shuffles on her couch, leaning forward, placing her elbows on her spread knees, leaning her head on her unoccupied hand. “You could say so. I landed back here at like 3 a.m.” Although the flight had not been her worst by close measure, she was still sleep deprived and being on a plane always managed to make her body ache.

“Oh, from Christmas. You visited your family, right?” Yet, again her heart leaps. Dina must've told you her plans in passing, but it's the fact that you remembered that made her heart thump a little faster.

She knows she's cheesing way too hard, but maybe you could somehow sense her happy mood through the phone, or at least she hopes. “Yeah, I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, so it was good to see them.” Her family wasn't large, nor typical, but she held them dear to her heart.

“That’s very sweet.” you say, and just as Ellie hoped, on the other side of the phone you sit on your couch mirroring an identical dopey grin. She pushes her head into her palm, she hates that you have such an effortless effect on her, and she hates how your voice sounds airy, much like the noises doves make as they fly around. “Did you get everything you wished for, for Christmas?”

The question takes Ellie by surprise, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. “Oh, c’mon.” She's sure she'll bore you with the niche presents she got, and she's even more sure that you wouldn't care.

“Sorry, sorry.” you chuckle.

Ellie shifts once again, letting her body fall into her couch, a hand running through her knotted hair as her leg bounces vigorously. “I hear you're hosting a New Year’s Eve party.” She's making conversation.

“Well, it’s really Dina doing it all. I’m helping out, though.”

“That’s good. You're a real trooper helping Dina with all her shenanigans?" The smile she once had now turns to a crooked smirk; anything to send harmless jabs at Dina.

"Need a trophy for it really. But, I don't mind, she's lucky I love her." Your words strike something within Ellie, she doesn't know quite what it is, but there's something at how comfortably the word love falls from your mouth, it makes her feel bitter.

“You coming?”

It's a yes or no question, but Ellie still takes a moment to think. Dina's already made it clear that she has to attend, but she could also use this as an opportunity to back out of it and just spend the first few weeks of the new year hiding out from Dina like someone hiding from a hitman. “Uh, yeah. I am.” She's fucked.

“Fantastic!” You amuse her, not in a silly way, but in a way as in she's never met someone who genuinely uses the word fantastic quite like you. She finds it cute. “I was a little reluctant about it, but I’m coming around to it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” Oh. So you weren't on board for this either?

“I’m sure I will, too.” She's beyond fucked up.

You don't respond, but that inaudible whisper is back, the two of you must be talking. “Oh, um. Dina wants her phone back," Ellie can feel herself deflate, slumping into the couch. She felt childish that she wants to whine and say she wants to keep talking to you. "but how much longer do I have to wait to get your number, or do you just not like me?” Your words bring life back into her, placing a hand on the soft cushion and pushing herself up. The two of you have known each other for about four years now and you two don't interact without the influence of Dina. And she feels embarrassed that not only do you think she could possibly not like you, you're also the one asking her for her number. But, of course you are, she's not as outgoing as you.

“What? No, no, it’s not that." It could never be that. "Just, uh, get it from Dina.” She panicked, but then again she didn't know if you had your phone on your or paper and a pen near you to write down her number. Dina comes in clutch, she guesses.

“Okay, I will. See you Tuesday night, Ellie.” You said her name again.

“See you Tuesday.” There's silence and she almost thinks you hung up till she taps her screen to see Dina's ID screen.

“And you say you don’t have a crush?” Dina's voice quips.

Ellie groans, her hands slapping at her face before they drag down.

Ellie's phone buzzes in her pocket, reaching for it she frees it from her jacket and unlocks it.

You

Hi! Hope you're excited for the party tonight, can't wait to see you! x

4:23 p.m

Ellie

Hey! Can't wait to see what Dina put together, and right back at ya :)

4:24 p.m

She stands in the store aisle as she watches a blue text bubble appear with three little dots, it abruptly stops, and instead of whatever you wanted to say you replaced it by hearting her message. Ellie stuffs her phone back in her pocket. Sighing as she throws her head back, squinting at the fluorescent lights. Rolling her neck she looks straight forward, swiping the golden figure from the shelf into her hand, taking it and the complementary beer for the party to the register.

Chatters overtake the living space, looking over it you see how certain people group together, it's endearing really how certain types of people naturally gravitate towards each other and stick together like magnets. You take another sip of your beer, looking down in your lap, flipping over your phone to check the time, 10:40 p.m on the dot. You huff, unlocking your phone and picking an app to mindlessly scroll through.

Someone says your name, causing you to lift your head in an instant. “Oh, Mack.” Lifting yourself from off the couch to hug the girl, letting your phone fall into the cracks of your couch in the process. “Hey.” She breaths into the embrace.

“How are you? You enjoying yourself?” you ask, you've gotta be a good host, although you've asked the same questions over ten times now when greeting each person. But, with Mack you don't mind all that much. She's one of the more tolerable socialites you know, and maybe even a friend if you dared.

