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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Note

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

#prompt fill #anon request #Feysand #Feysand fic #Inner Circle #Feysand fluff because I can't help myself #mentions of rape #Mentions of SA #acotar #acotar fic #time travel

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writing-wh0re · 4 years

Note

Can I get prompts 9, 12, and 30 for a Bucky Barnes smut? I was thinking something soft like she gets hurt in a mission and he is helping take care of her wounds and if results in soft smut.

All writings will be #writing-wh0re-requests

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader.

My first Bucky Barnes and soft smut. Likes are great but feedback is golden, let me know how I can improve or what I could write for you!

Word count: 1,451k

Prompts Requested:

9 - “Did he do this?”

12 - “I’m fucking crazy about you”

30 - “Are you hurt?”

Warnings: Smut 18+, Injury, Fingering, Female Receving Oral, Vaginal Intercourse, Unprotected Sex.

I hold my side, feeling the slight burn of the bruises forming on my skin. I stumble through the avengers compound, my feet sore from the fight as I make it into the medical bay. I look at my appearance in the mirror, a cut across my cheek, blood staining my face.

“Are you hurt?” I look behind myself in the mirror seeing Bucky dressed in his gym clothing.

“Honestly, yeah.” I nod as Bucky grabs a face washer from the cabinet, walking over to me.

“Let me help you.” Bucky coats the washer in water, gesturing for me to sit on the medical bed.

“We could have used you out there you know.”

“Tell Tony that, he thought it would be a good opportunity for you and the spider.” I scoff as Bucky smirks at me, wiping the blood off my cheek as I wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I smile, trying to help get my point across.

“How did this happen?”

“I got myself cornered and Peter used his web to get me out but didn’t help me stick the landing and I cut my cheek on debris.”

“Wait.” Bucky steps back to look at me. “Did he do this?” I notice the tone in Bucky’s voice change, his body language following. Is he being protective of me?

“No, well not on purpose, there was a lot going on and it's more on me for not sticking the landing.”

“Well either way, I’m going to talk to the kid.”

I feel my stomach erupt with butterflies at Bucky’s words, my small crush on him causing my cheeks to heat up. He smiles at me as he continues to clean my wound. My eyes wander downwards to his lips as he softly licks them.

“Do you need help with anywhere else?”

“Would you mind looking at a few of the bruises, just to make sure nothing is broken?” I ask, confidence radiating off me as Bucky nods. I stand off the bed, my body almost flush against his as I zip down the front of my suit, my red lace bra on full display as I slip my arms out. I look back up at Bucky, his pupils blown with lust as I smirk.

“Uh, this spot right here, I was kicked pretty hard.” Bucky’s eyes travel over my body as his flesh hand brushes over the forming green and purple bruise.

“I, uh, might have an idea on how I can help.” I nod softly as Bucky smirks. “Are you sure?” I smile, biting my lip softly as I nod again, not trusting for my voice not to quiver under his lust filled stare.

Bucky pulls me flush against his chest as I lick my lips and he tilts my head up, pressing his lips to mine. A soft gasp falls from my mouth which allows Bucky to slip his tongue into my mouth as we begin to fight each other for dominance. I feel his hands grab my hips softly, lifting me onto the bed as he stands between my legs, never once breaking the kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” I giggle as Bucky smiles.

“I’m fucking crazy about you.” I feel heat hit my cheeks as Bucky continues. “I have been since our first mission together.” I pull on his shirt, trying to get him out of it as he gladly follows my gesture, ridding himself of the fabric as he toys with the clasp of my bra, letting the fabric fall from my body.

“Beautiful.” Bucky whispers as he kisses me, hands wandering down my body so softly to make sure he doesn’t touch any of my newly forming bruises. I place my hands on his toned chest, feeling his muscles tense under my touch. Bucky breaks the kiss, walking away from me to pull the curtain across the small medical bed area.

“Are you sure you want this?” I smile as I shimmy my suit down my legs, my matching red lace panties on full display as Bucky sighs, tilting his head to the side looking me up and down.

