#to come cleave his life in two. i think there's something to be said about how people who've wronged a person can go on to live happily

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories | Eleven | Azriel x Rhys' little sister! Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Shadows dance around you as you stand in the hall of the townhouse. You hadn’t stepped foot inside of it before. Hardly even paid any attention to it when you were little. You were sure Rhys had to have updated the interior. Because the townhouses on this block were nice, sure, but not nearly as cozy as this one seemed. 

Outside, the city was buzzing with life. So much so that it made you want to shrink away even further. Run to the mountains again, lock yourself away in the house of wind. Cassian and Azriel both resided there….you wouldn’t be alone. But you couldn’t face leaving Rhys, even if he had Feyre to worry about. 

First taking her to the prison, then taking her to the Weaver. He had to be insane. He wouldn’t clue you in on what was happening in the world, but you knew something had to be going on. He made mention of feeling safer once you were in Valaris, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him. But you did hear him. And you would press him on it later. But now you needed to find your own footing again. 

“He had the twins set up a room for you,” Azriel said softly, hand gently resting on your shoulder, “No one can get in this house without permission, Rhys saw to that. And that includes me and Cass.” 

“Cassian,” You breathed out, suddenly remembering the man who was once like a second brother to you, “Where is he?” 

You spin around to face Az, and the door. There’s a look of surprise on Az’s face. The last time you saw Cassian, you’d punched him hard enough to break his nose. You had gotten into an awful fight with one another, that didn’t end until his blood was dripping on the floor. You remembered feeling a sense of satisfaction at the sight of him bleeding everywhere. 

“Sulking,” Az’s lips turned up slightly, “He wanted to go to summer, but he’s since been banned from the court for destroying a building or two.”

“He what?” You questioned, eyes darting back to meet his. 

“Story for another time.”

“Can you bring him here?” You question, not ready to fly at all, let alone to the House of Wind. 

“Why don’t we fly to him?” Az rose his eyebrows in a question. 

You shook your head, backing away from him just a step, “I don’t want to fly.” 

You didn’t want to summon your wings, something you hadn’t done since the day you were taken. You hadn’t allowed yourself that one pleasure, not when your mother’s wings were so cruelly cleaved from her body. Not when you had two long, thick, scars running down the length of your back from where Tamlin’s brothers cut into your flesh, thinking somehow they’d bring out the wings that were once there. 

“You don’t want to fly?” He questioned slowly, “You love to fly.” 

Your head shakes again as he tucks his wings impossibly tighter to his body, as if he was trying to hide them amongst the shadows that dwelled there. He didn’t know in full what happened to you, or at least you hoped he didn’t. You hoped his shadows hadn’t reported to him as it happened, only adding to the chaos of him trying to reach you in time. 

But by the time he made it to that clearing all that was left was two bodies hacked into pieces, one of your mother and one of your maid that accompanied you everywhere, and more blood than should have been possible. You could remember the way the grass was coated with it, soaking into the earth below. You wondered if it left a stain on that land. 

“Come back to me,” Az whispered, stepping towards you, “Leave all of that behind, and come back to me.”

“I’m right here, Az.” 

“Are you though?” He questioned softly, “Because I’m not so sure you are.”

You shiver with the memories that keep flooding your head. The sound of his voice as he begged you to be strong, that he would be there soon. 

Breathe, you had to remind yourself. Breathe, you’re free again. You’re home in Valaris, you’re with Azriel, and he would never let anything bad happen to you as long as you’re with him. You knew that in your very bones. But it didn’t make this any easier. 

Little Star?

Rhys’ voice made you jump, forgetting for a moment that you could still speak to one another. It seemed strange having him in your head after so long apart, you hadn’t even noticed the feeling of his mental claws gently stroking your mind. 

I’m okay. I promise Rhys. 

Az doesn’t seem to think so.

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to send a vulgar gesture down the line back to Rhys. Instead you flopped down in a near by chair. 

Az needs to mind his own business for once. 

Go flying with him. Please.

Go tell Feyre she’s your mate, dear brother, and I’ll think about it. 

He retracted from your mind with that. The feeling of him being gone left you feeling utterly empty. You’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone else in your mind, how full you felt. Full of life, full of thought. Full of emotion and oftentimes joy. 

“Don’t rat me out to my brother,” You grumble at Azriel. 

“I’m just worried,” He admits, stepping to sit on the edge of the chair across from you. 

“You have no reason to worry,” You try to convince him, acting as if you’re brushing off some dirt from your shoulder. 

“I think I have every reason,” He said so softly you almost didn’t hear him, “Why won’t you come flying with me?” 

You shake your head again, “If you witnessed what I did that day, you wouldn't want to fly either.”

Her screams echoed in your ears. Terror ripped through your bones again, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You remind yourself again and again that you’re safe, and free, and home. Because this place felt more like a home than the House of Wind ever did.  

“You weren’t there, you couldn’t understand,” You told him quietly. 

“Don’t remind me that I failed you, Y/N.”

“You didn’t fail me.”

“I didn’t make it to you in time,” He replies, “I failed you in that way, and in every way after for the last few hundred years. I gave up on you.”

“Everyone did,” You simply shrugged, “I even gave up. I don’t blame you for what happened that day.”

The sound of mighty wings cut off any reply that Azriel could have, before the door was being shoved open and Cassian came quite literally running inside. His hair was half up in a messy bun, dripping with sweat. His shirt was haphazardly thrown on, like he’d been in the throws of training when someone, probably Rhys, told him to get his ass down to the townhouse. He looked around, chest heaving with every breath. He wasn’t out of shape, no he was far from that. But you’d watched him train before, you knew how hard he worked. And you could imagine he was panicked, just by the look on his face. 

He dropped the broadsword he held in his hand, staggering forward a few steps. You gently stood, not wanting to spook him. But he already looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and maybe he had. Because you certainly felt like a ghost of who you’d once been. A ghost of the person that used to laugh alongside Cassian at everything. 

“Y/N?” His voice broke, “Brother, what kind of trick is this?” He turned his full attention to Azirel, demanding answers. 

Azriel said nothing though, only inclining his head towards you. A silent confirmation. Tears filled the general’s eyes as he looked you over, trying to reconcile the girl he once knew when the women standing before him. 

Your own eyes glossed over as you watched him. He shook slightly, so slightly it could’ve been missed, if you weren't paying so close attention to him. He surged forward, so quickly he was nothing more than a blur of dark hair and wings as he scooped you up in his arms, pulling you from the ground. He held you as tightly as he possibly could, sobs leaving his body. You couldn’t stop your own sobs as they shook your whole body. Clutching onto him, you breathed in his scent. Something distinctly Cassian and the smell of sweat. Truthfully, he reeked and needed a bath. 

“How are you alive?” He cried, not so discreetly, “We helped Rhys bury your body.” 

“No, you didn’t. That’s what they wanted you to think,” You try to explain, “It was Michaa that you buried.” 

“But-” 

“Don’t grill her on this, Cass,” Azriel warned, finally speaking. 

Cassian set you down and held you at arm’s length, finally really looking you over. You’d grown taller since the last time he saw you. He assumed in another life, you would've been fuller too, but you still looked gaunt even after a while away from the spring court. Your hair was longer and darker, much like Rhys’. Your eyes weren’t as bright as they once were, but the light was slowly coming back to them. You were slowly coming back to life. 

“I missed you, Cassi,” You sniffed, knowing how much he hated that nickname when you were children. But you couldn’t say Cassian when you first met him. 

“Cauldron boil me,” He groans out, using the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes, “I never thought I’d hear you call me that again.”

“I need a drink,” He says suddenly, making his way into the kitchen, “Az?” 

“Pour me one too.” Az nods his head, sinking into the chair once more. 

He looked older, and yet just as young as you’d seen him the last time. But with the way he held himself, you could tell that he’d seen many horrors in the hundreds of years that you’d been gone. He’d dealt with too much. 

“Me too,” You agree, sinking into your own chair, feeling the weight pulling you down. 

“You aren’t old enough,” Was Cassian’s quick response. 

You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge, “I’m old enough to fuck, therefore I’m old enough to drink.” 

Both males cringe, eyes going wide, wings flaring. You groan out, realizing what you’d just said. You were sure Rhys had figured it out already, why you smelled so much like Lucien when he saw you on Firenight. Why you still smelled faintly like the male.

“I’ll get it myself,” You push yourself up again and push past Cassian, “Territorial male bastards.” 

Both males follow you into the kitchen as you grab for the decanter tucked on the corner of the counter. The room feels almost too small with both of them and their wings closing in on you. You felt trapped again. 

“Who,exactly, were you fucking?” Azriel asked with cold precision. 

“None of your business, Shadowsinger.” You snap back, downing the knuckles’ worth of alcohol. 

Shadows swirl angrily around you. Some listening to Az, some listening to you. The fought one another, colliding in the middle of the kitchen in a black patch. Cassian’s wings were flared wide muscles tensing. 

“You know I can find out,” Az warns. 

“Can you?” You question, “Because you didn’t even know I was alive for the past few hundred years. How are you supposed to find out anything when you couldn’t even do that?” 

You could physically see the moment the words settled down in him. He jerked back as if you’d hit him, wings suddenly snapping in tight to his body. Even Cassian took a step back. You swallowed, feeling bad for throwing that back in his face. You tried to step towards him, but he only backed out of the doorway and made for the front entrance, slamming the door behind him. You heard the beat of wings a moment later. 

“That was a low blow,” Cass warned you, “Even for you, Y/N.” 

Even for you…because you used to fight with Cass and Rhys, viciously, but never with Az. You never felt the need to fight with him, because he was always on your side. He always seemed to understand you. He knew how far to push you. You, however, pushed him too far this time. 

You could feel yourself sink. Head hung low as you looked at the glass in your hands. You didn’t know how to be around people anymore. It seemed odd, being free again. Being back with your family, even though Rhys and Amren were gone in Summer with Feyre. You longed for Mor, who seemed to have made herself scarce, knowing you’d need time to sort out yourself. You wished she wouldn’t have left you alone with the boys though. You were making a complete mess out of everything.

“ Cass, I-” 

“Don’t apologize to me,” He shook his head, “Find Az and apologize to him. He beat himself up for centuries for not making it to you in time. I seem to think he’ll blame himself until the day he dies.” 

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” You admit to him, so softly you aren’t sure if he hears. 

He’s quiet for a time, so very quiet that you can hardly make out the sound of him breathing, “Do what, Little one?” He finally questions. 

The sound of the name that only he called you, brings tears to your eyes. You curl in on yourself, wrapping your arms around you like a protective barrier. Cassian’s dark eyes softened at the sight, his wings drooping slightly. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you thought of how broken Azriel must feel. It made your chest feel as if it was going to break in two. 

“I don’t know how to live anymore,” You reply, utterly defeated. 

“C’mere,” He opens his arms wide for you, dark eyes shining. You step into his arms, feeling their strength wrap around you. For a moment you feel safe again, like the little girl he once knew, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. We won’t let you down again.” 

“You didn’t let me down the first time,” You promised him, “But I think I might be too broken to fix.”

“No, no one is too broken.”

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[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

We won't ever get it, but I think it would've been cool to see an antagonist/client who hates Edgeworth specifically because of what he did as von Karma's student. Like someone whose loved one -- I want to say 'sister' because AA, but I think it'd be pretty cool if it was their father -- was wrongly convicted and given the death sentence because he silenced witnesses or presented faulty evidence or something similar, and there's no fix to it. The case ends with the truth being revealed and ringing hollow, because they don't want revenge, not really; maybe they just want the verdict overturned, but even that doesn't change anything, because the person is gone, and whatever damage could have been done has been done, and they just have to live with it, all of them. I think it'd be interesting to see how Edgeworth and the people around him handle that confrontation -- the idea that you can change and try to fix your mistakes the best you can, but there are some things you'll never be able to atone for. Not really. And you just have to keep living.

[oliviajdjarin]

Joel Miller: Lies in the Dark

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Summary: Joel realizes two things 1). He's an absolute dick 2). You love him anyway.

Excerpt: "Y/N," he whispered, with enough southern drawl to make you realize how much you had missed that baritone. It warmed you, slithering up your spine so fast it made you dizzy. "How...how do I fix this?"

You looked up at him, at his dark eyes and tanned skin, and said, "return the favor."

It wasn't even five seconds before he had you over his shoulder, down to your living room, and tossed onto the couch. You bounced as you landed, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

Warnings: SMUTTT, oral fem!receiving, Joel eats, reader gets a bit insecure for a second, angst, fear of relationships, kissing, the l word, pretty much just fluffy smut.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: This is technically a part two to Talking Body, but if you would like to read this on its own, you absolutely can do so. Thank you for all the love and requests for a part two. It means a lot to me.

A/N 2: I was also inspired by this song by tove lo for this part, and talking body also by tove lo for the first part of this duology as well :)

p.s. I know absolutely nothing about guns, so if you don't actually have to cock (?) a shot gun, just ignore that detail haha.

Pedro Masterlist

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Joel knew he should not have grinned when the bodies hit the iced-over hill, nor should he have widened that grin when the all-too-familiar sound of the crunch of an infected's skull under his boot echoed across the canyon.

But he needed this. He needed to ruin something, mutilate it, end it.

And yet, even with a dozen bodies in his wake as he road back home, he still could not get the look on your face out of his head, out of his dreams.

Thinking causing more damage would gut you out of him, he brought his horse back to the Jackson stables, gave her an apple and a back rub, and immediately headed home to his axe. He set up his wood accurately, and with one swing, he brought the axe down, cleaving the stump in two.

I've got you, just relax.

Not enough. He brought down his axe over another.

I want to touch you, Joel. More of you.

And another.

All of you.

And another.

I don't want anything from you.

He stripped off his jacket, and chopped another.

I know what you are, Joel. I know who you are.

His shirt went next, leaving him bare, not caring about the single-digit temperature. He chopped another, grunting as he did.

That's why I'm on my knees.

He practically shouted as he chopped another, his knees wobbling, his swing slightly off.

Hi handsome.

He missed his target with another shout, and let the axe slip out of his hands, thoroughly chucking it across the yard. He breathed heavily, his breaths coming out in grunts. He shut his eyes, unable to look down at his hands without feeling the skin on your face, or the softness of your hair between his fingers.

"Keep the whiskey," he whispered to himself, his voice dripping in anger. "Keep the fuckin' whiskey."

That's what he had said to you. The woman who had wiped his tears and stared his mistakes straight on, never once faulting. That's what he had said to you after you let him come down your throat, giving him what had to have been one of the best nights in his life.

"Keep the whiskey," he whispered again, and let his knees finally give out, kneeling in the snow in only his jeans.

What had he done?

~*~

Every night for a week, you waited for him as you always had, and every night, you had gotten your heart punctured by his knife.

He wasn't coming back, you knew it as you watched him leave your house with the taste of him still on your tongue, but you still waited. Beer on your coffee table, blankets on your couch, hope in your heart.

Nothing.

You sighed and took a sip of your beer, internally beating yourself to a pulp. You didn't use to be like this, a proponent of second chances, a forgiving soul. You would clutch onto the ways people hurt you and seer them into your scull, never forgetting the exact ways they made you sting.

But with Joel, things had been different, because he was the exact same way. A distrustful, angry, haunted man, who just wanted someone to talk to without the risk of them holding anything over his head. Without needing anything from him. And that's exactly what you needed too. You thought you just needed each other, not anything from each other, and that's why you were still waiting for him.

You thought he needed you, even if he didn't want you, and some fucked up piece of an unaddressed wound inside of you thought that was enough.

You thought he needed you.

You stood from your seat as you checked your watch, realizing how late it had gotten, and finished off your drink. You stretched as you stood, promising yourself that this was the last night of this pathetic moping. It had been seven days since you had heard even a scuff of his boots, and even if he did need you, he obviously didn't need you as much as you thought.

You deserve better than this, you told yourself, even if you didn't believe it.