“I’m doing good, and uh. Yeah! I just got here a little bit ago, saw Dina and everything. I love the new place.” she answers, looking around the room at the last part to take in the space once more.

“That's good, and thanks. Dina and I have been really enjoying it.” Flashing her a polite smile. “She was actually the one to push the idea of a New Years Eve party.” You're creating conversation that you're not sure you want to create.

“Well it's a nice party. You guys really went all out with the decorations.” Motioning to all the gold and black decorations littering the living space.

You hum, forcing another smile, “Why don't we sit down? I heard you just joined a startup from Jonesy, congratulations!” And there you've done it.

Out of your sight, Ellie shuffles into the apartment, searching for either your or Dina.

“Ellie!” A familiar voice yells over the chatter, Ellie looks out to see a tan hand up surfing through the crowd, it’s Dina. She pulls Ellie in for a hug, and she wraps her unoccupied hand around Dina.

“Hey.” Ellie’s greeting was faint, something only Dina could hear.

“Was worried you were gonna flake.” An elbow nudges into Ellie’s side, and she squirms, swatting Dina away.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.” she grimaces, green eyes flickering around the sea of people packed into the small space.

“Yeah, I’d hunt you down if you did.” Dina’s words are playful, but there's some truth to them. Ellie focuses back on the girl in front of her, and she remembers the beer in her hand.

“Oh, I bought some beer.” Lifting up the case and showing it off.

“Great! Can never have too much of it.” Taking a hold of the case from the brunette and walking to the kitchen. Ellie follows after her, watching as Dina opens the fridge and places the case of beer next to another one, the one she knows one of your fancy friends brought, the one she likes. It makes her chuckle thinking that her case of beer will feel at home with the rest of the alcohol in the fridge.

“Did you want one?” Dina asks, still bent into the fridge.

“Yeah.”

Dina reaches and grabs a beer, extending her arm to Ellie. But upon one look, “Not that one, the one I bought.”

Dina removes her head from the fridge to stand up straight, questionably eyeing her. “I bought it with my money so I’m going to drink it.” Ellie shrugs.

“Whatever you say.” Dina mumbles, placing the beer back and grabbing the one from the other case, handing it to Ellie; she says a quick ‘Thanks’ looking behind her on the counter she's leaning against, grabbing a bottle opener and piping it open, pocketing the top in her jeans pocket taking a swig of the drink.

“Uh, where's roomie?” It's an ice breaker she tells herself.

Dina pouts, leaning so she looks over Ellie's figure into the open space living area that's completely filled with people. She shrugs as she sets herself back in place. “She's somewhere in there, y’know how she is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Taking another, longer swig of her beer.

"So," Dina begins. Ellie squints at her, the look in Dina's brown eyes tells her something is up. "Who are you kissing tonight?" Of course.

Ellie swallows. "Who are you kissing tonight?" She's deflecting, but she's also genuinely curious.

Dina looks off somewhere then back at Ellie. "I'm sure I can find someone. Now, stop deflecting. Who are you kissing?"

She rolls her eyes at the stupid question. "You know the answer. No one." It's been no one for years, it would be something she's embarrassed about but she's too used to it to feel that way. A reason she didn't want to attend the party, she didn't want to have to come face to face with the fact that she's so content with feeling alone, even when there's countless people who kiss other people with no strings attached on a night like December 31st; Ellie just couldn't do it.

Dina could see the question get under her friend's skin, the aversion of her gaze as it flickers around, focusing on anything but Dina, and the hand layer unoccupied on her jeans, a nimble finger scratching at the fabric. "Okay, okay. Stay lonely and un-kissed, loser."

Lifting herself up from leaning on the counter, "Have fun finding someone random to kiss." Ellie swings her beer up in the air, a solute to Dina's findings. The moment she turns her back to Dina she feels a twinge of regret, maybe she's being too sensitive about the topic. . . Nah. She knew what her friend was trying to insinuate when asking who she's kissing tonight, and with her hounding to know if she has a crush on you, it's too much. Ellie Williams isn't kissing anyone on New Year's Eve and she doesn't have a crush on you.

Your butt feels numb, you hadn't moved much since you sat down in an effort to seem interested in whatever Mack is talking about. It's routine really, ask someone about something recent, often something new or life changing and the person will talk your ear off, litter a few Ah's and Oh, Really's?, maybe a few questions of your own if you're feeling frisky. But, at this point you're starting to worry about how long someone could possibly talk about a startup.

Stretching your neck side to side you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, opening them to put your attention back on Mack. And as quickly as it happens, you lose it. Eyes roaming the window you were staring out of just a few days ago, you couldn't see it about an hour ago, you guess people have congregated elsewhere. You're just about to focus on the girl sitting in front of you, again, till a bright little flickering flame catches your eye. Squinting as you watch the flame be brought to something then be gone, the moonlight and the city lights allow you to see silhouette, Ellie.

Turning back to Mack, you place a warm hand on her knee, "I'm really sorry, Mack. But, I think Dina is calling me." you lie, a very tiny fabricated lie that shouldn't hurt her too much. Rising from the couch and walking towards the window.