“I want this more than anything.” That’s all the confirmation Bucky needs as he pulls down his gym sweats, placing his hands on the sides of my face as he kisses me ever so softly, the kiss filled with love and passion as I slowly move back on the bed, my back hitting the wall as Bucky breaks away.

“Lay down doll.” I follow Bucky’s instruction, my pussy throbbing at the nickname as he gets on top of me, watching where he places his body to ensure the bruises on my skin don’t get bumped.

Bucky kisses along my jaw, littering the skin on my neck with hot open mouthed kisses as I gasp causing Bucky to smirk against my skin having found my sweet spot. He continues to kiss and lick the spot just below my ear, leaving his mark on my skin.

“Bucky.” His name falls from my lips, my body on fire under his touch as he kisses down my body, his metal hand kneading my right breast as his tongue plays with my left nipple. He continues down my body, kissing my clothed core as he looks up at me.

“All for me?” Smirking he loops his fingers under the sides of my panties, pulling them all the way down my legs, throwing them on the ground as he keeps his eyes focused on my heat. He kisses each side of my pussy before softly licking from my entrance to my clit. Swirling his tongue around in a figure eight motion as I become breathless, gasps of air filling the silence as I move my hips up against his tongue. I moan as I feel his metal hand hold my hip down, his flesh hand coming between my legs as he slips two fingers inside me, my back arching off the leather of the bed as I bite my lip, holding back a loud moan.

“Fuck, I’m close.” I whimper as Bucky doesn’t stop, his fingers rubbing against the walls of my pussy as he continues his figure eight motions. I feel him moan against my clit as I cum all over his fingers, my clit growing sensitive as he gives it one last longing lick, pulling his fingers out to look at me smugly.

“So pretty when you cum Doll.”

“Bucky, please, I want to finally feel you inside me.” I beg as he chuckles, slipping out of his boxer briefs. I moan just looking at his erect cock, slightly glistening with precum as I go to sit up, Bucky shaking his head.

“You’re injured, next time.” Bucky says understanding I want to play with him. I watch as he pumps his cock, running it up and down my wet slit, feeling light rushes of electricity run through me as my sensitive clit is bumped. Bucky slides skillfully into me, my walls instantly contracting around him, the electricity still flowing through my body, causing my legs to shake as Bucky groans.

“You’re so fucking tight doll, fuck.” I watch as Bucky keeps his eyes trained on himself going in and out of me. “Made for me.”

I blush as I arch my back, Bucky leaning over to kiss me as I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs following as I push him deeper into me. Both of us moan against each other as he continues his rhythmic thrusts.

“It’s so sensitive.” I cry out as Bucky places his forehead against mine. “I’m close Buck.”

Bucky picks up his pace a little as my legs start to tremble around his hips.

“Cum for me doll.” I bite my lip pulling Bucky flush against me as I move my hips with his, cumming harder the second time as Bucky’s thrusts slow, his cock twitching inside of me as he moans, kissing me. Bucky pulls out of me as I whimper at the feeling of being empty.

I sit up, wincing as the pain from my bruises as it winds me slightly.

“Let me help you.” Bucky smiles, helping me sit up as he slides my pantines back up my legs. “I’m not going to put you back in the suit though.” He chuckles as he grabs a medical lab coat, handing it to me as he quickly changes into his gym clothes.

“Thanks, um, so…” I trail off as Bucky smiles sweetly at me, kissing my head.

“I’d love for you to be mine Doll.” I smile wide as my stomach fills with butterflies, tingles flood my body as I nod.

“I’d like that.”

“C’mon Doll, we’ll go have a bath.”

“You know the way to my heart, Bucky Barnes.”

#writing-wh0re-requests #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x Fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #avengers #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes request #avengers fan fiction #captain america

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marvel-sluts · 3 years

Text

do you want to stay with me?

request: Stephen Strange x neighbor reader where a burglar went in reader's house while she was sleeping and almost got in danger because of it. Stephen offered her to stay at the Sanctuary for the meantime

11. do you want to go on a date with me?

26. cooking with them.