You wiped your now watering eyes as you walked to your kitchen to throw out the empty bottle, your mind roaring with insults and abuses towards your very core, and let the bottle fall on top of the dozen others.

You thought he needed you.

You headed back to your living room to fold up your blankets, unable to touch the beer you had left for him, when a crunch of snow came through your window.

You barely noticed it, until another matched it, and another, and another. They were rushed, frantic, like the body attached to them was sprinting.

Your own body froze. If an infected had made it this far into Jackson, you were fucked. Everyone was fucked.

Your body went on autopilot, ignoring the tears now dripping down the center of your throat. You grabbed the shotgun by your front door and cocked it, preparing yourself.

If there was one now, more would be on the way.

The steps slowed down as they reached your door, and pants loud enough to breech through the wood hit your ears. Your stance stayed strong.

Until the two-one-one knock echoed, your throat lodged, and your hands began to shake.

"It's open," you said, cursing your crackling voice, but still aiming your gun.

If this was who you thought it was, maybe opening fire would hurt less.

The hinges of the doorframe squeaked; the wood creaked as the door slowly opened, and those same brown eyes you had been falling asleep to met your own.

Another tear dripped down your cheek, and as his eyes widened at the weapon in your hand, his hands went above his head.

But your gazes remained locked.

After a few beats of him catching his breath, you lowered your gun, letting your arms fall slack in defeat. His hands remained above his head as you let it fall to the floor.

His knife had officially ripped you open.

"Y/N," he finally whispered, his hands still above his head, your eyes still leaking.

"What?" you responded harshly.

He swallowed, lowered his arms, and sucked in a shaky breath before saying, "I'm such a dick."

A few beats of silence passed before you fully processed what he had said; the tone in which he said it, the glowing emotions in his eyes, his hands previously up in surrender, his panting breaths from his sprint over to you, and the disheveled look of him.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

Joel Miller was fucking scared.

"Yeah, Joel," you said as you laughed, more tears leaking from your eyes, "you are a dick."

He smiled, almost in disbelief, but still managed to smile big enough to show his teeth.

Maybe you were weak, maybe you were stupid, maybe you deserved for him to leave you again, because he hurt you. He hurt you for seven days straight, practically gutted you from the inside out and left your organs on a clothesline to dry...

... but you forgave him anyway. Right in that moment. Because he knew he was wrong, and he ran to you in the middle of the night to show that to you.

And above all, you forgave him because you were scared too.

You could tell he was catching on to your train of thought as he stepped in the door and shut it, locking it behind him. You swallowed as he turned to you, smelling a mix of frost and smoke emulating off of him, and he took one step closer to you.

"Y/N," he whispered, with enough southern drawl to make you realize how much you had missed that baritone. It warmed you, slithering up your spine so fast it made you dizzy. "How...how do I fix this?"

You looked up at him, at his dark eyes and tanned skin, and said, "return the favor."

It wasn't even five seconds before he had you over his shoulder, down to your living room, and tossed onto the couch. You bounced as you landed, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

He quickly laid down on his back, filing up the remainder of the couch, and sighed contently. He made himself comfortable before laying his head down flat on the cushions and patting his shoulders.

"Take a seat," he said cockily, and your mouth fell open.

"You're -" you began, suddenly unable to speak, "you're serious?"

"So fuckin' serious," he replied, "you don't think I just had dreams of you pleasin' me, do ya darlin'?"

Maybe you were the one dreaming.

Before you had the chance to wake up, you quickly stood and started unzipping your jeans, dispensing them to the floor. Your socks and underwear quickly followed. Joel admired you as you did so, resting his hands behind his head.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"It ain't even funny."

You pulled off your left sock, leaving you completely bare from the waist down, and walked to him. You threw your right leg over his waist and sat on his crotch, making him grown.

"No shoes on the furniture," you said, pushing his feet of the grey cushions, "watch your boots, Miller."

"You're right," he said breathlessly, obviously trying to hide how affected he was by the feeling of your warmth on his buldge, "now come 'ere."

You took in a shaky breath as you crawled up his body, the realization of what was about to happen slowly beginning to hit you. You made it halfway up when he halted you, holding your face in his hands.

"We can stop," he said, "now, ten minutes from now, never. You're in control, just let me know."

You nodded, his irises revealing only honestly, and you swallowed. "I'm ready."

He grinned and sat back, ready for you too.

You finished your climb and held onto both the armrest and the back of the couch, hovering over his mouth. His hot breaths on your pulsing core nearly made you whine and your thighs shake, but you remained firm.

"Joel, are you sure you want to -"

He didn't hesitate to pull you down, put your entire body weight on his mouth, and kiss and lick you like it was his final night alive.

It may as well have been yours with how quickly you began to unravel.

He kept his hands on your thighs as he gorged, keeping you so close to him you had no choice but to feel every taste bud on his tongue, puff of breath, and follicle of his scruff scrape upon you in the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

It was nirvana, Zion, Elysium, whatever fucking afterlife you wanted to believe in, all of it was between your thighs.

He started slow, kissing and licking, but soon found your hole, and kissed you there, then nudged your clit, and kissed you there, then around your thighs, squeezing your ass, and over and over and over again he would repeat the process.

You couldn't help the mewling noises coming from your mouth, and the sweat dripping down your back.

You were on fire.

Through the roaring in your head, you could make out that Joel eventually started saying words, maybe even sentences. You could only make out fragments.

"I'm - sorry - scared - you - fuck - taste - heaven - dreamed - scared - so scared -"

"I know Joel," you groaned, beginning to rock forward into his tongue, riding it. "I know you were, it's - shit - it's okay."

"No," he replied, and you tugged him back into your core by his hair, still rubbing down, caring his tongue into you. "Gonna - never gonna leave - leave again."

You smiled, sweat plastered across your upper lip, hair frizzing, eyes blown wide, "okay."

And he somehow ate you out harder.

It was becoming too much - his tongue around your hole, his nose against your clit, his fucking fingers squeezing down on your thighs, the noises of it all. You finally gathered enough strength to tilt your head down, only to be met with the sight that undid you.

Joel's face plastered with you - only you - and his eyes firmly locked on your face, while his tongue and mouth swirled around the most intimate part of you.

And it was with that last look that you couldn't help it - you came, hard, gripping onto his hair so tight it had to have hurt him.

But he took it anyway, and never slowed down.

You may have come again. You didn't know. All you knew was that he was relentless, a man starved, and through your whines and cries, you finally mustered up the words, "That's good. I'm done."

He could have gone longer, much longer, and maybe one night he would, but not tonight. He simply licked you clean and kissed your core goodbye, it was so sensitive you flinched and groaned one last time, and lifted you back down to sit on his waist.

You expected him to pull away, sit you on the couch, maybe offer to get you a drink, but he didn't.

His mouth wasn't done yet.

He set you down comfortably before attaching his still soaked mouth and facial hair to your pulse point, and your eyes shut immediately, tears of pleasure finally making their escape.

"Joel," you whined, "that - feels really good."

He hummed and sucked harder, likely leaving a hickey or two, but you only pulled him closer. He smelled of sweat and cinnamon, his warmth and his weight wrapped around you immersing you in nothing but comfort.

His mouth on your neck was bliss, but the feeling of him surrounding you was euphoria. He had comforted you with his words plenty of times, but having it from his body was almost impossible to bare. Something that had been uncontrollable and unpredictable in you finally settled, and you let it.

You wondered if it was your love for him.

After making his way to the other side of your neck, Joel began to move his fingers underneath your shirt. Not enough to meet anymore skin than just underneath your belly button, but enough to give you chills.

You knew what he wanted.

"Go ahead," you whispered, pulling his head away from your collarbone, "but only if I see you too."

With one look at him you could see that his mouth was red and swollen, his hair was frizzed, and his eyes were even darker than the last time you had seen him this way. You weren't even sure he understood what you said he looked so drunk off your body, but he nodded eventually. You ran your thumb across his cheek.

It's just me, the motion said, don't be afraid.

You didn't think it worked, but he removed his shirt anyway, and you removed your own.

You were met with a body of scars and moles, scabs and skin, and countless stories. You recalled them all from previous nights of talking- the scar across his chest from the first infected he killed, a scab forming on the right side of his torso from last week's new horse that bucked him off, and a bruise on his forearm. It was a dark shade of purple, meaning it was new.

You traced it, "what's this from?"

His eyes stayed glued to your torso. "I gotta - gotta bit carried away splittin' wood earlier."

You looked into his eyes and giggled, "Is that the yell I heard?"

He scoffed, still scanning your body with his eyes, "Probably."

You continued to laugh and brought your finger up his forearm to his bicep, rubbing your fingers over the pronounced muscle, and continued over his collarbone. You then brought your hand over the expanse of his chest, enjoying how your hand spread as wide as it could go was still no match for the expanse of it, before tracing down his stomach, finally able to feel the soft happy trail you had been drooling over in your sleep. His abdomen tightened as you felt all the way down, and all the way back up.

Your eyes were so soaked with him that you hadn't even noticed his hands beginning to run down your own body, suddenly making you sweat. His fingers went up your back and over your shoulders, his calloused palms against your soft skin sending shivers down your spine, before delicately running them over your breasts, treating them like they were prone to pop.

"You can touch me," you said sweetly, and he felt you up faster, thoroughly, and completely. He had to have touched every inch of you, and you let him.

After a few moments of memorizing his skin and internally recalling the stories each speck of it told, you looked back up at him, only to find a different look on his face. One of longing, yet present.

Like he wanted more from you, right now.

He brought his right hand behind your neck and his left up to your cheek to frame your face. Your eyes shut and your vocal cords hummed at the feeling of his hands, having done so much damage, sliding over the skin of your neck and face like that of a priceless jewel.

Your eyes fluttered back open to find his mouth inching closer to yours, enough for his breath to fan over your lips. His eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for you to pull away or stop him, but you only smiled, and pulled him the rest of the way into the kiss.

You remembered how you felt when he begged you with his eyes for this seven days ago, and now, with his lips meeting your own, you wondered why you ever had a shred of doubt in the first place, because if you thought Joel could give head well, it was nothing compared to the way he kissed.

He moved you with his mouth, painting and sketching upon you with his tongue like an artist with their brush. He didn't start slow, he moved with a fever, tilting your head back slightly to gain as much access as he could, maintaining his grip on your face the entire time. It was indescribable how much you were saying to each other through glides over tongues and bites on lips. The darkness surrounding you held no more lies, no more fear. Only this, only you.

You nipped at his lip a little harder after one particularly good stroke of his tongue inside your mouth, causing him to pull away from you and smile before bringing you back in for more, and you knew that image of him so rawfully joyful would never leave you.

You kissed and felt each other for some time, so long the street lights of Jackson had long since gone out, and with one last firm kiss to your lips, Joel pulled away, a trail of split connecting the two of you. It was symbolic, you thought, of how little your bodies wanted to separate. It was like your lips were holding on, not wanting it to end either.

You both smiled at the feeling.

He set his forehead against yours with a satisfied sigh and ran his palms up and down your back, causing you to hum once more. He pressed kisses around your lips and cheeks, ending on your hairline.

You'd have to ask him about his symptoms of oral fixation later.

He pressed his forehead against your own once more and breathed deeply, basking in the silence. You basked in it as well, closing your eyes. You were tempted to let yourself fall into slumber in his arms when his gruff voice suddenly filled the air.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I think I love you."

Your eyes immediately opened, connecting with his, and you noticed the tears beginning to dribble down into his beard. Your eyes instantly filled at the sight of his own filled ones, and you wiped them away with your thumb, feeling no fear as you replied.

"I think I love you too."

Maybe you did need each other after all.

Tag list: (please let me know if you would like to be added!)

@leahkenobi​  @untitledarea​ @avengersfan25 @lexloon​ @aninnai​ @darling-murdock​  @daphne-turner​ @ellesvoid @morks-watermelon @notmyideia @farintonorth @axshadows @biggestsimponhere @thepascalofus @paleidiot @projectionistwrites

[stanfordsweater]

happy wincest wednesday to you and yours!! if you had to point to one single canon scene that exemplifies why wincest is so powerful and engaging and worth thinking about as much as we all clearly think about it, which scene would you pick?

AWWW YESSSS, DO I EVER

okay so of course i could take the easy route and point to any scene in the first 3-4 seasons, because i have at least one moment in every episode from that era. HOWEVER. there is one that i believe trumps them all, and that moment is [pause for drumroll]

i don’t think this will be a controversial choice 😅 still, there’s a reason that this scene is at the top of a lot of people’s lists, and that’s because of what a great job it does to bring together a ton of threads from the previous episodes and lay them all plain, while also giving us one of dean’s Iconic Moments of Vulnerability™️ AND being a great example of how to write conflicting character motivations between two people who love each other. sam and dean are both heartbroken in this scene, but they’re both sticking to what they want.

one thing i find really interesting about it is how sam, the optimist, starts talking about “getting back to real life” to cheer dean up, as a way to get them both battle-ready and distract them from the possibility of dying in the next few hours. what’s always really drawn me to sam and dean is the way that their intrinsic motivations get in the way of them having a smooth relationship-- that conflict is catnip to me, and it’s something we get a TON of in season one. sam brings up what comes next because he’s genuinely trying to calm dean, but in doing so he brings up his worst nightmare because he doesn’t know!!! he doesn’t know!!! we don’t even explicitly know that sam leaving for stanford was dean’s worst night of his life until dark side of the moon, although he makes it pretty obvious in this scene. then we have dean revealing the only thing he wants for himself, which is having his family together. (and i find it really interesting how sam’s silhouette cleaves the sentence in half, placing “you, and me” separately from “and dad.”) you can see on sam’s face how much he wants dean to let himself have one thing when he asks him what it is, but dean’s only wish here is sam’s worst nightmare-- to be trapped in this life forever, stuck following john’s orders, and seeing them die violent and bloody.

i also love how this scene carries on sam’s theme of committing himself to dean while still chafing against him (”you’re my brother, and i’d die for you, but some things i need to keep to myself.” “dean, that guy was probably gonna die anyway.” “i’d do anything for you, but things will never be the way they were before.”) it’s laying the groundwork for the next [checks calendar] LITERALLY 14 SEASONS. this theme just keeps coming up, and every time it does it comes in a different form. it’s so clear even just from this scene how much sam would do for dean and how little he can conceive of a life together-- flash forward to season nine and you have sam who can only conceive of a life with dean and can’t handle the things they’ll do for each other. mmmmm.

THEN we have sam’s face after dean’s done flaying himself open, and that mix of love and pity and misery is fodder for thousands of fics. the way dean’s eye twitches right before he says “could be.” the weird undercurrent of desperation that shouldn’t be present in a conversation between two brothers about living with their father forever. the way dean can’t even look at sam while he’s explaining himself. sam’s rock solid response, knowing what it will do to dean and knowing it needs to be said. U G H

fantastic. 10/10. i wish i had been on livejournal the night this episode dropped. i hope everyone involved got a million dollars for this.

[heliotrope-journey]

Darkness Continues to Loom After All Saints' Day

Good evening, vampire hunters.

The boys' hike to Baudelaire City in the twilight takes them through the alluring ruins where Frederick and Eforie found Clément looking around for scrolls in their childhoods. Our heroes were fortunate back then, but with only the full moon to illuminate the night sky, Frederick and his confidante, Sidiyq Qadim, must be ready to knock down any bat that lunges at them. Even the blink of an eye can leave an unsuspecting traveler with a bite mark on their neck. Many bites from vampire bats do not cause vampirism, but since they are under direct orders from Dracula to bequeath this curse to Frederick, it's hard to tell if the silhouette of a bat is a harmless. It's best for Stellaluna to say clear of their path for tonight. *shudders.*

Now fast-forward to Treyton's era and he's still dealing with the three solomonari-in-training vying to take Vlad the Impaler's place as the Dark Lord. He and his new friends have nearly lost the Philosopher's Stone to Hedi in last year's chapter. She is close to claiming it from the restrained Treyton and the vacant position will soon be hers. The boy's quiet defiance will not save him, but at this point, what can? Will this be the beginning of a new Dark Age? Read this year's chapter to find out. Photo by Jaakko Kemppainen on Unsplash.