"Oh, but—" Mack's head twists behind her, a finger pointing to the opposite side of the room where Dina's at, talking to a few people.

Both you and Dina had thought it was a good idea to keep the balcony window open during the party, knowing that everyone would be packed in tightly together and some fresh cool air could keep the environment comfortable. The sheer blinds flap from the wind and you catch them, entering the balcony, but not quite. You were right, now faced with the back of Ellie staring down to the city streets, taking drags of the cigarette she just lite, expelling the smoke to let it be carried away by the wind and be swirled around. Everything about her is so signature, from her half up half down hairstyle, the chunky tan jacket she wears everywhere, the jeans she has on, down to the boots she exchanged during the winter season instead of wearing her converse; and there's a beer at her feet.

"Smoking and drinking? Pick a struggle." You remark, folding your arms over each other.

Ellie's startled by your voice, again. Turning around to see you standing in the opening of the window. The sheer cream blind sway behind you, but the moonlight illuminates to make them appear brighter, it gives you a halo that hitches Ellie's breath. And there's a toothy grin on your face, it's a telltale that you're clearly teasing her.

She tears her gaze away from you and turns back around to lean on the railing of the balcony, nodding her head.

The grin on your face drops at Ellie's action, and there's a few short clicks of your footsteps before you're also leaning against the railing next to her. "Was it too far?" you ask, in a softness close to a whisper.

Ellie turns to you, brows furrowed. "No, I just um—" She eyes the cigarette between her fingers, bad habits die hard. "My New Year's resolution is to quit." she stated, she doesn't exactly know when she decided this, but she always felt the need to say something unnecessary around you in hopes to impress you.

Your eyes widen at her words, "Oh, wow, Ellie. That's huge." you beamed, you feel proud to know this, and you wonder if Dina knows about her resolution. "You know we're all here for you."

Ellie huffs out another drag, she does it by looking in the opposite direction from you. "Yeah, I know." she agreed, turning back to you. "It's going to be fucking hard, been smoking for years."

"You're strong, Ellie. It is going to be hard, but again, just please remember that you have a support system. Even if you don't want to go to Dina or whoever, I know we're not super close, but I'm here." You're sincere in your words, and you just hope Ellie can tell that you are. Comfortable silence, or as close to silence falls over the two of you, eye contact not breaking as you gaze into each other. As Ellie looks at you she lets your words soak in, everything about you is soft right now; the kiss of your lashes on your cheeks when you blink, the small smile on your face and how it reached your eyes causing them to twinkle, the faint aroma of your perfume, to your words. Just alone with your comforting words she likes to think she could quit smoking cold turkey, despite knowing she'd probably roll over and die if she did.

"Thank you." A smile now mirrors yours. And in response yours stretches wider, a silent, No problem. "What are you doing out here?"

"Needed a breather." You needed more than a breather, you needed to escape from the Hell that is uninteresting conversations.

"You got one." She quips, she's sure you have better things to do, better things to talk to than her.

Your eyebrows rise, you weren't expecting a response like that. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Williams?" Quirking your head to the side. Feelings of Ellie not liking you come washing back, and your body burns, but she said she does like you, and you trust her.

"Not a chance." She confirms.

"Sounds like you are." You press, still hung up on such a response.

"I would never." Ellie consoled, she feels bad for her snarky remark, so she places emphasis on the word never. "It's just that—" She stops mid sentence, your sharp gaze waiting for the next thing to come out of her mouth, she feels hot and looks away for a moment, releasing the hand on the railing to come up and pull at her collar before smoothing to rub at her neck. "I just thought you'd be doing your socialite thing right now."

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?" You groan, and everyone as in Dina and now Ellie.

"What? You are." she proclaimed.

"Not by much," you grumble, looking down to the streets of the city. "Can I confess something to you?"

Ellie walks around you, to the little table and chair you and Dina had set up on the balcony, you could only fit those two things without taking up the entire balcony, so whenever the two of you come out here one sits on the chair and the other sits on the metal staircases. She buds out her cigarette into the ashtray Dina keeps outside before returning to her spot next to you. "My lips are sealed."

"I don't really like my life." you admit. It's a heavy topic that's been looming over your head in dark clouds. You would have talked to Dina about it, but she thinks your life is the best thing ever, and you know if given the chance she'd gladly jump into your shoes, and you'd let her.

"Oh."

"Yeah." you sigh, "Sorry if it's too much. I don't have many people to talk about this to." This is a bad idea.

"No, it's not, trust me. I just don't know if I'm the best person to talk to this about," She feels under qualified to talk about such a topic with you, although she understands the feeling all too well. "maybe Dina will?"

"Dina won't understand."

"Ah." she acknowledges, she agrees with that. "What's the matter?"

"I just feel unhappy and unfulfilled." you say, and you feel ungrateful doing so. "I shouldn't be that's the thing."

"How so?"

"Because, I guess I have everything. And I'm lucky and thankful." You break, collecting your thoughts. "But it's like everything I do is to please others. I'm tired."