- @tom-hlover

pairing: Stephen Strange x reader

warnings: swearing, breaking and entering, major fluff.

summary: after a mysterious man saves you, you take him up on the offer to stay with him until your house is safe again.

a/n: I'm so sorry this took so long but I hope you like it!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

you had always been a deep sleeper, but you never thought you would sleep so deeply that you didn't hear the door being broken into and people ransacking your house.

you woke up with someone shaking you awake. "sorry for bursting in on you like this but I saw that your door was broken down and people were taking your belongings, they are delt with and nothing has been taken but I'm afraid that it's unsafe for you to stay here." a tall figure said.

you reached over to the light beside your bed, switching it on and yawning. in the light the man was quite good looking, tall with dark hair and a wierd looking cape on. the cape seemed to move on its own accord, not following the laws of physics at all. the man froze as you turned the light on, staring at you for a minute before snapping out of it and smiling softly at you.

"what?" you said, still half asleep.

"some thugs broke into your house, but I delt with them." the figure said.

"oh shit, thanks for saving me. I owe you one." you say, sitting up and motioning him to sit down on the bed.

“your welcome, I'm Strange by the way. Stephen Strange." sitting on the bed softly and holding out his hand.

"y/n, y/n y/l/n. nice to meet you." you said shaking his hand. you suddenly let out a small giggle.

"what's so funny?" Strange asked.

"just this whole situation, you literally save me from robbers and now we are having a conversation while I'm in bed, in my pyjamas. it's funny." you said, a small giggle escaping your lips once again.

"actually they were more than just robbers, they had knives. they could have hurt you, but your right, this is a bit ridiculous." he replied, your smile faltering when you hear that they were armed. “don’t worry, I dealt with them.” he said, seeing your face and giving you a reassuring smile.

“you weren’t hurt were you?” you asked, worry etched on your features.

“no don’t worry, I’m fine. you on the other hand need to find a place to stay until your door gets fixed.” he said, “you can stay at the sanctum if you want.” he offers.

“the what now?” you ask, confused.

“the sanctum, it’s a place for sorcerers like me.” he said, waving his hands and creating a big circle that covered almost all of his upper body. the circle had a pale orange tint to it and small orange sparks flew from the circle, making your jaw drop.

“so your a wizard?” you ask, titling your head slightly.

“I prefer the term master of the mystic arts but yes, in some sense I’m a wizard.” he replied kindly. “if your going to be staying at the sanctum you should probably pack some things, you won’t need much your door should be fixed in a couple of days.”

“what about all my stuff? if the doors broken then people will just come in and take it.” you asked worriedly.

“I can put a sort of force field around to stop people from getting in, but that means you won’t be able to get in or out without me removing it each time. so your things will be safe but you will still have to stay in the sanctum.” he replied, calming your nerves slightly.

“okay, give me a few minutes to get changed and grab my things then i’m ready to go.” you said, grabbing some clothes and heading to the bathroom to get changed.

»»————-　♡　————-««

a few minutes later the two of you were standing outside in the cool spring air. Strange was waving his hands in the air, you assumed that he was putting up that force field thingy he was on about. suddenly the wind picked up, making you pull your jacket closer to your body.

“are you cold?” he asked, looking down at you with kind eyes.

“just a bit” you replied.

“here.” he said, his cloak coming off his shoulders and levitating towards you before gently wrapping itself around your shoulders.

“wow” you muttered softly, eyes blown wide.

Stephen chuckled softly “that isn’t the even the weirdest thing your going to see today.”

"I highly doubt that." you said, yawning.

"come on, let's get you to the sanctum and to bed." he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you to a dark alleyway. he waved his hands for the third time that night, opening a sort of doorway to what you assumed to be the sanctum. the other side of the portal looked like a library with books lining the walls, although some books were in chains. you couldn't figure out why, maybe they were dangerous?

he stepped through first before looking back at you through the doorway. he reached a hand out through the portal, allowing you to grab it. he pulled you through with him, a small giggle escaping your lips as you fell onto his chest.

"sorry." you said, quickly drawing away, a light blush coating your cheeks.

"it's fine darling, come on. I'll show you to your room." Strange said, closing the doorway and leading you past the bookshelves and down a few corridors.

"you have a room set up for me?" you asked as the two of you crossed the courtyard, the cold night air making you shiver.