Index of Treyton's All Saints' Day Quest for Readers That Aren't Caught Up;

Chapter 1 (2020), Chapter 2 (2021), Chapter 3 (2022)

Treyton swung his sword at three cherubs charging at him. The impact caused them to fly backwards and break in half upon colliding with a column. “Three less to worry about.” He turns around to see six more coming toward him. He throws an energy sphere at one and slices another three in half with his sword, though the remaining two dodged his attacks. Treyton aims his sword at them and takes a step back. Before he could strike, a third cherub grabbed his shirt from behind him. Treyton scarcely had time to react. The other two grabbed his arms immediately, delighting Hedi. “You made a bold mistake thinking you could survive that swarm and not break a sweat.” She approached him and pointed her dagger at his chest. “Last chance to fork over the stone before your bones turn to ashes.” Fearful for his life yet refusing to surrender, Treyton closed his eyes and said nothing. “So this is how it will end.” Hedi crossed her arms. “A starving boy too weak to continue. It’d be kind of me to leave you here for dead, but I wouldn’t have my stone.” She raises her dagger toward Treyton’s heart, but before she could stab him, brown, withered-colored vines materialized from the floor, tangling her up. A teenage girl with spiky hair and a purple pinafore dress dashed toward Treyton and sliced the cherubs restraining him in half. She helped the boy off the floor, gave Hedi a defiant glare, and enchanted the vines to cover her eyes. The girl quickly escorted Treyton back into the hallway. Hedi’s muffled screams filled the room as she struggled to cleave the vines from her body.

“The boys you were with ran into that room.” The purple-clothed girl told Treyton.  “We can hide in here.” “We didn’t defeat her, though.” He sounded confused. “We can’t walk away until we kill our enemy.” “Slaying a novice solomonari is not as simple as it looks for an average vampire hunter.” The girl responded. “Catching her off-guard gave us a head start to flee. It didn’t guarantee your victory.” Treyton looked away from her and walked toward the door. The girl opened it for him, but without a word, he stepped inside the room. She followed him before closing the door behind her. Treyton was greeted by Mitica drinking from a golden chalice. Miron put his hand on his shoulder as if to comfort him from something painful. “What are you guys drinking?” Treyton looked cross. “Am I interrupting something?” Miron looked guilt-ridden while Mitica walked toward Treyton and gave him a long hug. “It’s just a Roy Rogers, kiddo.” He smiled. “I’m okay, but I’m glad you’re safe too. We thought that the witch killed you.” “So you decided to drink flavored soda from a fancy cup to numb the fact you’d miss me?” Treyton raised an eyebrow and lightly chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much.” Mitica smiled back at him. “That was the only cup I could find in the room. Treyton’s smile widened and pats his back. The embrace was interrupted by the sound of the purple-clothed girl locking the door.

“I’m sorry for coming out of the blue like this.” She said. “I couldn’t bear to see the solomonari-in-training shove her blade deep into the redhead boy’s heart.” “We were fine before.” Treyton gruffed. “Turning the cherubs into rubble is good exercise for me.” “I sure am glad one of us had fun in that chamber.” Mitica panted. “We should’ve known the solomonari would beat us to that chamber.” The purple-clothed hair girl tightened the lock and muttered a sentence in Enochian that caused it to vanish. The boys pointed their weapons at her, assuming she had trapped them in the altar room. “You’re alright.” She assured them. “I bought us time. A locked door will draw suspicion.” “Then I assume you know the way out.” Treyton curtly responded. “You aren’t lying, young man.” The purple-clothed girl took out a mahogany-colored pouch and approached the boys. “I’ve been exploring this chapel every opportunity I could get for centuries. But before I show you, you’ll need your strength should that wench and her schoolmates show their faces once more.” She held out her palm and shook her pouch. Three pieces of candy wrapped in red and yellow-striped paper fell into her hand. “Like one?” “I can’t eat sweets.” Miron solemnly told the girl. “The sugar might weaken my senses.” “I understand your discomfort. Don’t worry.” She handed the young vampire a piece. “They’re made with human blood. The taste is not ideal even for me, but some of us learn to make the best out of anything we can get our hands on.” She awkwardly smiles as Miron sucks on the piece. He slightly smiles back at her, but Treyton and Mitica made faces when they tasted theirs. Treyton was particularly disgusted by the taste. The girl lets out a relieved sigh. “That went well…” She mutters.

“Say, your manners are lacking.” Treyton continued making faces as he sucked on his piece. “You never told us your name.” “I can argue the same about your gratitude. You didn’t say thank you, but I’ll bite.” The girl frowns. “I’m Amanda, a harvest witch and candy extraordinaire. I can brew batches of chocolate that can give an eccentric top-hatted entrepreneur a run for his money. I can build a house to reel in unsuspecting kids like a drunkard hunter to a mug of beer. I can flavor cakes with herbs to change small children into animals to give them a better life. I have a lot of time on my hands, but the targets on your back have cut it short this year. You’re carrying a dangerous object that made these kids see fit to stalk you. Would you care to tell me why?” “The elixir of life curbs my friend’s blood lust without turning on an innocent life.” Mitica answered. “I keep a philosopher’s stone with me so I can keep brewing him that potion. He keeps his paranormal abilities without succumbing to his bestial urges.” “I’m surprised the elixir provides your vampiric companion that benefit.” Amanda examines the votive holders on the altar. “It’s only supposed to work on creatures that are still alive.” “At least, I don’t look like some skeletal-looking old man like mortals that abuse the elixir do.” Miron swallowed his piece. “To a creature of the night, it works just like ambrosia.” “How often would you need to drink it compared to a mortal?” Amanda takes a tall candle and shakes her head before putting it back. “Dusty old men need to drink it eight times a day.” Miron approached her. “If I’m not exposed to the sun, I need it just once a week.” “Anything to delay Azrael for another hour.” Amanda replied dismissively and took another candle.

Treyton looked at her curiously and approached her. “Do you rely on the elixir yourself?” He brashly asked her. “You’re young enough to be my older sister and you implied you know every nook and cranny of the chapel after centuries of looking around. Why aren’t you a walking skeleton?” Amanda looked more annoyed at Treyton than she did when she handed him his candy. “If you’re going to be a son of a bitch to me, I won’t save your skin next time the solomonaris-in-training have you at their mercy.” She glanced at him. “I didn’t have to get involved! I care about people and the world. I’m only allowed one month a year up here and this is how you tell me you’re grateful? It’s like you were raised by priests.” She turned back around and put the candle back. Treyton got up, but Mitica put his hand on his chest to indicate that he said enough. “If you’re the only one that can help us, we’ll keep him from doing and saying anything brash.” He told Amanda. She closed her eyes, put the candle back, and took one at the top to examine it. “I have little patience to dwell on it, kid.” She touched the flame with her top finger. “The solomonaris-in-training will exploit these heated emotions when they get the chance to divide us. Anyone that worships the Dark Lord can understand that once they know what breaks us, they can use that piece to make us do anything they ask.” Amanda shakes her head and puts the candle back. “Some vampire hunters work alone to curb their worldly attachments. Without a heart, they can slay creatures of the night more effectively.” “Okay, we know you’ve been through something horrible.” Miron sounded uncomfortable at the thought of being alone. “We won’t pry, but know we’re with you for the remainder of the time you have left for the year.” He approached Amanda and looked at the votive holders himself. “Thank you.” She said with a hint of hurt in her tone.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Treyton groaned. “Forget I said anything.” “It doesn’t work that way, but it’s whatever.” Amanda took a candle in a votive holder on her left. Treyton breathed his nose and sat on a broken column. “I just want to know what you’re doing here now.”

“I came to Teodosie to replenish my supply of ingredients to make more pieces of that blood-flavored candy, but when I left the farmer’s market, I saw the students chasing the two of you and I wondered why they were permitted to leave the school before their graduation.” Amanda takes an orange-colored candle from a votive holder. “I followed you without becoming a target myself, but since I intervened, that’s no longer possible. They’re going to hunt for me too and request Satan to revoke my stay here.” “So why is our predicament with the Solomonaris your business?” Mitica asks Amanda as he holds his hand out for another piece. “If it’s true that the Veiled Nocturne is actively looking for new leaders,” she answers. “It could mean they’re preparing for war. The Philosopher’s Stone will make whoever wields it impervious to old age and disease.” “We could still kill them, though.” Treyton clenched his fists. “Immortal or not, I’ll be the one to deliver it.” Amanda looks at him solemnly and then at the sorcerer’s stone in Mitica’s possession. “It’s true that the elixir does not grant its drinker invincibility and their bodies physically weaken as they age. Even if you send the students to hell, the Scholomance will select more candidates.” She sighed. “You will be hunted for life as long as the Philosopher’s Stone is in your possession. Crushing it to dust will ensure your safety.” “No, we can’t do that!” Mitica shouted. “Without the stone, my friend will turn into a bloodthirsty killer and I would only be prey to him.” Miron continues to look and feel uncomfortable. He takes a candle from the holder in a tight space that touched the wall and everyone heard the noise of bricks crumbling. “What is happening!?” Amanda panicked. “They’re closing in! We got to find a chest to hide in!!!” She gets inside a wooden trunk with the boys. Treyton, however, stands still. He watches as the wall behind the altar fell apart and pile up on the floor. The hole it made revealed a long, dark hallway glistened by dark blue crystal chandeliers that hang from the ceiling.

“We won’t have to hide.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “I think it might be a way out.” “Do you recognize this tunnel, Amanda?” Miron asked her when he stepped out of the trunk. “Do you trust it?” She closed her eyes and nodded. “I was looking for the candle needed to open it so yes.” She finally answered. “It will bring us to a fjord six miles from Teodosie. I can’t guarantee we can avoid the solomonaris-in-training when or if we reach the end, but they will have to return to the school. They can’t chase us continuously.” “Why do I get the feeling they won’t be the only danger we’ll be facing?” Treyton takes a candle from the votive holder to provide him with additional light. “You won’t be wrong, kid.” Amanda cautioned him. Two glowing armblades comprised of vines materialize from her back hands. “If you still have your sword, now would be a good time to arm yourself.” Treyton nodded and pulled out his sword. “These crystals contain an abundance of self-sustaining light magic. These will be useful if we encounter the solomonaris-in-training again. Why don’t you collect a few to enhance your sword?” “There won’t be much of that light if I take them from the chandeliers.” Treyton said. “I’ll have better luck searching the chests and the Beleuchten Drones.” “The mention of the presence of drones in the hallway is interesting.” Amanda softly smiled. “They have a tendency to blend in with the crystals in the chandeliers. I’d try looking up every minute. Drones are highly aggressive elementals that will attack the if you’re anywhere near them. Hesitate and you’ll go blind.” Treyton chuckled and looked at Amanda. “Don’t worry, my eyes will be just fine.” He smiled as well. “I just noticed your manners are lacking too.” Amanda walked ahead. “You never told me your name after I told you mine.” “It’s Treyton.” He followed her. “Is all forgiven between us?” “I’ll let you know when you get there.” Amanda turned around. “You didn’t think that your promise to take my advice will absolve you from calling me a walking skeleton, do you?” “We’ll be leaving two of them behind.” Treyton sighed through his nose. “Remember one of them has the Philosopher’s Stone.” Amanda noticed that only Miron was rushing toward her and Treyton when they stepped into the hallway. “Is your friend coming along?” She asked him. “He’s feeling a bit chilly so I took a moment to search for a drape in one of the trunks.” “You’re a good vampire.” Amanda reassured him. “And don’t feel bad about him calling you a bloodthirsty killer. I’ve known quite a few that retained their humanities without the stone.” “It’s not that I’m worried about, but it’s best not to think about it now.” Miron looked toward Mitica. “The solomonari bitch might have heard the bricks falling. I can’t wait any longer.” “That’s good to hear, Miron.” Treyton shrugged with a smile. “We were just about to explore that hallway. Come on.” Miron followed him and Amanda down the hallway. Mitica shivered and covered his body in the drape Miron handed him. He touched the back of his hand to warm his hand up for a bit and proceed to follow his friends down the hallway. Newly craved bricks materialized from the ground and covered the hole. The altar room was empty once more.

Thank you for playing the games and supporting the series as always. We'll be back later this week for a Thanksgiving update. :)

Sincerely,

WN

[acotar-fanns]

A Court of Thorns and Roses Mini Fic

this is how I imagine the batboys eating together everyday before UTM happened.

Summary: Set before A court of thorns and roses and UTM. Rhys struggles with the idea of a someday mate and has breakfast with 2 Illyrian warriors.

I think about it more than I should. I wonder what life would be like, if I ever found my mate. Would she want a traditional mating ceremony? Or just friends and family? Would she like the company I keep? Would she even want to be mated to me?

I always have said, even from a young age, that whether she be my wife,mate, or both, she would be High Lady if I was to become the heir. My father never liked the idea, said it has always been consort, said that it was what our ancestors chose, so it would remain that way. I never had an argument to hold against that, so I buried that notion deep, contending against my father was a death sentence. Everyone in Prythian knew that, knew what happened when they messed with the High Lord of the Night Court.

Now I am the High Lord, and especially since my father is not here to object, there will be a High Lady, if she is ok with the responsibilities that will come with the title.

I get these visions sometimes, not even really visions, just fragments of an image. At first I thought it was of Velaris, the stars that so closely resembled the stars I see every night before sleep. But the closer I looked, I noticed they looked less like a picture of the stars, but a painting of them. I see slender and practiced hands, painting on to a canvas with simple paints, each stroke of the brush a deep breath out as I continue to watch through my mind.

Other times I see a beautiful woodland, one that looks nothing like the woods I have seen in Prythain. It’s got this quality about it, something I can’t explain. I’m almost drawn to it.

I wonder if she is from Prythian,or Hybern, or any sister continent. A part of me knows none of these are true. Where else could she be? I know the answer:

𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌.

But a Human and Fae? That hasn’t happened for years. A Hybern solider, in the War fell in love with its opposing human leader. Jurian betrayed Clythia, as all Fae knew he would,humans were not to be trusted. After Clythia was killed, her sister Amarantha, was furious. She killed Jurian and all his human army, but kept his eye and finger, wears it as a ring, so he may live on, inside that ring, forever watching the Fae he hates.

Their story is one that is told to all Fae youth, a story to remind our kids that humans are to not be trusted, all are vermin. But what if my mate is human? Could I move past it? Could she move past her quarells with us?

“Dreaming of a girl, Rhys?” My brothers voice pulls me from thought.

“Nah, dreaming of all the ways I’m going to destroy you tomorrow.” I quip back. Tomorrow marks our annual snowball fight at my mothers cabin in Windhaven. Something we started as kids and have continued yearly. Azriel has been the reigning champion for 10 years but Cassian and I have been plotting our victory for nearly 8 months now.

“You know I always win,” Az responds, no doubt planning our collective demise.

“Don’t be so cocky brother. After all, that is what lost Rhysie here his victory 11 years ago.” Cassian entered the dining room, plate full of breakfast from all over Prythian, his new favorite way to start the day. Aside from admiring himself in the mirror that is.

These guys sitting to the right and left of me are the most feared Illyrians in history. These guys who have to wear seven Siphons each just to contain the power they hold, the guys who have saved my life on more than on occasion. These guys, —and Mor, who could forget her?— are my family. They will never be able to be replaced, ever. I would cleave this world in two before I allowed anything to harm them.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Az chuckles, “ I don’t plan on developing a boulder sized ego,” A look in my direction from both.

Cassian throws his head back in a laugh only Cass could ever replicate. The laughter is contagious, as always. The three of us sound a chorus of laughter that I’m certain bubbles all the way up to the Mother.