Ellie frowns. She thinks of a decent way to try and comfort you, but each one doesn't sound right, and she doesn't want something she says to make you feel worse; there's even a passing thought of pulling you into a hug, but she decides against it; you guys aren't there quite yet. "Fuck that." A little brash, but she hopes it'll get the message across.

Your face scrunches up and you let out a breathy laugh. "What?" Confusion written all over your face from Ellie's response.

"Fuck that. Fuck people pleasing. And fuck not being happy your life." You're startled by her words, not knowing where she's trying to go with what she's saying; Ellie doesn't know where she's going either. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her phone, "It's 11:43, and we're leaving all that bullshit in the past in about 16 minutes. You're turning a new leaf in 2025." she retorted, feeling a new kind of adrenaline from her words.

You break out into a loud laughter, sure enough that the few people walking on the streets could hear you, but positive enough that no one inside the apartment could hear you. Ellie watches you fit, laughing a little herself, but not too much to take in the scene in front of her. You; mouth wide, curled open, cheeks plump as the press up into your closed eyes, the little birthmarks on your face and how they move as you express joy, she's taken aback by you.

When you calm down, there's still some giggles exiting your mouth. "Fuck all that."

A weight is lifted from off Ellie's shoulders, she twists and leans over the balcony railing. "Fuck all that!" she yells into the night.

You follow her actions. "Fuck all that!" you repeat louder.

A random person on the street heard the two of you and yells in retaliation. "Shut the fuck up!" their booming voice roars, but it only makes you and Ellie whip your heads to each other and erupt into a shared fit of laughter.

The two of you lean on each other to have support from the full belly laughs you guys are having. Ellie brings a finger to swipe at her eyes, "God, I'm crying." she croaks out. But you notice commotion happening inside, and you sober up from laughing quickly.

"You hear that?"

Ellie turns to look into the apartment just as you're doing, she can't see much, but she can hear the countdown.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Ellie stays strained looking, the blind are sheer enough, and there's still wind picking them up and flapping them, so she's able to see everyone inside with little party gadgets and jumping up and down as they count. "Well happy-" Words leave her mouth when she feels a hand on her cheek, pushing her to turn it to look back at you. Her green eyes widen when she feels the tip of your noses touch.

Three.

Two.

One.

It doesn't take much to move just a smidge closer, and kiss Ellie, letting your eyes flutter shut. Fireworks rocket off inside Ellie's head and her body tenses, this was the last thing she expected to happen, but her panicked state begins to match your relaxed one, a hand coming up to cup at your jaw, while the other comes to rest on your waist, pulling you further into her. She swears your lips is the softest thing she's ever felt, the way at which you two kiss has her chasing for more.

The noises of cheers rings through your ears, and you're the one who lets up first, giggling when Ellie still has her eyes closed, leaning into you for another kiss. You swipe a finger along her bottom lip, breaking the string of saliva that connected you two.

When her eyes peer open again, they're dazed, probably much like yours. "Happy New Year." you whisper, a coy smile on your face.

You watch as Ellie seems to remember something, and you're disappointed to feel her touch be removed from your body. She stuffs both her hands in her jacket pocket, like she couldn't remember which one she put an item in. And she lets out a little Ah Ha, as she pulls out a golden statue, or trophy. She hands it to you, and you take it in your hands, examining it, there's a little ripped piece of paper taped on the stand of the trophy with Ellie's scribble handwriting on it.

#1 Trooper of Dina's Shenanigans

"Happy New Year."

You caress the little trophy, holding on to it, and looking back up at Ellie.

2025 is going to be a good year.

‧₊˚ taglist. @samcvrpenters @bready101 @opt1mistic @honeygiii123 @elsn @aliceellieswife @oceangalore

#𓊆 𝓐 writes. 𓊇 #ellieྀི txt.#the last of us #tlou #tlou pt 2 #tlou x reader #tlou fluff #ellie williams #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader

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entheognosis · 4 months ago

Quote

TREES By Hermann Hesse "For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like 'lonely' persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow. Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail. A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that 'God' is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live. When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all. A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother. So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

Hermann Hesse

#hermann hesse

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qwimblenorrisstan · 11 months ago

Text

Insufficient Pt. 2 | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Following the disastrous breakup between you and Azriel, Nesta invites you out to a night at Rita’s, where you then discover that you might not be as safe in Night Court as you think.

Word Count: ~ 4.3k

Warnings: Stalkings, nasty public bathrooms, alcohol, drunk people, obsessive behavior, painfully bad description of blackjack, etc

A/N: ok so I kinda switched gears with this one, I’m trying to flesh it out before introducing another man, but lmk if you liked it, or if you have any opinion on where you’d like it to go, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Only a week had passed since the disastrous breakup between you and Azriel, and as it turns out, it was harder to get rid of him than you’d originally thought.

Beforehand, he’d always seemed so controlled and stoic, that even being one of the main problems in your relationship was that he couldn’t ever let go of control. Being in charge meant he felt safe and secure, regardless of his feelings.