"while you were getting ready I messaged my friend Wong, he said that he'd set up and room for you. word of warning though, Wong is the librarian. you can read and borrow the books but don't damage them, otherwise you will have him on your ass." he said, leading you down a corridor with doors on each side. he opened the door on the far end of the corridor for you. "this is where you can stay until your door gets fixed, I'm in the room next to you if you need anything."

inside the room was a bed with a peice of paper on it, a desk and a closet. there was a door on the other end of the room and a chest of draws next to the bed. "through there is the bathroom, and this is the WiFi code." Stephen said, picking up the paper on the bed and handing it to you before pointing to the other door.

"thanks, you really didn't have to do all of this." you said, stiffling a yawn.

"yes we did. now bed for you, the sun will be coming up soon." Stephen said, walking to the door "goodnight y/n."

"night Stephen." you said, yawning again. he closed the door behind himself, chuckling softly.

"you really like her, don't you." a voice came from behind him.

"yeah, I do." Stephen said, turning the see wong peeking his head out of his door. "stop spying on our conversations."

"seeing you in love is funny." Wong said, ignoring Stranges last comment before shrugging and heading back into his room.

a small smile appeared on Stephens face as he headed to his own room, looking forward to seeing you in the morning.

»»————-　♡　————-««

the next morning you were woken by a loud banging coming from one of the rooms below you. quickly you got dressed and headed to the source of the noise.

you were greeted by the site of Stephen trying to cook. a frying pan lay on the floor, and there was flour everywhere. he looked up as you entered the room, giving you a bashful smile.

"I tried to cook for breakfast for you, if you can tell I don't really cook the often." he said, picking up the pan from the floor and putting it back on the stove.

"what are you trying to cook?" you asked, heart soaring that he made the effort to try and cook for you.

"pancakes, but it's not going very well." he said, showing you a bowl filled with batter and then pointing to the ceiling. there was a half cooked pancake stuck to the ceiling. "Wong is going to kill me." he said, mixing the batter hopelessly.

"come on, I'll help. you use your magic to get the pancake off the ceiling and I'll try to rescue the batter." you said, taking the bowl off of him and pouring it into the pan.

ten minutes later there was a stack of pancakes and a clean ceiling, just in time for Wong to come down.

"you cooked? and didn't burn the building down? you should stick around y/n, I might be able to eat something other than takeout." Wong said, eyeing the pancakes cautiously. "these ones don't look like they are going to jump off the plate and kill me, that's better than last time."

"pancakes tried to kill you?" you asked, turning to Strange accusingly.

"I don't know what I did, but they tried to kill us." Stephen said, shrugging "I think it might be the incantation I used."

"that's why don't use spells to cook." Wong said, stealing a pancake and taking a bite. "these taste great, you are definitely staying."

"great to know I'm appreciated." you said, taking a pancake yourself.

"hey Wong, could you go and find that book that I asked for the other day?" Stephen asked.

"what book? you never asked for a book." Wong said, mouth full of food.

"yes I did." Stephen said, giving him a stern look.

"oh yes, that book. right, I'll go and find it then."

the two of you watched Wongs retreating figure until he was out of sight. "so y/n, I was wondering. you can absolutely say no but do you want to go on a date with me? to get dinner or something? I know we don't know each other very well but I'd love to get to know you." Stephen asked, playing with his fingers nervously.

"of course, I'd love to." you said, smiling up at him.

"really?" he asked, shock evident on his face. christ he had fallen hard.

"yes." you said, a big grin on your face.

"I like you y/n." Stephen said, taking a step closer to you.

"I like you to, Stephen." you said, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him softly. he kissed you back, hands tangling in your hair.

"hey Strange I found that book you wanted." Wong said from the doorway, causing the two of you to break the kiss, "right, erm bad time?" he asked, beginning to back away slowly.

"very." Stephen said, pulling you back into him and kissing you again.