“Haha.Very Funny.” I said, feigning annoyance at my brothers words. Cass only sat down, still giggling like a toddler, grinning ear to ear. You would never know the Illyrian brutes often seen in public even have a funny bone in their body. We have all been taught the mask. The one we wear in throne rooms and stores. The one that is cold, unfeeling. The one everybody else expects us to wear. The Night Court. Court of Nightmares. The two are synonymous to everybody not in Velaris. For Velaris. Its safety. That is the only thing that matters.

Smirking, I leave Cass to his meal made for three horses. Az already left, no doubt checking in on the Illyrian armies for me. I never have to ask him, he just does it. I would never blame him if he never wanted to set foot in an Illyrian territory again. Cauldron knows he has suffered to much at those camps.

Shaking my head and letting my wings out to play, I leave the House of Wind and soar over this city that so unexpectedly became mine to rule.

[peterlorres21stcentury]

a tiny little preview, as I have in fact been doing something other than being lazy

“Directors are supposed to be arrogant men with monocles, and they order you about and shout all the time and, uh—” She stopped short of suggesting the disciplinary use of a riding crop. “Well, that sort of thing. Right?”

He smiled. “Is that what you want from me?”

“No, not really.” She waved the idea away, laughing at herself. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“Well, some directors are like that,” he said, leaning back into the cushions. He laughed. “A monocle, that’s funny. I know someone just like that. The blind bastard.”

A memory flickered to life of a long-ago night that shone with streetlight and fire, a night that held its icy breath in the heart of a Berlin winter, and a harsh cinematic horror that kept its grip on her even in the spring.

“Oh. N-not—!” she stuttered. In her haste, her tongue cleaved to her palate with the “L” sound while at the same time her lips framed the title “M,” but she wasn’t able, or indeed willing, to spit out the director’s name.

“Not Lang?” Peter finished for her. He smiled and inclined his head. “Yes, that one. That Lang. The man’s a genius… and a crueler son of a bitch you will never meet in your life.”

He paused to breathe deep from his cigarette and spent a moment staring through the haze of smoke, years into the past.

“You know he wanted me to come back again?” he went on. “He thought he could make another film with me. Said we could really make something great, just like the old days.” A hint of a scowl crossed his face. “And you know what I told him? I said he could forget it. You can only push a man down the stairs so many times.”

“Ohh.” Renate’s heart sank. “Did he really do that to you? I hoped it was a just a story.”

“No, it’s true. And it hurt,” he admitted. He pointed his cigarette at her, leaving an impermanent tracery of smoke on the air like an ethereal painter’s brush between two fingers. “But you know? I’m glad he talked to me again. It made me realize something. I promised myself that one day, if I was ever in his place, I would never treat anyone so cruel. Not once.” He took another drag with the secretive, self-satisfied smile of a little cat. “Well. Through some terrible twist of fate, now it would seem I really am in his place. What do you think? Have I kept my promise?”

[witchofthescions]

It was a trap.

Thancred was the first to notice something seemed strange. "The Amalj'aa would never leave this place so poorly guarded."

The Warriors of Darkness had lured them into a trap, having apparently decided it would be faster to just kill Erna herself instead of wasting time with primals.

“One life for one world. A fair exchange, wouldn't you agree?”

Is that really what it’s come to? Would any of this really save what’s left of the Warriors’ home…?

Erna didn’t have much time to think about that particular question as the fight began in earnest. She was still kicking herself for failing to recognize Urianger despite him walking around without a hood. She was just thankful that he wasn’t actually a traitor at least, though a part of her still questioned what his end goal really was. Why did he team up with the Warriors of Darkness, only to stab them in the back at such a critical moment? Yet another question that the current circumstances left her little time to ponder.

It became very apparent very quickly that there was something of a bias to both sides’ combat leanings, and the Warriors of Darkness arguably had the advantage. Of the seven on Erna’s side, only two did not rely on magic to fight. Of the six on the Warriors’ side, there were only two who did. And as it turns out, those who can swing a weapon have something of an advantage over those who need time to cast spells.

Especially when one such weapon swinger has decided to make it his mission to harry the summoner so she can’t add her power to her friend’s spell. It’s really hard to concentrate when you have a warrior trying to cleave you in half with his axe, after all.

“Can someone get this man off my ass?!” Erna yelled as she leaned out of the way of his swing.

“I’d love to,” Thancred called back, ducking under the knight’s swing, “but I fear I’m a little preoccupied myself.”

Cress trained his gun on the miqo’te with the greatsword, firing a shot as he wound up for a big swing. The bullet hit the blade and knocked the swordsman off balance just enough for his swing to miss Thancred. Without missing a beat, Thancred took advantage of the swordsman’s disorientation and swept his legs out from under him, using his momentum to send him crashing face first into the ground. Before he had a chance to finish him off, however, the knight stepped in and shielded the fallen miqo’te.

“Oh no you don't!”

He forced Thancred to back away as the Miqo’te got to his feet and collected his blade. The miqo'te rushed the viera, clearly intent on finishing him before he could line up another shot. Of course, considering he had the advantage of range, this would be easier said than done.

“Hurry! We must finish them before their mage completes that spell!” Alphinaud shouted.

“I’d love to, if the damn warrior would let me get close to Alisaie!”

Lenar’s sapphire carbuncle scanned the field, letting him take stock of the chaos. With a sigh he called out, “Alphinaud, take over the healing for a moment.”

Alphinaud shot the scholar a bewildered look. “Wh-What?”

Lenar shut his codex, lined up a shot… and tossed the book right at the enemy warrior’s head. It smacked right into him, knocking him off balance. He turned just in time to see Lenar draw his sword and charge. He barely had time to raise his axe to block before the elezen was upon him. But once he engaged, the warrior quickly realized he was stuck on the defensive. The scholar's moves were quick and difficult to predict. He hadn't expected the book-wielding mage to be so capable in close combat.

Erna stared at the spectacle of Lenar the healer going for the throat both literally and metaphorically, momentarily thrown for a loop. She had only ever seen Lenar fight so viciously against dragons. And never with a sword. To see him fight so skillfully, and even gain the upper hand against someone clearly more experienced in close combat was a sight she never expected to see.

But her distraction was only temporary. She ran over to Alisaie and offered up what aether she could spare.

[wispisstillverybored67]

La Follia D'Amore

GAME OVER

SORBET HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY

TIME FOR THE PUNISHMENT!

YOU TOO, GELATO!

Out of all the things I've stumbled upon...

Why does this have to come today?

I wanted to go exploring around the neighborhood since we just moved here (not like the natives know; records are too easily forged). So after having my sister give me the OK, I decided to first check out the studio complex a few ways down from our apartment building. I see it on the way to school, and it's always stark black and empty. So with little Arles Zorro tucked into my chest for her own safety, I snuck inside. I used to sneak to avoid detection to keep up the exciting atmosphere.

Now I'm sneaking around for my fucking life.

About 20 minutes after walking into the basement, some others had also walked in here. I'm on the south-east side of the room where they were, hiding under the sofa (it's a surprisingly loose squeeze). The first one... was what I can only call a madman. Long and lanky figure, wild green hair, but I couldn't discern what he was wearing. This one stood the tallest. Next to/behind him was this, uh... I don't know what to describe it. It looks to be in a full bodysuit, but that's all. I can't see shit in this light that it was flashing from the tape recorder. Between that and the way these two faced the others, they might be recording a snuff film. And as for the content...?

It was torture, plain and simple. Two other men were thrown here, in complete darkness, bound up like shrimps. They seemed to have been doing SOMETHING wrong to have warranted this. But I've never seen them before, so I can't vouch for them. Two men, tied like little shrimps at the market, blonde and blue, faces blown into fear and despair. Hoho... I can sense how despairing they truly are. Hahaha... Once I caught sight of the other two, the captors, they might have said something. All I can make out was one of them calling the other "my love". Must've been from the shrimp schlubs. And then I think one of them exclaimed that the torturer lied to them, or something I can't remember, then one of them got pulled away to the table further in... An empty glass, reflecting this blunt truth. It's telling what's not to be told... They need that mask.

In hindsight, I really should have told Nero what I saw that day. Would it even matter if I did? He wouldn't care. As would I. I might have acted overt with what I saw that night. Nero-chan, I'm sorry, but I didn't think I had to. To die on the battlefield in that empty life is just hell. But it wouldn't make a difference. We all still die in the end. All for nothing. But back to the past at hand.

The madman held up a razor sharp butcher's cleaver looking thing. Then he called something out of his shadow, and injected one of them with something. He jolted upwards, yet flopped downward just as quickly on the table he could not escape from. The little thing holding the tape recorder didn't move from it's spot. Well THAT makes sense. It would be hard to record a snuff film if you're unstill.

And then he started slicing. Oh my!

From the feet up, he worked the blade onto that guy. *sshink!* That's gotta hurt. It's super, super sharp. Again he went, cutting into the guy bound, gagged, and strapped to table, making intensely small pieces as he went cleaving, producing very clean cuts, almost as if he'd done this before several times. A veritable dance of iron he (the victim) somehow didn't die from. And he was acting so calm as he hacked away, too. The victim was emanating blood-curdling screams, howls of fear and despair. I'll never forget the expression and face he made, seemingly constantly warped in fear, tears flooding down his face.

Despair... Were they mafioso? You can only get despair this potent from those punks. I know this, because outside Morioh at least, there's this yakuza, and they spread despair like this... One of my old teachers was a former member of the yakuza. I can tell from his chopped off pinkie finger on one hand. Isn't the mafia the Italian yakuza? Anyway... How could I have sensed the despair radiating from the room? Emotions aren't my strong suit, much less understanding how someone feels when I can't get a good look at his or her face. I only looked at him once, the image is yet still burned into my mind.

What's keeping that schlub alive? Is there even such a thing as something that can keep him alive through that? I pulled Arles Zorro closer to my chest, fearing slightly that whatever noise from her would send us to the chopping block. She's unusually fine with this now... Ever since we got her about a day before leaving Morioh, she hated being touched like this. Uh, actually, maybe it's just because it was Ane touching her like that. Keeping us alive... They seem very strong. Both the madman, and the pair. Strong... Hey, maybe I ought to check them out after this. When the Iron Waltz is done, I'll take my leave and go.

At this point, he was up to... the midsection, I believe. He didn't relent with this torture. Death by a thousand cuts seems to be a nasty way to go out, and whatever he put into him, he's still alive. Bound up extremely tightly like a fish, gagged so he won't scream, and hacked away by a mad doctor type while remaining alive under the knife... What a way to go out. Hey, what happened to the other one? Where's he? Found him.

He stopped crying, only temporarily. He was trembling in his spot. He squirmed away from the scene of the crime. And then he flopped down limply at last, his gag had been sucked in so far down his throat, it looked a bit suggestive. Most likely, he either suffocated from his crying, or he killed himself. At the time, and even in hindsight now, it was hard to tell. It wasn't that hard to do whichever one, either way. "...?!" I squeaked out once his corpse fell closer to me. Smells of cheap cologne, ugh...

"Eh?!" Shit. I think the camera freak saw me. One wrong move, and you're next on the chopping block. Hehehe...

The mad doctor, for his part, stopped what he was doing, and picked up the blonde's corpse by the collar. But only for a moment, and he dropped him once he saw that face. The face of one who wanted only to experience sweet death after all that happened. "How tragic," was what I read from his lips. If you're making a snuff film, it makes sense not to speak, unless it would amplify the experience. You don't want to muffle the cries of the damned, the ones crying for love in hell.

And now it was time to hack away again. Wither wither wither wither wither wither wither wither wither wither. Melt away into nothing. The cold steel is the reckoning for all. Drown in despair. The despair that your partner had killed himself because of this mess. The despair that you can't see him because you're still alive. The despair that whatever the fuck got you punished like this was preventable.

Hacked away, hacked away, careful cuts producing thin pieces. What'll you do with the pieces once you're done? There's the smell of a noxious chemical of sorts from the far east of the room. Ugh, I can only wait to see the end results.

From the midsection upward, he attempted to accept his inevitable fate, but all it did was force him to utter a deafening screech. The screams of bloody murder. A face still drained of all hope, growing deeper yet deeper into the bowels of despair. The shine in his eyes slowly faded as he went upwards, with the desire for death slowly slipping out of his reach, out of his sliced off arms-reach. Slicy slicy slice. Almost up to the neck now!

I couldn't do anything but watch it. Watching the bladework gave me an odd feeling. Something most unusual creeped up from behind. I feel... hotter. My gut is tingling, and I'm a bit sweaty from this, to have to hide like this under a conveniently placed couch. Arle doesn't budge, which I'm even now still grateful for. I haven't felt anything like this in a long while. Even before we came to Italy. Is this fear? ...Or excitement? But what is there to be excited about, within the context of a torture scene? Perhaps I'm just afraid, afraid that this fate will befall me, afraid of the sight itself, afraid that I can't name this feeling washing over me. *shoink!*

He finally got to the throat, silencing the victim once and for all, sectioned currently into 30 parts. Unable to speak, and perhaps even breathe, his face flopped to the side limply, every feeble attempt at fear slowing down to be softer. But the face contortion is the same, one of pure despair.

Wonder what I'll tell to big sis after this? I thought. That I walked in on a modern day lingchi? It's reaching the climax, anyhow.

At last, the victim was complete. Chopped neatly into 39 parts, perfectly split and preserving the feelings of that of true terror. These two men had folded up the table after arranging his bits so that they wouldn't get squished weirdly, then picked up the thing that gave off the chemical stench, and went upstairs to leave. The other's corpse stood alone. This was the end. I had to know what caused this. That was the end of any chance of a peaceful life... But actually, I think the end of that was when Ane met that guy about 4 years ago back in Japan. Despair... If the despair bringers like them can be that strong, I think I'll join them. Yeah. I don't want Ane to end up this way.

______________________________________________________________

I'm stunned, I'm absolutely stunned. That even now, the vivid memory sticks out to me, two years after I walked in on that hellhole. I couldn't confess of this to anyone. Nero, or anyone else in La Squadra, not even Doppio... Suddenly, I'm reverted back to the sofa, some craptastic movie blaring on the TV, Aceto himself was sprawled on my lap. I need to get some air...

"I oughta go-" I hastily said, pushing him off of me. I'm absolutely spent, and I haven't even done anything. So I just blankly stared outside the open window.

"Paulla?" Was all he could say. That's all I could've got out of him, I zoned out for the rest of it.

These crystal clear memories... What good does it do for me?

[jayteacups]

I hc that when Levi's best friend (they're both adults) -- who's kinda shy, and who he's kinda been crushing on but hasn't said anything/acted on it -- finally tells him "I love you", he'd literally choke back a small sob and silently cry at her confession. She'd be like "...Lev...I'm so sorry. Did I-did I do something wrong-?" but he cuts her off and leans his forehead against hers, and he'd softly yet tearily say, "Don't ever apologize for that" as he sighs and the tears keep silently coming.

Confessions

You've been in love with your best friend for a long, long time, and you finally work up the courage to confess.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader

Tags and warnings: GN!Reader (the ask specifies she/her pronouns but no gender-specific pronouns are used in the actual piece of writing), best friends to lovers, confessions, soft, fluffy

Word count: 0.5k words

A/N: Bless your soul anon this is so cute!! Totally in love with this idea, he would be really touched and a little overwhelmed that somebody would confess their love to him, poor baby :(( he deserves the world :((( I couldn’t stop thinking about this so I had to bring this to life in a little imagine, I couldn’t help myself! enjoy <3

“I love you.” 

You blurt it out before you can think, and the silence that follows is deafening. Levi’s taken completely off guard - his eyes are blown wide, lips parted in shock. Had this been any other situation, you would’ve teased him lightly, for it is all too rare that he is surprised like this, but right now, you can’t. 

Heart hammering furiously in your chest, you swallow. Fuck. Fuck, you shouldn’t have said anything, you should’ve kept your stupid mouth shut—

Your internal spiral is momentarily paused by the sound of Levi taking in a sharp, shuddering inhale, choking back what sounds like a sob. He instantly looks down, averting his eyes away from yours. His hair falls forward, shielding his face from view, and your chest feels tight at the sight of his shaking shoulders. 