He had always seemed almost above you at times, above groveling and begging in bed, above communicating his feelings and emotions normally as he just expected you to read his mind or moods despite the way he hid any kernel of emotion from his body language. However, all of that seemed to have changed.

After the breakup, you’d gone back to working in the bakery, working specifically in the back making bread with your family, so you wouldn’t have to see him when he came in, probably trying to hunt you down. The heat the ovens gave off also seemed to repel his shadows, for whatever reason, so they wouldn’t spy on you any more than they already had. Though he had come asking for you before at the counter, your family had always shut him down. You felt bad about it for a second, but thinking back, you also didn’t. He’d chosen his words, and he was only sorry because you were his mate.

You’d moved back into the family home for now, your relatives surrounding you in love and empathy, and plenty of righteous fury regarding Azriel, and even a few “I told you so.”’s from the older generations.

Nesta would come by to visit now and then, having tea with you and updating you on all the latest news and developments, if not just funny stories to bring your spirits up, such as Nyx swallowing an ancient coin that he got from Rhys’ desk, only to poop it out shiny and clean a few days later, or how Cassian got so drunk he jumped from the top of the townhouse into a nearby pool that belonged to a neighbor.

On the bad days, she would offer some quiet company, or even open up to you about similar things that happened to her in the past.

Specifically, her past relationship.

She didn’t give a name, simply the details that he was a poor man’s family, his father abused his mother, and he was no better. She only was going to marry him to let Feyre take better care of Elain, really, even if it ended up with her getting beaten by some pathetic man. And then she told you of the night she rejected him, and tried to break it off, and how she almost barely got away before he could take what wasn’t his.

You both sat in silence after that, your hand in hers.

Eventually, though, the conversation continued. You told her of the flowers that would mysteriously appear on your windowsill each morning. Neither of you knew how Azriel knew what room you occupied in your family’s home, or even how he knew your address or favorite type of flower, Ditch Lily’s, but he knew. Or the letters you received nightly, always carried by some bird of prey to your window, and would leave it there.

She snorted when you told her about the letters.

“He’s being ridiculous, seriously, even Cassian isn’t that bad. He only cares because you’re his mate, not because of who you actually are, and until he gets his shit together I wouldn’t even open them.”

She said, taking a sip of the herbal tea your mother had prepared for both of you. It was a special recipe, one that some of your distant relatives in Autumn Court had created, originally meant to relieve muscle tension and stress from overuse of magic, and even assist in alleviating burnout. You were mildly convinced that there might be some healer blood in you, because of that half of the family.

You could’ve sworn you felt a tiny tug on the bond at the mention of Azriel.

“I know, I’ve just been burning them, but he won’t leave me alone. Every shadow feels like they’re watching me now, and I just…”

You sighed, trailing off as your hand went to rub the bridge of your nose, and she gave a hum of acknowledgment, finishing your sentence for you.

“Don’t feel safe in the one place that you used to only feel safe in?”

You glanced up, eyes widening a bit. That was precisely how you felt.

“Yes, how..?”

She took another sip of her tea, glancing over to the window and looking out of it, eyes almost glazing over as some memory must’ve come to light.

“Beneath the House of Wind is the library, though I’m sure you’ve already heard of it. The priestesses stayed there, and it was always quiet, and something about it made me feel…safe, even when I was in an unfamiliar body in new surroundings, the world in the middle of a war.”

She said, and you nodded, waiting for her to go on. You knew plenty of the library beneath the House of Wind and how massive it was.

“One night, me and Feyre both descended nearly to the bottom, for what I can barely remember, and there were two twin males. Sent by Hybern, I think. They were taken out before they could do any harm, but the damage was still done. It took me quite a while to think of the library as a safe space after that.”

The glaze in her eyes faded away as she took another sip of her tea, looking more relaxed than before. She looked over at you, her eyes meeting yours.

“How did you get it back like that? A safe place, I mean.”

You then asked, and she looked away for a moment to think, a common habit of hers. One you’d noticed by now. Always noticing things, something you must’ve learned from Azriel, and as much as you hated the reminder of him, it was useful regardless.

“Changing environments helped me. During and after the war, we were always traveling a lot, which forced me to appreciate the thought of home more. Then again, home was also linked with Cassian for me.”

She said, thinking aloud before eventually speaking again.

“I’d try moving around a bit. Exercise helped me, especially travel and hiking, or breathing exercises. I could teach you a few if you’d like?”

She offered. You would be a fool to refuse any sort of advice or help from Nesta Archeron, and she’d never led you astray before, so you nodded, and she smiled brightly, clearly happy to show you.

The next few hours were spent in the backyard on whatever flat surface there was, practicing impossibly stretched that seemed like whoever made them wanted to turn you into a pretzel. Nesta managed them just fine but didn’t laugh when you fell, only helped you back up, telling you all about how when she’d first started training with Cassian, it had been just as hard for her too.

She’d even outright refused to do it the first few times.

However, after that, she showed you cool-down exercises and helped you practice breathing techniques.