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

The Belle and the Bane - Chapter II

Summary: Living with the Bane is turbulent, at best. But, you do your best to weather the storm of his moods.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,916

Warnings: PG-13 - Fantasy!AU, Dark!AU, Bane!Henry, Dark!Henry, Belle!Reader, Healer!Reader, Curses, Language, Angst, Light Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Very Minor Character Death, Multiple Personalities(?), Possessive/Controlling Behavior

Inspiration: My warped version of Beauty and the Beast.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long! Muse was spazzing from this fic to that fic and this idea to that idea. You know how it goes! Forever and always, thank you to the amazing @wondersofdreaming for being my beta, brainstorm partner and encouraging me! Tell me what you think!

You woke that morning with the bright sunlight streaming into your room, as Damien threw the curtains over your windows open, letting the new day stream in, brightening the remaining darkness out of the corners of your room.

“Good morning, Ms.” He grinned at you, standing at the foot of your bed.

“Morning.” You yawned back, sitting up.

“I have breakfast ready for you.” He said, motioning to the table in the corner of your room, by one of the windows. “Also, I have some clothing coming in for you, later this morning. It's not your full wardrobe, but it's a start.” He smiled, sounding happy and chipper.

“Thank you, Damien.” You smiled at him, getting out of bed and pulled on your robe, sitting at the table and looking over your breakfast.

Nodding his head, Damien exited your room and traveled down to Henry's room, finding his master in a similar position you were, but instead of his room being bright with the morning sun, shining off the calm waves of the ocean. Henry's room was nearly pitch black, minus the raging fireplace and a few candles in large candelabras.

“Morning, Sir.” Damien said softly, nodding his head at Henry. “I hope you slept well.”

Henry took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, taking a gulp of his tea. “As usual, Damien.” He sighed. “Other than that girl you went behind my back and allowed here.” He added, with a lifted brow.

“I simply thought that some companionship would do you some good, Henry.” Damien replied, daring to use his master's first name. “Other than myself.” He added, as Henry opened his mouth.

“What companionship can she give me, Damien?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down and rubbed at his tired face. “Other than physical.” He added with a huff.

“Perhaps you should try and find out.” He replied, making Henry's messy bed. “She loves to read! She's almost completely read 'Great Expectations' and she's only been here a day. I know how much you like to read.” He explained, smiling over at him, his eyes glittering.

“I haven't read a book, in a long time.” Henry countered, his blue eyes darkening at his servant.

“Maybe.” Damien grinned, unbothered. “She can read to you.”

“I don't need to be read too. I can read on my own.” He hissed, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not some invalid.” He growled, his body tensing.

“Of course not. It was only a suggestion, she has a sweet voice, was all I meant.” Damien replied, softly. “Give her a week, Henry. If you don't find her presence wanting by then, I'll send her back home to her father.”

The muscles of Henry's jaw flexed as he contained his fluctuating emotions. “Fine.” He huffed, angrily, then winced at the loud sounding of the door bell. “Who could this possibly be!” He barked, looking at Damien.

“I had a bit of a wardrobe made up for her.” Damien replied, finishing Henry's bed. “She only came with what she was wearing, and I'm sure that wouldn't have met your meticulous standards.”

“Spending my money on her, Damien.”

“Would you rather her look a peasant, or be nude?” Damien countered, lifting a brow at Henry.

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes, turning his back on him and staring at the dancing flame of the candle on his table. Damien half smirked at Henry, and left his room, going down the stairs to the third ringing of the door bell, and pulled it open, greeting the visitors. There were two men, holding several boxes, swinging the door open wide, Damien allowed them to enter the castle and showed them up the stairs to your room. You stood as your door opened and Damien entered with the two men, directing them where to put the boxes, then shooed them out.

“Your new clothing.” He grinned at you, pulling open the boxes and removing several articles, laying them out on your bed. “I do hope you like them. I wasn't sure what colors you would like, so I tried to keep them as neutral as possible.” He explained, pulling out more and more things from the boxes.

You stood beside him as he laid them out, surprised by the expensive quality of the fabrics and their current fashion. They were all so beautiful, you had never seen anything like them. Looking them over, you picked out the outfit you wished to wear for the day, and Damien put the rest in the empty walk-in closet. He smiled as he watched you stand in the full length mirror in the corner of the room, looking at yourself from every side and playing with the flow of the fabric of the dress you wore.

“You look beautiful.” He complimented you, standing behind you with a smile.