“I…” you’re shaking your head frantically, as you place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Lev, I’m so sorry.” A quiet sniffle coming from your best friend incites stinging in your own eyes, and the growing lump in your throat is making it a little too difficult to breathe. Guilt burns deep inside of you. Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything.

You realise that this is the most open he has ever been with you, and the realisation cleaves your heart into two, because this will be the first and only time he will ever bare himself like this to you. Resigning yourself to the loss of your best friend, the loss of the man you would dedicate your entire life to if he asked you so, you hold back a whimper. 

“Did I…” Your voice cracks. You swallow and try again. “Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry—”

Levi raises his head, his hands coming to rest on your biceps, gently tugging you closer to him. Up close, tears cling to his long lashes and leave behind trails upon his cheeks. 

He tilts his head forwards, resting his forehead against yours. You let your eyes close shut. 

“Don’t ever apologise for that,” he says tearily, his voice wavering, filled with longing. “Don’t.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” You repeat your thoughts dumbly. 

How could you have missed it?

“Yeah.” He confirms in the softest of tones, yet still a little choked up. Opening your eyes, you lean your head back. Tears are still streaming down his face, but he’s smiling almost imperceptibly, his features softened and open. 

Your hands move of their own accord and gently wipe the fresh tears off of his face. His eyes close with your gentle gestures. You’re blinking your own tears back as you cup his cheeks and return his smile. 

“Can I kiss you?” He breathes, his hand coming to rest at the back of your neck.

“Are you kidding? I’ve waited years for this moment,” you say through your own happy tears.

“Me too.”

He leans in. 

© jayteacups 2022 | do not repost, modify or claim as your own work

Masterlist

[hotdamnhunnam]

Congrats again on 2K. i’m so happy for you ❤️

For the emojis: 🔥☕️🚧

For the character: Jax, i feel like those emojis have a Jax vibe

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats! 💗

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Roadblocks Don’t Suck

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, car sex (quick & rough, light choking, Jax’s leather gloves (they’re a whole kink)) Word Count: ~1.4k Emoji Prompt: 🔥☕️🚧 (key words are in bold)

Jax Teller is a lot of things. Pussy-whipped isn’t one of them, but somehow when you ask for things he gives in to a ton of them. On some level in his alpha male soul that sort of stings.

He’s in the driver’s seat grumpy and grumbling like a five-year-old. You’re really in the driver’s seat with all the power that you hold, over the prince of Charming, destined to be king.

He lights a cigarette. The little flame matches his mood flickering sharply with resentment and regret, that he had caved to what you said.

“How’s your goddamn coffee,” he snaps, bitter and full of sass. Gruffly, to hide the fact that you can turn him into such a goddamn softie.

“It’s fucking lovely,” you proclaim, taking another sip and gloating without shame. This morning you’d asked Jax to drive your car to where the two of you are headed, rather than taking his Harley as he typically prefers instead. You wanted to sit comfortably with your coffee and finish up the book you’ve almost fully read.

He doesn’t know yet you were also hoping you could give him road head.

“Fuck!” Jax suddenly rasps as he steps on the brake just when you reach the end of your book, causing you to look up out the windshield in shock. It’s just a bit of bad traffic but your man sounds as furious as if your car was hit by a damn truck. “Ugh, there’s a fucking roadblock. This shit fucking sucks.”

Jax really just can’t deal with traffic at a standstill. He is seething, heavy breathing, living proof that looks can kill.

Glimpse flashing lights and obstacles with slanted black and yellow stripes to mark construction that’s in progress up ahead. Prince Fuming grits his bright white teeth around his cigarette like he wants someone dead. Possibly you. “See, bitch if we were on my bike I could’ve just driven right through…”

“Would you just stop? Here, I’ll give you a handjob,” you decide, casting your finished paperback off to the side. Sometimes—a lot of times—you’d rather make Jax Teller cum than hear him talk. “Shut up, just sit back and enjoy your smoke and let me stroke your cock.”

“What are we, fifteen-year-old kids? You’ll grab my dick and let me grope your tits?” he laughs, as you reach in his jeans to grip and squeeze his massive shaft. “Get down and suck.”

You take your hands out of his pants and cross your arms over your chest tightly, to tell him no such luck. “Maybe I would have if you’d asked nicely, you bossy little fuck.”

“You love it when I’m bossy.” Jax is well aware that his dominance gets you wet and juicy. “Know it hits you in your kinky little pussy.”

“You don’t know shit about my kinks,” you lie.

“You think?” he challenges with a dark glimmer in his eye. The heat of hell behind his smile. Glances out the window at the standstill traffic and decides to put the car in park so he can make this goddamn ride worthwhile.

Asking nicely isn’t really Jax’s style.

You can act like you don’t want it but there’s no point in denial. Every goddamn thing about him drives you wild.

When he wants something he takes it—bends your will to fight him off and fucking breaks it—snaps a finger and you’re naked—he makes sure you want it wholeheartedly too—but that shit’s never hard to do.

He always has you spouting off a senseless stream of oh God Jesus Christ Jax yes fuck yes in two seconds or less. Knows he’s your ever-living weakness. Face you see when you scream Jesus. Knows you’re his to play with any way he pleases. Knows just what buttons to press, to get his girl to be a wet whimpering mess.

Has you spread out on the backseat, shaking in heat, as he strips off your summer dress. Stays fully clothed because he knows it’s fucking torture when he doesn’t let you cleave against the smooth skin of his chest. Settle for clutching at the leather of his vest. The leather Jax Teller wears best.

Or is it…? Though you’ve never mentioned this before, Jax saw the sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours, when you watched his hands on the steering wheel clad in his leather gloves and thought that shit’s fucking exquisite.

To be honest it’s ridiculous that he’d wear leather gloves to drive a car. Today’s ride isn’t even far. You know it’s just so he can feel more like he’s riding on his Harley and it’s dumb as fuck but you don’t care about that given what a slut you are. Jax in the leather of his kutte is hot enough—but these damn gloves… they have you seeing fucking stars…

You’d wanted him to push your head deep in his lap while you bent down to suck him off. Feeling the smooth warmth of the leather in your hair and on your cheeks as you devoured his enormous cock and showered it with love.

He’d like that very fucking much, without a doubt, but in this moment he would rather see your gorgeous glowing face than have it buried in his crotch. More in the mood to fuck your pussy than your mouth. He wants to watch, the way your inner slut is spinning out—surrenders to his touch… the way your features melt, descending into ecstasy past anything you’ve ever fucking felt… as he traces his thumb across your bottom lip with one hand while the other frames your hips—taking you in his leather grip—tight as a belt, sharp as a whip.

And it’s insane the way it makes your pussy drip. Your brain is on a fucking trip. Can leather get you fucking pregnant? On the road the traffic’s still completely stagnant, but your man will have to get back in the driver’s seat again soon once the cars begin to move. There’s not a lot of time to get into the groove. No time for fun and games and foreplay—just a frantic feral fuck here on the freeway—love and lust one and the same to make and take when you two have nothing to prove.

Outside of sex, you know that it’s your job as Jax Teller’s old lady to continually kick his ego down a couple pegs. But it’s a different fucking story when he’s hovering above you and all set to shove his meat into the aching soaking heat between your legs.

A piece of prey for him to eat. To read your body as it breaks and burns and begs. Jax is the undisputed king when he has you spread in his bed or the backseat. And as his leather-clad hand wraps around your throat you gasp at how it feels so sweet because you know what’s coming next…

He applies just the perfect pressure and oh fuck you’ve never felt such perfect pleasure.

You can feel his power pouring through the leather. You can feel it pounding through your blood, as he plows deep inside your pulsing cunt, that fucking instant, with a savage fucking grunt, rock hard as he drives home and hits a flood, ‘cause you’ve never been wetter. You’re his fucking slut. Forever.

Two or three bucks of his hips—he sucks the prayer of his name off of your lips—tightens that leather fucking grip—your grip on consciousness begins to fucking slip…

Just came undone, though this had only just begun. He spills inside you that same second and you’re both sprawled on the seat sex-dumb and drunk.

Two seconds later all the cars outside decide to fucking honk.

He really doesn’t give a fuck. You’re both so bulldozed by the love you made you probably wouldn’t notice if this steamy little car of yours got totaled by a truck. Honk all they want for all you care—the two of you are far beyond the world out there—you’re stuck in heaven with no plans to come unstuck.

Maybe try fucking one more time to piss off everyone outside and push your luck.

Jax reads your mind because it’s his. Leather glove soft around your throat now as he smiles through a cigarette-and-coffee-flavored kiss. “Maybe roadblocks don’t suck.”

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod

[cinnamonest]

//fucked up, gore, npc torture, eye/finger stuff, kinda necro mention but it's not really necro there's just a dead body involved to the side, asphyxiation, fem reader, fearplay I guess?

I really liked the violent Razor post so now you get violent Childe post. I'm gonna start making more violence/gore posts bc I have a lot saved in my notes so block the tw: violence if you need to!

Childe does genuinely get off to killing.

Like, that's usually said as a joke but in all seriousness, murder sprees and acts of violence are a sex thing to him in some capacity. The psychology is not complicated: it makes him feel powerful, and feeling powerful makes him hard. Simple as that.

He's definitely jerked off over dead bodies before, the just-slain and still warm ones whenever the mission was one he completed alone. It feels like a fitting end to all that exertion. Not that he likes the bodies or anything, no, he's not *that* fucked up, it's more like he just likes the rush.

But anything he had before from regular mission work pales in comparison to once he has someone he loves. It feels a hundred, no, a thousand times better if he thinks of it as for your sake. Even if it *is* normal mission work, in his head he pretends he's killing for you, killing people that are in the way, he projects the faces of the ones in his life that he hates - the people he sees you talk to, your significant other if you have one - onto the insignificant faces of victims.

And, consequently, he starts getting far more brutal. Work is work, and usually the goal is to get in and out as fast as possible - direct shots to the vitals, slit throats and guts split open down the middle. You find the fastest way to get it done and hurry to the next task.

But now he's got a lot more anger than usual stored up. A lot more frustration. He thinks about you, he thinks about all the people who interact with you that he doesn't like. His brain is clouded with hatred and lust and it can only be alleviated with excess violence. Imagines it's all for love. Gives him that same rush, soothes the burning inside.

It becomes slower, messier, he ends up with a lot more blood on him than usual. There's no need for limbs to come off, chests to be split open, bones to be snapped and crushed, heads to be caved in, organs to spill on the floor, but he likes it that way.

It's a lot like sex, when you think about it. Repeated motions over and over, stabbing the other party -- well, with different... Instruments, but a sort of "stabbing" in both cases nonetheless. Sliding in and out of their body, like he'd like to do yours, but just replace the knife in his hand with his dick and tongue and fingers and their torso with your cunt. Over and over. They squeal and scream, noises he'd like to hear from you. It's all leading up to that moment of climax - they convulse, jolt, spasm, and finally collapse... and he likes to imagine it's you instead, making those motions for a very different reason.

Sometimes he gets blood on his skin. He likes to take his gloves off, scoop some of it onto his fingers, rub the fluid between his thumb and fingers - it's warm, wet, viscous, and if he closes his eyes and ignores the coppery smell he can pretend it's clear grool slicking out of your tight little pussy when you cum on his fingers.

The littlest things make him think of you. Organs and entrails spilled out on the ground sparks the word "insides" in his brain and he can't help but think of your insides - in a much different sense of course, but something so unrelated can keep his mind distracted for an entire day.

Sometimes he has to interrogate people, and by "interrogate", perhaps "torture" is a better word - do what's necessary for information. The parts make him think of you.

Dismembered fingers or hands cleaved off - they're from some dude's gross sweaty calloused hands. Not like yours, so fragile and soft. Makes him think of you holding his hand, how warm it would feel. A gouged eye in his hand. When he closes his fist, it mashes with ease, the gelatinous tissue dribbling down onto the floor from between his fingers. The eye is - well, was - a different color from yours, not nearly as pretty. It makes him think of how much he likes your eyes, and when you look at him. This one was dull and empty, but yours sparkle, full of light.

They scream so loudly, it's unpleasant, the shrill shrieks and deep bellowing hurts his ears. Your voice would sound so much prettier shrieking like that. Not that he'd ever do this to you, but, maybe scaring you would make you squeal. Maybe you're a screamer in bed. Who knows. He hopes so.

Sometimes people don't give in too easily, and he ends up with a corpse on his hands. Most of the time he just throws it onto the ground, rolls it off a cliffside with a kick. But sometimes, when the body is smaller and still warm, he likes to princess-carry it to the edge, picture in his head it's you, wrapping your arms around his neck while he carries you. Unfortunately, rigor mortis has already set in, so he can't exactly move the body's arms to mimic that, and half the time the arms are severed from the interrogation anyway.

And admittedly, you're cute when you're afraid, when you're horrified, so maybe he was subconsciously aiming for this, even if he didn't realize it. Going about it when you were close by. Hoping you'd hear. Hoping you'd walk in on it. You freeze up, you can't move even if you tried, your body won't listen. Your eyes go wide and fill with tears. You tremble, you retch and cover your mouth and grab your stomach as your body finally allows you to take a step backwards, and you stumble and fall flat on your back, scrambling back up on shaking hands.

And you definitely hear him say wait, but, well, you'd definitely rather not, so you bolt out the door anyway, screaming at the top of your lungs. Dumbass. You were dragged all the way out to this abandoned place for a reason. No one's gonna hear you, and you won't be able to reach civilization before he can catch up. He finds it funny, really cute to be honest, you're crying and squealing even though he promises you he's not gonna hurt you or anything. Feeling the warm fluid on his hands when he grabs your arms, watching it create dark stains on your clothes even visible in the nighttime darkness, it only makes you panic more, thrashing and crying, but it doesn't do you any good.

And as tempting as just fucking you out here is, he realizes that deep down, he's wanted this for a long time, so dragging you all the way back is worth it. He can restrain you with one hand, use the other to undo the bindings on the now-cold limbs of the unfortunate bastard on the table and slide his body - well, what's left of it - off, letting it crash down onto the floor. Slamming you down on the table in it's place. The room is cold, the outside is cold, but your body and your insides are so warm, and the panic and terror makes you so tight. You're not screaming so much, letting out little sobs mixed with some lewd little mewls you can't keep back. Your wide, terrified eyes keep flicking to the side, staring down at the body. Even when he grabs your jaw to keep your head from turning, your eyes still move, and it's actually really annoying. He already told you he's not gonna hurt you. So instead he just grabs your throat. The more you look away, the more tight his grip gets, and likewise the more you look at him, the more oxygen you can take in.

The cum and squirt mixes with the blood that's already on the table, and once you're sitting back up, some of your tears get added to the mix. You tremble, you go numb and still and you lean forward into the warmth. It's all you can do to just bury your face in his chest so you don't have to look at it anymore. It's nice, really, he likes it when you cling to him for comfort. You two will have to do this again sometime.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Curse-breaker (Chapter 4/4)

- ao3 -

“You know him, right?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Xichen. He was trying not to appear as nervous as he felt in asking, but he was pretty sure he was failing. “Nie-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I do. And thank you for calling him that, he prefers it.”

There were those that had started calling him Curse-breaker, as if it were a proper title; Jiang Cheng had heard it said a few times, and while he didn’t personally disagree with the moniker, which seemed appropriate, he also knew better than to just drop it into a conversation.

Luckily. He was trying to make a good impression here.

“What’s he like?” Jiang Cheng blurted out, then immediately wanted to kick himself. “I mean – it’s just – I didn’t see him much when he visited the Lotus Pier –”

He was making it worse.

It was only that he’d never quite met anyone with so much presence as Nie Mingjue: taller even than Jiang Cheng’s father, with that strange eye that seemed to see everything and anything. His features were generally set in a neutral expression that made him seem almost unworldly, like some god untouched by human concerns, but which sometimes softened a little when he approved of something – or someone.