“Wait, so…I hold it for how long?”

You asked, and she held back a giggle at the sheer confusion in your tone as she answered.

“Twenty seconds, but you can-“

“TWENTY??”

At that, she burst out laughing, and before you knew it you were laughing too, both of you laying back on the grass of the yard and hoping none of the seasonal bugs crawled up onto you. She finally sat up a moment later, wiping tears from her eyes as she stood and helped you up.

“Build up from five, you can start at five seconds and build up, is what I was going to say.”

She said, and you sighed.

“And I thought I was in shape before.”

You said in an amused tone, and she snorted again, only for the both of you to look over where you heard another loud snort and see Cassian standing, leaning against a large tree in the backyard. He was grinning widely as ever, his eyes full of pure glee.

“Having fun without me, ladies?”

He asked, putting a hand over his heart in a dramatic expression as he rolled his eyes, acting fatally wounded.

“Honestly, I’m hurt-“

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence before you barreled into him, giving him a tight hug that he chuckled at and returned, ruffling your hair. Nesta was soon to follow, and hugging him in a much more elegant manner than you.

When you finally separated, you spoke.

“Gods, I’ve missed you. We should let him come to tea time, too, Nesta.”

You said with a grin, and Nesta rolled her eyes playfully, squeezing his bicep. A tiny twinge of jealousy seemed to echo down the bond, as if Azriel had seen you hugging Cassian, and didn’t appreciate it. Another tug on the bond that you shut out, now hyper aware of any shadows.

“You’d be surprised at how much of a gossip he is, it’s never-ending with the Devlon-rumors.”

She said, and his expression shifted to playfully offended as he swatted at Nesta’s hand. You giggled, and Nesta glanced over at you, before gaining a thoughtful expression.

“We could do Rita’s tonight if you could make it?”

She asked, and Cassian gave a little nod as if also agreeing with this. You didn’t have any plans tonight, so why not spend a night out with your friends? It would certainly help you get your mind off of things.

“Sure, what time?”

You asked, head cocked slightly to the side. Nesta shrugged.

“Is 6 good for you?”

She asked, and you nodded in confirmation. She gave you one last smile before Cassian scooped her up to fly away.

“See you tonig-“

Her words were cut off with a little shriek as Cassian launched into the air at maximum speed just to spook her like he always did, and you giggled to yourself, heading back inside the family home. Unbeknownst to you, a shadowy figure lurked behind that tree after Cassian left, watching.

To be fair, the shifts were switched out now and then so everyone had a break, but he usually ended up babysitting. Despite his objections and complaints, he was good at it, sort of a baby-whisperer.

“Who was that pretty lady?”

He asked, a slight touch of color on his cheeks as you smirked with a knowing look.

“That was my friend, Nesta. She’s taken.”

You clarified for him, noticing the way his face fell in disappointment all too clearly before you patted your baby cousin on the head, and walked up to your temporary room. Maybe Nesta’s idea of traveling a bit and exploring different places was good. You had all of immortality ahead of you, after all. Might as well use it well.

You walked to your room, before going to the bathroom attached to it. You were more than lucky to get a room with a bathroom attached, and you knew it, since everyone bickered over who got to shower first and who had been in there too long for the normal bathroom in the hall. Stripping your clothes off, you turned the water on, letting it settle to a warm, but refreshing temperature.

You went through your entire hair routine and washed your body off, shaving and everything. Tonight was an everything shower. You wanted to look your best at Rita’s tonight, and you desperately needed a confidence boost after what Azriel had said to you.

Nearly half an hour later, your hair done all pretty, makeup on, and a pretty red dress gracing your form. You’d even painted your nails yourself, forgoing the usual stylist you went to for it.

By the time 6 had rolled around, you were almost to Rita’s, walking down the bustling streets of Velaris as the cool air blew by, the sun already beginning to set as early as it did in this season.

The moment you walked into the bar, already full of people, it only took a few seconds to spot Nesta and Cassian inside. Cassian was drinking and laughing his ass off with some other males, and doing arm wrestling that he never seemed to lose at, and Nesta was playing poker, and by the looks of it had already won a few games before based on the sly smile she wore.

You walked over and ordered your drink, nothing too strong, and decided that you could take a little time away from Nesta for now. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, considering she’d been listening to all of your problems every time she’d come over. It was probably best if you gave her a little alone time for herself.

Walking over to a table to try your hand at what looked like a boring game of blackjack, you were about to sit down when something captured your attention.

A lone shadow lurking beneath your feet.

You swallow, getting a weird feeling about it, but you simply stomped one foot down on it before sitting down, determined not to let something so small ruin this night for you. The cards were dealt, and you received a queen of spades and eight of clubs, and as the game progressed, you took risks, choosing to hit, and somehow miraculously not going over 21 the entire time. You felt the lightest tug on the bond, but ignored it.

It was mildly suspicious, considering how bad you usually were at cards. That was until you spied the same wispy shadow from earlier on the deck of cards, hiding in the normal shadow of it. It was discreetly moving cards, changing them for you to win.