Jiang Cheng could feel his cheeks going red, and tried to suppress it.

“Mingjue-xiong liked you,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng lost the battle at once, his whole face heating up until it felt unbearably hot. This was worse than the time that Nie Mingjue had come to the Lotus Pier and told his parents to value Jiang Cheng more or else, and then his father had come in with a smirk and a snarl and somehow made them do it. “He said so.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. He said you were talented and faithful, with a good heart, and that we’d see great things from you.”

Jiang Cheng was going to die.

“That’s nice,” he said, with an effort. “I thought very highly of him, too. He’s…great.”

Wow. ‘Great’. Was that really the best he could do?

Lan Xichen studied him for a moment, then nodded. “He really is,” he said, and sighed. “I had the same reaction, you know. He’s…a lot.”

Jiang Cheng felt seen. “I know,” he said effusively. “He’s just – you know?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Just –”

He waved his hand in the air. Not even making some sort of gesture, just a meaningless sort of wave, but for some reason Jiang Cheng understood him completely.

There really just weren’t words sometimes, when you wanted to describe things or people that inspired feelings that went beyond the merely describable. Nie Mingjue was one of those – Jiang Cheng had known that Lan Xichen would understand, and sure enough, he did.

And to think that Wei Wuxian liked Lan Wangji better!

Really, his shixiong might be more talented than Jiang Cheng in many ways, ways that were often a matter of jealousy, but Jiang Cheng clearly had better taste.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice said, and Jiang Cheng tensed and turned to look – but it was only Wen Qing, so that was fine. “Lan-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi, I was sent to spend some time with you.”

She probably meant that she was sent away so that the adults would have time to talk about issues they thought were too sensitive to involve the younger generation, or else they just wanted to start drinking earlier in the afternoon than usual and didn’t want her judging them from a medical standpoint. Either might be true – Wen Qing was widely acclaimed as one of the most talented in their generation, as terrifying with her needles as other people might be with their sword, from more or less the first moment she’d finally been allowed to join the rest of them on equal grounds.

They greeted her, trying to stand up to be polite, but she waved them down irritably and took a seat instead. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng nodded. “We were just commenting on his many admirable qualities.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, even more emphatically.

Wen Qing looked at them both with that critical eye of hers for a long moment.

Then she sighed in a huff. “He’s really all that and more, isn’t he?” she said.

“He is,” Lan Xichen said.

“He’s just –” Jiang Cheng tried the same gesture as Lan Xichen earlier, and was gratified when Wen Qing started nodding herself in total agreement. “Right?”

“Right.”

-

Nie Mingjue was aware that many people liked to stare at them, but they had assumed it was because of how unusual they were – even putting aside the eye, which was their most obviously not-normal feature, their behavior was not always in line with regular people’s. They didn’t show their emotions on their face as easily, being more naturally inclined towards sternness, and their manner was both sharp and incisive, straightforward and blunt; they had missed critical years of social development while lost in what amounted to seclusion, too busy solidifying their sense of self, consolidating their we into an I.

(They were still trying to figure out gender, a process complicated by the fact that it hadn’t made much sense to either of them to begin with. They were starting to suspect it would be better to just give up on it entirely.)

It turned out, according to Nie Huaisang, that that was not why all those people were staring.

“When you say they like me…”

“Sexually or romantically attracted, usually both,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have a lot of would-be suitors. Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Jiang Yanli –”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use their names directly like that,” Nie Mingjue said, though they weren’t sure about that. They’d forgotten more etiquette than they’d ever learned. “Also, isn’t Jiang Yanli getting married to Jin Zixuan?”

“He’s another of your admirers. As is Meng Yao…no, sorry, Jin Ziyao. You know he secretly thinks that you killed Jin Guangshan for him, right?”

They’d killed Jin Guangshan because he was rotten through and through, and he didn’t even have a qi deviation or a tormenting heart demon to blame for it. He just thought of people as things, even the ones he supposedly liked, and acted accordingly…they hadn’t really thought through the consequences of killing him when they’d done it, having long ago forgotten the concept of political considerations, but it was really amazing what could be covered up or excused if multiple sect leaders put their minds to it while the rest just breathed a sigh of relief that Jin Guangshan was gone.

“That seems like too many people,” they said. “They can’t all be my…admirers.”

“You think that’s it? I haven’t even gotten to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian – both at once, if that’s your preferred flavor – and even that feral child Jin Ziyao found in Kuizhou…you know just the other week, he loudly declared that you were better than sweets and the entire room sighed all at once in agreement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. There are even rumors that say that Sect Leader Wen might be interested…”

They shrugged.

Nie Huaisang squinted at them. “Da-ge. Did you know about that one?”

“Sect Leader Wen is not subtle,” they said dryly. “But if it makes you feel better, his interest is purely a matter of cultivation, and also our father has already hit him for even making the suggestion.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t look impressed. “Are you sure it’s purely a matter of cultivation? Would you be able to tell if it wasn’t?”

Nie Mingjue considered how little they’d recognized any of the other people who were purportedly interested in them. “No,” they admitted.

“Hmm. What about Teacher Lan?”

“What about Teacher Lan?” they asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing. Just something I read somewhere…”

Probably one of those spring books that he was always sneaking around, they concluded.

“Though…you have been going out of your way to meet up with Teacher Lan more often recently…”

“He’s helping me figure out some of the bureaucratic intricacies of changing succession,” they said. “He’s had the most experience, having to do it twice – once to get his brother out of the line of succession, and another to get him back in. He’s a good teacher.”

He was, too. For all of Nie Huaisang’s tall tales about Lan Qiren’s strictness and overly-rigid insistence on orthodoxy, the man himself had a very calming presence, still and tranquil. It made them think of a musical instrument and, using the Nie cultivation method as a base, start to think strange thoughts…

Though not the sorts of thoughts Nie Huaisang had in mind.

“I mean, I guess. Even I learned eventually, and – wait. Why do you need to know about how to change succession? You’re already the heir.”

“That’s the problem,” Nie Mingjue said. “I need to figure out how to abdicate my position in your favor.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“No, I’m not joking,” they said, because they knew their little brother. “I’m not suited for politics. I don’t think I ever was, and after everything that happened, I’m even less suited.”

They really weren’t. Too blunt, too sharp, too concerned with justice, too inhuman – they were good at fighting, in the sense that they knew how to be a saber as well as a human and could wield sharpness in the same way, a slash from their fingers being enough to cleave a man in half, but that wasn’t what being a sect leader was about.

No, Nie Huaisang would be much better at it.

“Da-ge, you can’t do this to me!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Do you know how much work it’d be? Anyway, you can’t – our father’s already promised all of Qinghe Nie to your future spouse! So there!”

“Then I just won’t ever get married.”

“What?!” Nie Huaisang waved his hands wildly. “You can’t do that! You – you – do you know how many hearts you’d be breaking?!”

“So you’ve informed me,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “It’s all right, Huaisang. I rather like the life Teacher Lan has made for himself, traveling all around and coming back every few seasons to teach something. I want to fight evil, and there’s a lot more evil out there than there is in here.”

Or, at minimum, there was more evil of the sort they were allowed to just stab. That was apparently frowned upon, in politics – there was a reason they said they weren’t suited for it.

“You’re not suited for fighting evil with a blade,” they added while Nie Huaisang was still spluttering. “But you can do wonders with people, if you’re given enough time to plan it. Being sect leader will put you in the position that will let you fight evil best, in your own way.”

“Not everything is about fighting evil, da-ge!”

“Isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to have a good answer to that.

After a while, he finally said, “…you really think I’d be good at it?”

Nie Mingjue pulled their younger brother in for a hug.

“You’ll be magnificent,” they promised.

-

They liked travel, just as they’d suspected they would.

People always recognized them – the eye was very distinctive, and they were also very tall – and immediately rushed over to share all their problems. They were very happy to help. Some of them they could fix personally, generally the ones that were stabbable, while they had a wide enough set of acquaintances to deal with many of the others: those who needed healing to go to the Lan sect or Wen sect, depending on whether problem was mental or physical; those that needed advancement to the Jin sect or Jiang sect; mysteries to be solved to the newly established Wei sect over in Yiling; and anyone with anything more abstruse than that over to Nie Huaisang personally to sort of.

Their little brother liked a good puzzle.

As for Nie Mingjue’s part, they liked fighting evil, and they liked helping people, too, if they could manage it, so it all worked out quite well. The road could be a little lonely at times, all alone with no one around, but it wasn’t really that bad. They were welcome at just about every cultivation sect and most of the other places they’d passed by, so it wasn’t like they were lacking for company if they wanted it.

It was only sometimes that they wished that there was someone else who might want to share this type of life with them.

It was a difficult life, always roving and never satisfied, intent on fighting evil for an eternity and prizing the doing of it over normal things, everyday things; they knew that they couldn’t ask someone else to take on a mission so absurd as stamping out all evil in the world, and so they didn’t. Who would be so foolish as that? Not everyone could leave behind all their responsibilities and ties to the world the way they did, passing instead through their beloved one’s lives by chance like a leaf tossed in the wind – nor should they, if those ties gave them joy.

Take their current mission, for example. One of Nie Mingjue’s earlier trips had taken them from Yiling to the Baixue Temple, with the highly unorthodox Wei sect’s equally unorthodox head disciple, Xue Yang, tagging along with them so that they could – in Wei Wuxian’s words – beat some sense into his head, and it had been on that trip that they had met Song Lan, who was thoroughly charmed by the idea of a sect established on principles of brotherhood rather than blood.

He'd also been rather charmed, they thought, by Xue Yang himself, and the interest had been mutual.

(They were getting better at recognizing that sort of thing.)

So Song Lan had gone off with them, with Nie Mingjue dropping both him and Xue Yang back in Yiling, and when he’d gone back again another time they had seemed very happy. But Song Lan had been thinking about his master and martial brothers back at home, and he’d asked if Nie Mingjue would be willing to carry along some letters that he didn’t dare trust to the post.

Nie Mingjue, suspecting a request regarding marriage was involved, had readily agreed. Sure enough, once they’d dropped it off, the entire Baixue Temple had all but exploded in excitement – they’d barely managed to make it out of there in time to avoid being dragged into all the fuss.

And now they were wandering around nearby, shaking their head in amusement at all the noise they’d left behind, looking for something more interesting to do. Some evil to fight, or something like that.

They found both.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” they commended to the cultivator in white that had worked together with them to defeat a rather astounding number of evil creatures in an effort to save some rogue cultivators who’d gotten in over their heads. Nie Mingjue’s reputation was already ridiculous, and was only going to get worse, they knew, but really this was a lot even for them. They wouldn’t have been able to manage it without help.

“It was,” the cultivator said, and smiled at them. “My name is Xiao Xingchen, disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Who are you?”

“Nie Mingjue,” they said. They thought they’d heard of Baoshan Sanren before, but they weren’t entirely sure – they had a tendency to forget things that weren’t that important to them. They thought it might be something to do with Wei Wuxian’s mother –something to do with the immortal mountain, and a doom that fell on those who descended from it…?

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did those rogue cultivators call you Curse-breaker?” Xiao Xingchen asked.

They thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

Xiao Xingchen laughed.

It was a warm sound.

“Where are you going?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I can escort you, if you like.”

“Don’t you have things of your own to be doing?”

“Not really,” Nie Mingjue said. “I want to eradicate all evil in this world, a task that’ll take me a lifetime – and evil can be found anywhere. Why not with you?”

Xiao Xingchen ducked his head. “I don’t have a destination either,” he admitted. “I came down from the mountain because I wanted to help save all the people in the world.”

Nie Mingjue blinked. That was nearly as stupidly idealistic a goal as theirs.

“Well, then,” they said, and smiled. “In that case, why don’t we go together?”

It would be nice to have company, unrestrained by any obligations tied to the mortal world, and in return they could show Xiao Xingchen everything there was to see – introduce him to all the people, eat all the food, fight all the battles. And if in the end it turned out that that doom people talked about in regards to the mountain really was a thing…

Well, they’d see about that.

After all, Nie Mingjue had a bit of experience with curses like that.

[lubdubsworld]

Out of love.

Genre : Moving on. 

PG-13

Jeon Jungkook x OC. , 

“You sure you want to do this?” 

I paused from where I was rummaging in my bag, glancing up at my best friend in confusion.

“What do you mean?” I asked softly, dropping the tube of lip gloss in and making sure I had my sunglasses and wallet. 

“You know he’s going to be there right? With  her? “

I stared at her for a second, before laughing gently.

“Are we not going to say his name anymore?” I teased gently and she didn’t smile, eyes still heavy with the hurt that only a true friend feels. 

The hurt that comes from seeing someone you love deeply, suffer because of someone else. Mia had somehow taken the breakup harder than even I had and I felt relief, knowing that just because Jeon Jungkook ran out of love for me, it didn’t mean that the other people in my life did too.

I was still loved. Still lovable. Here , in the frown marring her feature, the gentle worry in her gaze, I could see it clear as day.

“ You know what i mean.” She said softly and I nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, it wasn’t a bad break up. We decided to stay friends remember?” I smiled and she looked like she wanted to protest. 

Maybe tell me that two people who loved the way we had, so loudly and passionately and with so much desire and attraction.... people like that can’t stay ‘ just friends;’

but it had only been a month. So I wasn’t going to confirm or deny whether that was true. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing him with another girl, hurts just as much as I thought it would and instinctively, I search for a way to soothe my bruised ego. Is her hair longer? Is her skin clearer, does her voice carry that sultry cadence he used to love in mine. 

I want to hate her, i realize with a pang of guilt, watching the way he throws his head back, his arm draped casually over dainty shoulders wrapped in soft white chiffon.

Even her dress is perfect. Feminine and girlish, the kind Jungkook likes and when she reaches over the table to grab some tissues, I notice the way his hands rest on the gentle curve of her waist and it reminds me oif how he would wrap his fingers around mine , gentle bout with enough force to make me tremble and I would laugh, turning to mock glare at him. 

“ Jeon, let me go...” I would pout and he would lean forward, shamelessly kiss the sliver of skin between my t shirt and jean, lips warm and soft and familiar. 

“ Come sit on my lap, baby.” Jungkook’s voice, breaks my reverie and I watch,  trying to ignore the way my heart begins to cleave, the way the pain begins like a pin prick and then just expands so much its like being repeatedly stabbed in an old wound. 

I watch as he grips her waist and tugs and she goes willingly because, who wouldn’t? 

Its the same words, the same tone, the same gesture only right now, I’m not the one getting pulled into the strong expanse of his chest, I’m not the one laughing and giggling as i get pulled into his body, to sit on his thighs, lean back and place my head on his shoulder, laughing as he turns to press fond kisses to my cheek. 

I stare and stare and stare because its her....she’s the one he wants now and me?

I’m already on the way to being just a fond memory .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “ I think... I think we should break up....” The words are so out of context . I’m still in the middle of laughing at something on the TV , so when I turn to him, my smile is still in place.

“What?” I laugh.

“I think we should break up.”

And its the look on his face, so serious and so hurt that makes me realize he’s serious. My mind races to the lates argument. What did we fight about?? Three days ago? The guy in the office? 

“What? Are you out of your mind...it was just a drink... I got a drink with him and you’re...” I protested but he reached over and gently, touched my knee. 

“that’s not it.” he said quietly.

“......”

“There’s this girl.” 

“.........”

“I think I’m starting to have feelings for her. i... I don’t know, I just...she makes me feel a lot of things that confuse me and i don’t think iots fair to you. If I staye in this relationship and feel that way about someone else.”

“Are you fucking serious, Jungkook? Are you out of your damned mind...”

“Baby please....”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You... i love you. I’m in love with you... I have the rest of our life planned ... Jungkook we... we’re supposed to be getting married in two years.. three kids ...you said you wanted two girls and a boy...we picked out their names .I... it wasn’t me. It was you. ...you were the one who told me all that... you...” Breathing is hard when you’re trying to keep your heart going. Trying to stop it from just giving out on you. 