Now incredibly annoyed, you excused yourself from the game and walked to the bathroom. Rita’s bathrooms weren’t extremely clean, but you just needed a place to take a breather.

You pushed the door open, not surprised by the few females in here who were either redoing their makeup or drunk out of their minds and crying. Oddly enough, though, they filed out almost as soon as you entered, some giving you off looks as you entered one of the stalls, sliding the lock closed, and sat on top of the toilet seat, pulling your knees to your chest.

Sure, things were weird tonight, but it was probably just Azriel trying to play mind games with you. He was a Spymaster. His entire job revolves around torturing information out of people and playing mental gymnastics to get what he wants from them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was now hyper-fixated on you, determined to get you back if only to feel better about himself.

You heard the bathroom door open, barely creaking as the lightest footsteps became apparent to you. Probably another drunk woman, or someone looking to fix their makeup or outfit. Nothing out of the usual, you told yourself, even as your body began stiffening and your heart rate sped up. A lock clicked. The bathroom door.

You couldn’t get a decent whiff of the stranger, whether it be the alcohol or the reek of the bathroom in and of itself. Not daring to open up the stall or peek out, you became still as a statue.

Nearly silent footsteps.

A knob creaked, probably the sink, and water began running at its maximum speed.

Another sink turned on.

Then another.

Until all the sinks were on.

Your heart began beating faster. Why would anyone turn all the sinks on, if not to cover up the noise of something else, or someone else making loud noises?

Louder, bolder footsteps in your stall’s direction.

Glancing down beneath the door, you could see a pair of thick, black leathery boots now standing in front of it. You recognized those. How could you not?

A certain shadowsinger’s shoes. His work shoes.

You didn’t dare move, even as you heard a knock against the stall. It would’ve seemed polite in any other situation, but not here, not now.

“I know you’re in there.”

His quiet voice spoke, still filled with that tension you’d seen in his eyes the day you’d decided to finally break free of him.

He knocked again.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I shouldn’t have said that, if you would please, please, just give me another chance, I’ve been trying to talk with you for days but you were busy, and when I saw you here tonight, I thought that maybe we could talk this out-“

He said, voice filled with pleading and desperation as he rambled on. You’d never heard him express so much emotion before in his voice. It was interrupted by the bathroom door almost being opened, despite it being locked. A bang on the door, and Nesta’s muffled voice was heard through the door.

“Bullshit, I’m getting a worker..”

Azriel must’ve known he had limited time now, because he banged on the stall door louder, a bit more panicked.

“Please, just open the door. I’m sorry, just let me in. We can figure this out.”

He said, now shaking the stall door with the handle, and you didn’t dare move. Didn’t speak, didn’t do anything other than sit and pray to whatever gods you believed in. The Mother. The Cauldron. Anything. Whatever would make him go away. You had known the respectful, kind Azriel. The one that had waited centuries for Mor and not pushed anything, even when she openly went to other males and pushed him away. The one who wouldn’t push any boundary, but this Azriel…you didn’t know him.

The jingling of keys outside the bathroom door was heard, the worker Nesta must’ve called, and a frustrated sigh came from the voice outside your stall.

You could almost see it now, him angrily running his hands through his inky black hair, shadows swirling and writhing in agitation as he tried to think on how to fix this.

“You can’t hide from me forever, you’re just confused right now. I will get you back.”

He spoke finally, before the bathroom door burst open, and his presence was completely gone. You released a shaky breath, not daring to move still, even as the worker cursed and began turning all the sinks off.

“Haven’t seen it that jammed in a long time,”

She muttered, walking out eventually, you unlocked the stall door when you felt alone, only to swing it open and Nesta to pop into your vision. You almost screamed, jolting backward and slamming your head into a wall. She raised her hands in mock innocence.

“Easy, it’s just me. I figured you might be in here when I couldn’t find you, and…..”

She looked you up and down, noticing how shaken and pale you seemed, and frowned. Tilting her head sideways, she asked the obvious.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You looked all around the bathroom, finding no sign of him anywhere, no moving shadows or dark presences.

“He was here, Nesta. He kept begging me to come out and—I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.”

You said, tears welling up before falling as you began sobbing. She frowned deeper, now scowling as she pulled you against her chest, worry filling her expression.

“It’s alright, I’ll take you home.”

She said, helping walk you out of the bathroom, and as she passed by Cassian she grabbed the big Illyrian by the ear and dragged him out of the bar, outside with fresh air. Cassian immediately looked concerned, brows furrowed, but one look from Nesta was enough for him to nod grimly as his expression darkened, the two of them no doubt communicating mentally as most mates did.

He scooped the both of you up, and despite the alcohol in his system, managed a decent flight to your house. He gave you a pat on the head before Nesta walked you inside, and as soon as the two of you were in the privacy of your room, she spoke.

“Look, I’ll tell Rhys to keep an eye on him, but it’s not like Azriel will listen to anything Rhys orders him to do regarding…this. Just…be careful.”