“I’m so sorry...”

“I said no... When you asked me out.. i said no... I told you we were better off as friends... You chased me Jungkook... You made me fall for you.. You.. You fucking made me fall in love with you and now... now... you’re out of your mind aren’t you?? this is a dream.. This can’t be real.”

“I never meant to hurt you....”

“Who is she? What the fuck does she have that I don’t...? I.. is she prettier?”

“You don’t deserve to be loved by halves. you deserve to find your own happy ending , baby and its not with me and I’m sorry...” he whispered. 

“........”

“I’ll move out by the weekend.” 

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Jungkook.” 

“I love you. i’m doing this because I love you.”

“bullshit. If you loved me you would be distancing yourself from that girl and putting in more effort into our relationship.. you...you wouldn’t be breaking up with me...you’re a fucking coward, Jungkook. Anytime you get scared you run, and that’s the damned truth. So don’t fucking talk to me like you’re doing this for me. Like you’re doing me favor when really, all you’re doing is breaking my heart, you selfish son of a bitch!!!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ You alright?” Mia whispered from next to me and I realized that I was staring too long into the distance. It was Jungkook’s wedding in a week and I was maid of honour and perhaps in a twist of fate, his bride had become a dear friend too. I stared at the lake in front of me. Deep dark depths that hid everything underneath. 

The way I hid all my pain when i smiled and laughed with Jungkook. 

. I glanced at Mia and smiled, shaking my head. 

“ I guess, we were never meant to be more than that.” I whispered, glancing down at the wedding invite in my hand. 

She had a bit of ice cream on her nose and I lightly flicked it off with my forefinger. 

“So messy. How do you get ice cream on your nose all the time?” I teased and she grinned. 

Mia had a smile to rival the sun and I realized, with a pang that I hadn’t spent a lot of time with her...in the nine months that I’d dated Jungkook. Mia who had stuck by me, through thick and thin. Who had watched me fall in and out of love countless times. Always by my side, ready to tell me that my feelings were valid. 

“So i can brag about doing this.” she laughed, sticking her tongue out and curling it up till the tip brushed her nose, licking at the white cream. I laughed, simultaneously horrified and amused and it seemed no coincidence that she was always there when i needed her. A friendship that had lasted decades and yet, somehow so unbalanced, so unfair in the way that she gave so much more than I earned.

And suddenly I saw parallels. 

parallels that i didn’t want to see. That perhaps, i’d seen and noticed and recognized a long, long time ago but maybe i had ignored them...ignored them because I was scared. 

Scared to hurt a girl who had done nothing but love me. 

“Efficient, isn’t it?” She asked with a grin, still trying to lick the cream off her nose and I wrinkled my own nose at her. 

“Oh my god, stop! that’s gross.” I playfully smacked her shoulders and she laughed, tugging me close by my elbows. 

“Why don’t you try?” She whispered, leaning in and rubbing her nose against mine till I got ice cream on my nose too. 

I watched, as she laughed at the sight of me with ice cream on my nose , head thrown back and eyes wide and bright and I smiled feeling that ache swell inside me. Deep pools that always hid the hurt she probably felt every time she looked at me.  

“Does it hurt you too? To love someone who’s in love with someone else?” I whispered and there. there it was. 

out in the open. 

I felt both worse and better, saying it out loud and she...she just stared. 

She stopped laughing and its deja vu, the way her laugh froze. She’s me and I’m her. She’s also in love with someone who had eyes for another. She’s also choosing to stay out of love. Choosing to stick around because she loves me too much to abandon me. 

She stares at me, her eyes trained on mine, they look like pools of clear waters, i think suddenly , the depths unknown. Mia somehow wears her heart on her sleeve but also keeps herself hidden so carefully. 

“I....what .” She looks away and I feel my eyes sting.

“Do you look at me.... the way i look at Jungkook?” I choke out and she stiffens. 

“Stop..” She breathes. 

“I’m sorry...” I breathe, tears spilling over as the reality of it sinks in. That what Jungkook did, it truly was a kindness. It isn't fair to the other person, to be decieved. 

“Baby, please don’t cry....” She said softly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you...” I whispered and it makes me realize, that you can’t help how you feel , sometimes and perhaps, when Jungkook said those words to me, maybe he felt the same pain I felt now.... 

“I think...we should stop hanging out together.” I whispered and she went stiff. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?”

Deja vu , Deja vu....

“You don’t deserve to be loved by halves. you deserve to find your own happy ending Mia and its not with me and I’m sorry...” i breathed.  

She stared at me and her eyes swelled with tears and I thought of the countless times I’d wiped them off, of how it had hurt to see her in tears but it hurt so much more knowing I was the cause. 

“ Fuck you. “ She said sharply and I smiled. 

“I don’t want you to stick around out of love you may feel ...because if you do, you’ll never fall out of love...” I smiled and she stiffened. 

“Dont’ so this to me...” She said softly.

“I’ll move out ...this weekend.” I smiled. 

“please don’t do this... I... I know I’m not him but I.. I can love you the best I can .. I love you.. I...”

“I love you too, Mia. “ I smiled. “ I’m doing this because I love you.” 

And as I watched her gather her things and stumble away from me , I felt my heart shatter. I couldn’t imagine how i would live without her but... but I knew that this was the right thing to do. 

In losing her, I’d found myself. 

And now it was time to take my own advice.

time to stop hanging around him out of love and focus on falling out of love, instead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Author’s Note : I ‘m sorry for hurting you. I did it because I loved you. 

[abarbaricyalp]

An Angel in My Nightmares

I didn’t actually watch the episode, just figured it needed a cute fix-it anyway. Fix-it for What If... Ep. 5 Zombies!

Link in the reblogs

Rated T: Slightly graphic/slightly not descriptions of zombie violence in a dream (exactly what you see in the show) and cursing.

Sam hated sleeping in safe houses more than most anything else in his life. He’d rather be in the danger that required a safe house than in the safe house itself. Barnes had no issue crashing as soon as his head hit the terrible pillows, which just made the whole entire situation worse.

And he snored, because he was an asshole.

Sam glared at the back of Bucky’s head until his eyelids finally got heavy and itchy and he almost had started to spiral into a light sleep when Bucky suddenly sat up in the bed, shaking the entire frame with the force of his lurch.

“Sam,” he gasped out, flesh hand coming down on Sam’s bicep rough enough to bruise.

“Oh, fuck, what?” Sam snapped, suddenly back in the land of the conscious all at once.

“I just had the worst dream.”

Sam sat up a little, concern bleeding through his chest all at once. “Winter Soldier stuff?” he asked tentatively.

“No, you were a zombie.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Sam groaned and collapsed back in the bed. “I was almost asleep, you bastard,” he whined and pulled the pillow over his face.

“I’m serious, Sam! It was terrible! Something had, like eaten you! And your head was cleaved open.”

“For how often your mouth is on me, or for how often you’ve tried to kill me, it was probably you eating me and cleaving my head open. I’m about to do it to you if you don’t go to sleep.”

Bucky hummed at the thought of his mouth on Sam and then keened at the reminder of the many times they’d squared off. “How many times do I gotta apologize for that.”

“For ever and ever. Now go to sleep.”

“I can’t go to sleep. I just keep seeing you. Okoye, like, cut you in half from the head down.”

“An honorable way to go. I trust her,” Sam said and turned onto his other side heavily. Pointedly.

Immediately, Bucky’s warm body was pressed along Sam’s, arms around him, metal arm digging under his waist and pushing the bed away uncomfortably. The kisses pressed along the back of Sam’s neck were a welcome distraction. “I said I wasn’t upset in the dream, but that was a lie. I was so upset. I woke up.”

“I see that you woke up. You woke me up.”

“Something ripped your arm off.”

“Twins,” Sam lilted drily. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“I’m traumatized, Sammy,” Bucky lamented with a kiss to Sam’s tense trap. His hand moved over Sam’s stomach, moving up his chest. Sam tensed for a pinch but Bucky just settled his hand over Sam’s heart.

“You’ve been traumatized since 1945. Talk to a therapist about it.”

“I’m trynna.”

“Not me. I’m not your therapist.”

“You’re increasingly becoming the reason I need therapy.”

“Twins,” Sam repeated.

Now the pinch to his chest came and Sam kicked his heel back against Bucky’s shin.

“Go to sleep. I’m right here.”

“I need a distraction.”

“Barnes, if you don’t go to sleep, I really am gonna eat your brains. And then more because that definitely isn’t gonna be filling.”

Bucky pinched him again and then nipped at his shoulder. “Hey, if the zombie apocalypse happened, I’d try to save you, y’know.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Sam yawned. He dug his pillow out from under Bucky’s head and pulled it over his own for the two seconds Bucky allowed it before yanking it back.

“What? Why not? I could bring you back,” Bucky said seriously.

“And I’m sure I’d still be more good looking than you with a gash in my skull, but I don’t wanna twin with you ever. Or have my ribs sticking out.”

“You’d be lucky to look like me.” Bucky’s hand smoothed over Sam’s chest again and he pressed his face against the back of Sam’s shoulder. “I still think you should give me a distraction.”

“I think you should go to sleep.” They laid in silence for a second before Sam sighed, “Fuck,” and turned over. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s ribs and tugged him close so Bucky could press his face against Sam’s collar bone.

“This is not what I meant,” Bucky said. “But it’s acceptable.” He adjusted his arms around Sam and hugged him close. “I’d save you,” he said again.

“Barnes, you’d be the one to bite me before you even knew you were infected. We’re both going down together,” Sam laughed. “You’d be so busy shaking a zombie off your metal arm, you wouldn’t notice the one chewing on your leg.”

“You’re terrible to me.”

“You’re the one who let me get turned into a zombie and then sliced in half.”

“You did drop kick me in the chest again,” Bucky said.

“Good, you deserve it. C’mere, baby, lemme bite you,” he laughed, tugging Bucky closer to get his mouth on Bucky’s neck.

Bucky pinched Sam’s waist and then held his hand over the perfectly healthy skin there. They laid together, just breathing in time to each other and Sam heard Bucky’s breathing even out a little, right as his own eyes were getting all unfocused.

Then, fingers skittering over Bucky’s back, he groaned, “Braaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiinnnnssssss….” and laughed as Bucky jumped and squawked and swatted at him. Save him, Sam’s ass. 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Somebody to You

Request: Hi can I request a Cedric Diggory x Gryffindor reader where they’re actually the best of friends and she has liked him for years but she lost hope because it’s like he never sees her y’know? so when Cedric starts to pursue Cho, she decided that it’s time for her to move on but when Cedric saw her getting close to someone else he just got really jealous and possessive and confess that he actually like her too, he just doesn’t want to ruin their friendship if it doesn’t work out? thanks! - @elia-the-bibliophile

A/N: I had so much fun with this! I’m really liking writing for Cedric, but I think I need to work some kinks out with how I write his character. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope I have done your request justice! Title is from The Vamps - Somebody to You because I am a sucker for pop.

Warnings: unrequited love, crying, a bit of drama, but there is fluff

Word count: 4.6k

Cedric Diggory was like sunshine; warm and bright.

For years, he had been your best friend. Your families had always been close, being the nearest wizarding family to their home after the Weasley’s. You and Cedric had bonded from such a young age; making pinkie promises under the large oak tree in your back garden, promising how you would always remain friends. That nothing could tear you apart; not even being sorted into separate houses would keep the two of you away from each other.

The fates decided for you early on that you would fall in love with Cedric. You felt the cliché; falling in love with your best friend and knowing it was unrequited. Cedric simultaneously made your heart race and break. He was so impossibly wonderful and caring that a simple look from him had your heartbeat increasing something worrying. But in the same minute, the small voice in your head, reminding you that he didn’t truly see you, had your heart breaking all over again. In his presence, you felt like Icarus flying too close to the sun, to feel the warmth on your face, not realising all the while that the wax of your wings are melting and you’re about to fall, fall, fall.

For so long you had pined for your best friend. With each hug; each take of the hand and each kiss pressed to the side of your head, your heart filled with hope that he was feeling the same as you. You were hopelessly praying that one day he would look at you and for it fall into place. For him to take you into his arms and whisper promises of love and forever.

But it was nothing more than a dream.

You knew of his feelings for her; he wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to watching her from across the Great Hall or classroom. And you understood; you understood it all. How could you compare? Cho Chang was something else entirely; both her and Cedric would be the ultimate power couple for Hogwarts.

It would only be a matter of time before they’re hanging from each other’s arm as you would watch from the side line. Seemingly destined to always love him from a distance.

---------------

Cedric bounds up to you in the Hufflepuff common room on a Wednesday afternoon, calling your name and for your attention. Cedric always joked that you would rather be a Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor with all the time you spent in their common room.

“What is it?” You ask, looking up from your essay plan.

“I asked her, and she said yes!”

“You asked who? To where?”

“I asked Cho to the Yule Ball and she said yes.” Cedric grins at you, looking so happy at this news.

“That’s great, Cedric!” You crow, smiling at him, silently praying he wouldn’t see how your heart was crumbling inside your chest.

Your heart sinks at his news; some part of you hoped that he would ask you to the Ball. That he would take you and show you off to the whole school, but like a lot of things, it was only a dream. You keep the smile pasted on your face as he starts to babble about dress robes and coordinating outfits. Your heart urges you to confess; to confess every feeling you’ve ever had for him.

But he looks so happy. You couldn’t tell him now; you wouldn’t break that.

----------

Being in the same room as them was becoming painful. You could feel your heart crack in your chest as you watched Cedric open the Yule Ball with Cho, looking at her as if she were the only girl in the world for him. How could he not? She looked incredible; she looked like everything he could possibly want.

How your heart yearned for him to look at you that way. How it broke when you realise that he never will.

You gather your skirt in your hands, leaving the Great Hall. The scene too painful for you stay there any longer. It was masochism at this point; you were hurting yourself intentionally by staying there longer.

You pause at the stairs; sitting down to gather your breath but they soon turn to sobs. You grab at your chest with both hands as if you could physically stop the feeling of your heart cleaving itself in two.

The sound of footsteps has you wiping your eyes, but you recognise the sweet perfume of your friend Rose. She sits next to you, holding your hand tightly and directing your head onto her shoulder. She wasn’t bothered about this dance anyway; you needed her more than she needed to waltz with a boy that was going to try and kiss her later.

“Loving him shouldn’t have to hurt so much.” You cry into the shoulder of your friend, Rose.

“It shouldn’t.”

“I really thought…” You trail off, your mind finishing the sentence. I really thought something would happen.

“I know you did,” Rose murmurs, brushing the hair away from your face.

Rose is your anchor that night, letting you sob into her shoulder for another minute before helping you to your room. The sobs have you bent in two; you hold a hand to your mouth, trying to keep them in, to keep them silent but it doesn’t help.

Rose helps you out of your dress, handing you your comfiest pyjamas before helping you get into the bed. The tears are slower now, having exhausted yourself. Rose brushes your hair back with a gentle hand, lulling you to a light sleep. You know though, that you won’t be sleeping much tonight, the image of Cedric and Cho burned onto the back of your eyelids would surely haunt your dreams tonight.

-----------------------

Cedric notices your absence from the Yule Ball – of course he does. His mind had been on you since you descended the stairs in your mauve velvet dress, holding hands with Rose, sending his mind into overdrive and his heart racing.

Cho had to pull his attention back to her multiple times but soon gave up when she could see how occupied he was.

He hadn’t seen you leave; he didn’t know where you had gone. So he looks for Rose, knowing that you would be close by if he could find her. But he can’t and he starts to panic.

He spins Cho out before drawing her back into his arms; all the time wishing it was you he was holding close to his body. Cedric had wanted to ask you to the Yule Ball, but he couldn’t. In the end, he asked Cho. He had planted the seeds the week before he asked with longing gazes. She had said yes, but he couldn’t help but want it to be you who said yes to him.