She said in a hushed tone, and you nodded weakly.

“I can’t stay here. Not when he’s..watching and following me.”

Nesta gave a little nod, as she understood, but she still looked concerned. She was friends with Azriel, you knew as much, but even this was pushing it.

“I have family in Autumn, I could go find them.”

You suggested, and she sighed.

“You do realize he could just have one of his shadows follow you? Unless you left without telling anyone, then…”

The both of you shared a glance, and in a moment, understood what you needed to do to get away. A stalker problem wasn’t one that you thought you would have, but Azriel was obsessive and possessive, even after you’d thrown out all the flowers he’d left, and burnt all the letters you’d given him. He wouldn’t stop at anything, no matter what boundaries you tried to set.

You dragged the duffel bag out from under your bed, the same one you had used to pack your things the day you’d left and began shoving clothes into it, clothes that would suit a few days of travel in the wilderness. You nearly tore your dress off, shoving dark clothing that covered almost every bit of your skin.

If you headed through the main routes of the Court traveling system, Azriel could easily find you. The mating bond would only make it easier from there.

Nesta began helping, choosing clothes from your closet that she deemed acceptable and neatly arranging everything in the duffel bag.

“Are you going to tell your family?”

She asked quietly, and you sighed.

“My grandmother, she’d understand. She fled Autumn when she was younger, some long story about escaping a lover from the royal family.”

You said as you continued packing, and hurried down the stairs. Everyone was asleep this late, except for your grandmother for her nightly tea session. She was sitting in the living room, sipping away, and her eyes shifted to you. Despite her young form, her eyes were old and carried a wisdom you couldn’t explain.

“Grandma, I can’t explain, but-“

“You need to leave, I understand. Under the stairs, there is food. I expected this. Find your great aunt in Autumn.”

That made you pause for a moment, eyes widening, a little twinkle in her eye, and a small mischievous smirk made its way onto her face as she saw your confusion.

“I am not nearly as oblivious as you think I am, now go. Time is of the essence.”

She said, making a little waving motion, and you hurried off to find the little place under the stairs, opening the tiny area beneath it through the small cabinet door, rations were stashed there just like she’d said. You grabbed them, and hurried back up the stairs, and walking into your room you shoved it into the now-full duffle bag and zipped it up. Nesta gave you a confused look when she saw all the pre-prepared food you somehow had, but you only shrugged and she moved on.

“You’re going to need a way to travel, it’ll be thousands of miles to Autumn.”

She said, and you sighed, looping your arm through the handles of the duffle bag and throwing it over your shoulder as you hurried down the steps again, trying to be quiet for the sake of your sleeping family.

Nesta followed you out of the front door as you shut it, Cassian still standing outside, quietly watching with that same grim look on his face as you hopped your neighbor's fence, running across the mass of property they had in the backyard, straight to the small horse stables they had. You went in and opened the first one you could find, a dark-colored mare with a splotchy white stripe down her face, and some white near her hooves.

Pulling the winter coat off of her the gentlest you could, you scrambled to find a bridle that fit the mare as she stomped nervously, and you eventually found one and slipped it on, the horse not seeming eager to get the bit in its mouth, even though you managed to get it in.

Nesta caught up with you and glanced from you to the horse.

“You are crazy.”

She said though she had a slight smirk as she said it. You sighed, grabbing the reins and leading the mare outside of its stall, and you glanced over to Nesta.

“Give me a leg up?”

You asked with a small attempt at a grin, and she sighed, shaking her head in fond exasperation as she held her hands out for you to put your foot in, and you did, and she counted down from three before hoisting you up over the horse.

The large animal did not seem happy about that, either. But despite its protests, and the fact that you were riding it bareback because taking care of a bridle, saddle, stirrups and more was probably more than you could handle, you managed.

“Tell Rhys to ignore anyone complaining of a missing horse for me, will you?”

You said with that weak little half-grin, and she returned it.

“Sure, I can manage that.”

She said in an amused tone.

A moment of silence passed, before she swallowed, and spoke.

“Be careful. Don’t get yourself killed.”

She said, and you nodded, laughing softly.

“I won’t. Once I’m..safe, I’ll figure out a way to let you know. I promise.”

The inky mark of your oath spread around both of your wrists, reminding you of the promise. You didn’t know how you’d tell her without anyone else, or a specific shadowsinger catching wind of where you were, but you would figure it out.

The wind blew by, and you swallowed again.

“Well…I guess this is goodbye.”

“For now.”

She replied, and you nodded.

“For now.”

And with that, she gave a single nod and began walking back over to Cassian, who offered a dip of his head in goodbye. You gently nudged the horse with your foot, gathering up the reigns, and it jolted forward, taking any excuse to run wild after being cooped up in a stall for so long.

It hopped the fence easily, despite how you almost fell off and began bounding off before you adjusted it Southeast, where you would skirt the boundaries of Night Court, and then head to Autumn.

Into Autumn, where freedom loomed, and into Autumn, where the threat of more than just your self-discovery loomed as well.

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