Cedric was terrified. He was a current champion in the Triwizard Tournament – the most horrifying of challenges for witches and wizards alike but he was simply more petrified of confessing his feelings for you, to you.

He would rather face his dragon again, a thousand times over, than face your rejection.

He’s loved you all his life. He just didn’t know it until the end of Fourth Year when you smiled at him over the rim of your Butterbeer glass and something within him clicked into place.

He was just so scared of ruining your friendship. If he lost you as a friend because of his feelings, he doesn’t know what he would do. The fear of rejection and loss keeping his confession secret.

For now, you both teeter on the edge of a knife blade. Neither one willing to confess their feelings first, but their touches would linger, and their stares would last that little bit longer – eyes filled with the adoration and love they feel.

---------------------

Rose is on eggshells around you the morning after the Yule Ball; worried about what could possibly set you off again. Robotically, you get dressed and head to breakfast, plastering a serene smile on your face before you enter the Great Hall in case you into Cedric, or Cho, or worse, both of them.

You’re buttering a piece of toast when Rose asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thank you for being there last night.”

“I didn’t want to leave you; I’ve never seen you like that before.”

You point your buttery knife at her, “And you won’t ever again. Want to know why?”

Rose raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Because as of right now, I am going to get over Cedric Diggory.”

Rose’s eyes widen, “Really?”

You nod, biting into your toast, “Really. I have loved him for so long and it’s come to nothing. It’s time I move on.”

Cedric sits down next to you a moment later, reaching for the pumpkin juice, “Where did you go last night? I tried to look for you, but I couldn’t find you.”

You meet Rose’s eyes, “I didn’t feel too well so Rose brought me back to the common room.”

“You should’ve said something, I’d have taken you back.”

“Cedric, you’re a Triwizard Champion, they needed you there. I was fine without you, I had Rose.” You say, smiling at the girl as she nods affirming your story.

Cedric frowns, not happy with your answer. He places a hand on your forehead and then your cheek, checking your temperature. You melt into his touch before turning rigid. Reminded of your vow from only a moment ago, you pull away, chuckling, “You’re a mother hen, Ced, I swear. I’m fine, I feel a lot better now.”

You turn your attention back to your breakfast, picking at the food on your plate. The need to get over Cedric was now your most important aim. Your heart had been broken and smashed beyond recognition. It was now time to build it back up again.

-------------------------------

It’s hard at first; getting over Cedric because he makes it so difficult. It’s as if he dazzles you with the simplest of movements such as running a hand through his hair or grinning at you or turning a page in a book with a focused look on his face. Each action had you out of breath and your heart racing before you pulled yourself back and reminded your overly hormonal self what you were aiming to do.

Cedric notices your apprehension around him, asking you one morning, “Are you okay?”

You frown, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cedric fixes you with a look, “You’re pulling away from me and I don’t know why.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “I’m just going through some things right now, Ced, but I’m okay, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” Concern overtaking his features.

“I’m sure,��� You say, taking his hand in yours, “Now, let’s get some breakfast, I’m starving.”

Cedric laughs, leading you to the Great Hall. He’s still worried though; he’s noticed your distance, not being as open with him. Not pulling him in for hugs as often. Your friendship mattered so much to him; it being over a decade old. He treasured your friendship and your presence in his life more than he treasures his place on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Over the last week, he had felt you pull yourself far away from him, building a wall around you that he had no hope of tearing down.

Cedric’s heart falls as he begins to realise that he’s losing you.

----------

Michael Rhen approaches you at breakfast a week after the Yule Ball. A week after your promise to get over Cedric.

You’re sitting with Cedric as Michael joins you at the table, “Morning, (Y/N).”

“Hi Michael,” You greet, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I was hoping you could help me though.”

“I’ll try my very best.”

Michael smiles, “I’m having trouble with our History of Magic essay – the one about witch trials in Yorkshire and Lancashire. And I know that you’re the best at this subject, so I was wondering if you help me?”

You nod, “Of course. Do you want to meet in the library tomorrow evening after dinner?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

“It’s no problem, I’ll see you in the library tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.” Michael grins, getting up to leave.

You shake your head amused.

Cedric was not amused. He was not accustomed to the ugly emotion growing in his gut. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head and Cedric was having a hard time keeping a lid on it.

“I didn’t know you tutor now,” He says innocently.

“I don’t.” comes your reply.

Cedric frowns, “Then why?”

“Well, we have OWLs coming up even if you are exempt, Mr. Champion, so I’ll take all the extra studying I can get and also: why not? Michael’s nice, we get along just fine.”

“I don’t know… something seems off about him.”

“Oh, you’re just nit-picking now.” You say, hushing him. “It’s only an essay.”

But the both of you have the same thought: what if it could be more?

-------------------

The library was always quiet. Madame Pince controlling the volume with an iron fist.

You hurry to the back of the library where you know the relevant books are. You place your quill and ink on the table along with some parchment before wandering to the shelves. Your fingers run across the worn spines of the books; thinking of the thousands of students before having done the same action.

Footsteps behind you alert you to Michael’s presence. You turn to greet him with a smile on your face.

Michael smiles in return, taking a seat at the table, “Hey, (Y/N). Thank you for doing this.”

You pull a couple of books from the shelf before sitting across from him, “It’s no problem, Michael. Now what is it exactly that you need help on?”

Michael bites his lip, looking sheepish, “All of it? How much time do you have?”

You chuckle, “Until curfew. I hope you’re ready to take notes. This is a whistle stop tour.”

In no time at all, Michael had a good understanding of the differences between the different types of witchcraft practiced in Yorkshire and Lancashire as well as a decent understanding of rival families and why there is still tension in the counties today as a result of it.

Michael puts his quill down, flexing his fingers to free himself of the cramp, “Wow. You really know a lot on this subject.”

You shrug, “My family originally hail from Yorkshire. I made it my mission to know as much as I could about my ancestors.”

The grand clock above the entrance hall begins to chime signalling curfew and the end of your study session with Michael.

“That’s all we have time for, unfortunately. If you need any more help, I’m happy to help.”

“There is something you could help me with…” Michael starts.

“Oh?” You ask, pausing in stacking the books for the shelves.

“Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” He says in one rushed breath.

You hesitate; your mind flashes to Cedric, thinking of all the Hogsmeade weekends you had spent with him, ambling from shop to shop and generally enjoying each other’s company.

Michael starts to look worried. But before he can say anything, you ask, “As a date?”

Michael looks away flustered, “I was hoping it would be, yes.”

You’re taken back again. Your mind flashing back to Cedric, your heart wishing it was him asking and not Michael. No, you chide yourself, he has Cho now… though you hadn’t seen him with her since the Yule Ball… NO. Michael was asking you out, he was genuinely interested in you. You think of your promise; he was handing you the opportunity to start getting over Cedric.  

You smile at Michael, “I’d like that. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at nine?”

Michael’s answering grin is blinding. “That’s great. I’ll see you then.” He even goes so far to drop a kiss to your cheek before leaving the library with a whispered goodbye.

-------

The Hufflepuff common room is silent when you return from the library. The majority of students had retired to their beds, but the odd straggler remains in the common room. You recognise them all as classmates as they continue to revise for the upcoming exams. Curfew had come and gone but you couldn't finish your day without seeing Cedric.

Cedric is laid across one of the couches, an arm tucked underneath his head; eyes pouring over one of his books. You watch him fondly. His exemption from the exams made him able to catch up on the books you had given to him to read.

You tap his thigh, silently telling him to shift, “What are still doing up?”

He moves into a sitting position, shrugging, “I was waiting for you. I knew you’d come see me.”

Your heart softens at his whispered confession. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Did Michael complete his essay?”

You smile, “He did, and he asked me out on a date.”

“He did what?” He asks, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Don’t look so shocked, Cedric. Just because you don’t find me attractive doesn’t mean that others don’t.” You say, hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You look down at your hands, fingers fiddling with themselves. Cedric sighs, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your face to look you in the eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he repeats.

“How did you mean it then?” You question, your eyes narrowing.

Cedric pulls away, his mouth a thin line, “I just didn’t think he would move that fast.”

“Well he did, and I said yes.”

An awkward silence falls between the two of you. Bodies angled to each other, but eyes focused on the fire as minds begin to wander.

You think of your feelings for the teenager sat next to you. These overwhelming, defining feelings that you hold for him and you wonder whether Michael would be the one to help you move on. Whether Michael could be the one to help you revert back to friendship with Cedric. You wanted to chuckle as your heart whispered how impossible that task would be. You glance at Cedric, curious as to whether he had any clue about how entirely he owned your heart.

You pat his knee, deciding you had thought enough for the night. You hope for a dreamless sleep, “I’m heading up for the night. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

Cedric smiles smally, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You smile in return, walking away from him before his words could settle in your skin. The smile drops from your face as you walk back to the Gryffindor common room; your mind overthinking and your heart breaking that little bit more. 

Cedric watches you walk away, no longer ignoring the deep ache in his chest. He was starting to lose you; the distance between the two of you increasing. As Cedric sits there, book open on his lap, watching the spot where he had last seen you, he promises himself that he would not lose you from his life.

-----------------

Cedric found it hard to leave you alone over the next week. Finding any and all excuses to sit next to you; to touch you. The jealousy he felt over your date with Michael had him interjecting into conversations and disturbing seating plans so he could be near you. He waited for you to pull away, for you to tell him off, but you never did. Hope bloomed in his stomach and in his chest at that.

Your heart basked in the attention; wanting nothing more than Cedric to wrap his arm around that little bit tighter and for him to distract you from another conversation. Your mind berated your heart for enjoying this too much; the small voice in the back of your mind reminded you constantly that you were supposed to be moving on from him and here he was putting a spanner in the plan.

------------

Bounding down the stairs to the common room, you pause in front of a mirror to check how your hair looks. Deciding it was good enough, you enter the Gryffindor common room surprised to find Cedric sat on the couch, staring away into nothing.

You tap him on the shoulder, “Are you okay? You look to be lost in your thoughts.”

He hums before answering, “I’m good. You look lovely by the way.”

You look down at your outfit, brushing out invisible creases; heart racing from his compliment. You internally scold yourself for reacting this way. “Thank you, Cedric.”

Cedric nods. His heart breaks as he sees how you’ve dressed up for Michael and how happy you look to be meeting him. He wishes he had told you earlier; confessed to you before the Yule Ball how much he adored you because if he had, he would be the one to be walking you to Hogsmeade, to be sharing a butterbeer, to be whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Instead, he’s resigned himself to the fact that after today, he will have lost you forever.

He watches you check your watch, brushing your fingers through your hair one more time before going to meet Michael.

He decides to take the moment to plead, to beg you not to go. To stay with him; spend the day with him so he can gather the courage to tell you how he feels. How he has felt for years but didn’t know until last year and if you would give him the chance, he would spend the rest of his life earning your affection and showing you just how deep his love for you runs.

Cedric grabs your hand, making you turn to face him, “Don’t go,” he pleads.

“I have to, Cedric.” You pull your hand from his grip, rushing out of the common room to meet Michael in the courtyard.

--------------

The day with Michael had been pleasant. You had walked around Hogsmeade, entering the bookshop and Honeyduke’s to stock up on your stash of cauldron cakes. Michael, ever the gentlemen, had paid for your sweets with a smile and a wink at your protests.

The pit in your stomach was getting larger; you felt awful for not feeling anything more for Michael other than friendship. But your heart would not let you forget the brunette Hufflepuff you had left in the common room with a dejected look on his face.

The conversation with Cedric had played on your mind all day. His face as you left the common room, was printed onto the back of your eyelids. He had look so crestfallen, as if he had accepted some terrible fate. Your chest aches at the memory of it.

Michael takes your hand as he pulls you into The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer or two. You head to a small table as he goes to the bar for your drinks.

“Thank you.” You say as Michael places a foaming glass in front of you. You immediately take a drink, relishing the sweet butterscotch taste. You wipe your mouth on a napkin before smiling at Michael. “Thank you for today, I’ve had a lot of fun.”

Michael grins, “I have as well. But I think I’ve had more fun than you.”

You run a finger around the rim of your glass, “Michael…” You start, but he cuts you off.

“It’s Cedric, isn’t it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“It’s okay, I suspected as much when I first asked you out. It was confirmed when I saw his reaction.”

“His reaction?”

“The possessiveness.”

You nod, remembering it, “I’m really sorry, I thought I could… can we be friends?”

Michael smiles at you, “We can be friends.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you, Michael.”

“You know he’s jealous.” He states, sipping at his butterbeer.

“Who?”

“Who? Cedric.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“I’m telling you; he totally is.”

You think back to his possessiveness over the last week. He had never been like that; not once over the time you had known him. It only started when Michael had asked you to help with his essay and then asked you out.

Everything clicks into place; you drop your head into your hands with a groan. Michael laughs, “I told you so.”

Michael walks you back to the school and the Hufflepuff common room, making you promise to tell him what happens tomorrow. He squeezes your shoulder before walking away. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation you’re about to have.

Cedric hadn’t moved from where you left him this morning. He remained sat on the leather couch, his eyes on the fire but his mind elsewhere. You throw yourself down beside him. Cedric leans back into the couch; your legs going over his.

Cedric’s fingers draw aimless patterns on your legs as he apologises, “I’m sorry about this morning. I was out of line.”

You nod, “Yes, you were. But I appreciate your apology.”

“Did you have a nice time?” Cedric asks, punishing himself for his actions this morning.

“It was interesting,” You start, “Or at least, Michael told me something interesting.”

“I’m all ears.”

“He told me you were jealous of him, but I denied it of course because if you had feelings for me in any sense you would have told me by now, right?”

Cedric is silent; seeming very focused on the seam of your jeans as he traces a fingertip up it. You repress a shiver at the feel.

“Right, Cedric?” You repeat.

“Michael was right.” Cedric whispers, looking down.

“He was?”

“No, he is. I’m jealous. I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t in the end.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, Ced?”

“I was worried that I would ruin our friendship. We’ve been friends for so long, I thought if I suddenly confessed how I felt, you wouldn’t believe me, and you’d reject me.”

You sigh, “This is a mess.”

Cedric frowns, “What is?”

“We’ve been dancing around each other and being miserable all because we were scared to ruin what we already have.”

“We?”

You fiddle with your fingers, eyes focused on the fire, “I’ve felt jealous too, and heartbroken. I promised myself I would get over you.”

Cedric swallows around the sudden lump in throat, “And have you?”

You sigh, shaking your head, “I don’t think I ever could. I was so destroyed watching you at the Yule Ball with Cho, and I completely understood why you asked as her. She’s gorgeous and comes from a prestigious family. The match works.”

“I asked Cho to the Yule Ball because I panicked. I thought if I asked you, you would see through to my feelings for you. She called things off after the first two dances, she realised that I was looking for you.”

“We’ve both messed up, haven’t we?”

Cedric nods, taking one of your hands in his. “I think we have.”

You point at him, “Alright, naked truth time, Cedric. Are you ready?”

He raises an eyebrow, “As I’ll ever be.”

“Do you like me?”

Cedric blushes, “I think I more than like you. I think I love you.”

“Oh… I didn’t expect that.” You answer, your body warming at his words.

“Your turn: what do you feel for me?”

“I think I love you too.”

“You do?”

You fiddle with your fingers, “Yeah, I don’t know the exact moment it happened. It was just one day that I realised that I was in love with you, but you didn’t see me for so long. All I wanted to be was somebody more to you.”

Cedric closes his eyes as if in pain, “I royally screwed up, I hurt your feelings so badly. Will you ever forgive me?”

You purse your lips. You hold your hand out for him to take, which he does, “On one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You take me on a date.”

He grins, “I can definitely do that. Can I do something before though?”

You raise an eyebrow, “And that is?”

Cedric suddenly becomes shy, “Can I kiss you?”

“I’d really like that.”

Cedric smiles before he leans in.

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

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