“Thank you.” You smiled back, your cheeks warm.

Henry groaned, stepping out onto his balcony, needing a breath of fresh air, when he saw a shadow move in the neglected garden below. Frowning, he leaned forward on the oxidized railing of his balcony for a closer look. He saw the shadow again, before you rounded an overgrown hedge, your fingers lightly touching the leaves. He watched you as you explored the ruined garden maze he had played in as a child, with his brothers. Biting his lip, Henry turned and went back into his room, throwing open his bedroom door and storming down the stairs, to the back garden.

“Christ.” You gasped, running straight into Henry, like he was a brick wall. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” You panted.

Henry grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you away from him. “What are you doing out here?” He demanded, glaring down at you.

“Enjoying some fresh air and sunlight.” You replied, staring up at him, your heart pounding. “Is there an issue with that, like wandering around the house at night?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

His hands squeezed your arms, before letting go of you as you gasped, realizing he had been hurting you. “No.” He gulped, relaxing. “But, you do need to be careful, if you turn the wrong direction, you'll end up stepping off the cliff.”

“Why would you design a garden to do that?” You asked, frowning up at him.

“It wasn't.” Henry replied, looking over the cracked and overgrown path you stood on. “There was a very bad storm, several years ago, and part of the cliff gave way, taking the back portion of the garden and a gazebo with it.” He explained to you, brushing his wind blown curls out of his face, then turned away from you, disappearing around a corner.

Blinking a couple of times, you followed after him, turning two corners, before you found him again, standing several feet away from the edge. Henry smiled at you over his shoulder, shocking you with the transformation it gave him, both physically and emotionally, he felt less threatening and harsh. You moved to stand next to him, a rush of strong ocean wind blowing against you so much, you felt the, surprisingly, gentle touch of Henry's hand rest on your back, keeping you steady as you both stood there.

“Damien said you've almost finished reading the Great Expectations.” Henry said, after a long pause of silence.

“I have.” You nodded, biting the corner of your lip. “Charles Dickens is one of my favorite authors.” You confessed to him.

“Mine as well.” Henry chuckled, looking down at you. “I've thoroughly enjoyed 'The Old Curiosity Shop'. I've read it numerous times.” He explained to you, looking out over the ocean. “But, it's been some time since I've read anything, but a financial or business report.”

“Why is that?” You asked, glancing up at him, a soft frown on your face.

“Because, life gets in the way.” He replied, his face hardening. “You should go back inside.” He said, moving his hand from the small of your back to your shoulder; turning you away from the cliff. “It's getting much too cold for you out here.”

“And you?” You replied, lifting a brow at him.

“I'll be fine.” Henry answered, in a short tone. “Go.” He barked, pointing back to the house.

Biting your lip, you nodded your head to him and wound your way back through the garden maze, finding your way back through the open veranda doors. You only whiled away most of the morning, before boredom took you, unaccustomed to just sitting around all day. So, you pulled on a coat and went downstairs, you could hear Henry and Damien's voices through the closed study door as you showed yourself out, going back down to the village to check on your father and see if any of the villagers needed you.

“Where have you gone?” Damien asked, appearing in your doorway as you removed your coat and draped it over the back of a chair. “I came to bring you your lunch, and you were gone.”

“I went down to the village.” You replied, turning to him. “To check on my father, and one of the young wives down there was in the middle of giving birth, so I helped her.” You explained to him, unapologetic for leaving the castle without notice, you weren't their prisoner, and refused to be treated as one.

“Mr. Cavill is quite unhappy about it.” Damien replied, pressing his lips together.

“I'm sure, Mr. Cavill can get over it.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. “He is a grown man, is he not?”

Damien narrowed his eyes at you and took a deep breath. “Well, be it as it may. If you're to leave the castle, please inform me, or I'm bound to worry you've fallen off a cliff or something.”

“I will.” You told him, your voice tight. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“That's a question I should be asking you.” He countered, a soft smirk tugging on his lip.

“No, I don't need anything from you, Damien.” You sighed, you really just wanted to soak in a hot tub of water, your back aching from bending over as you helped birth the young woman's babe into the world.

“There's nothing you can do for me, either.” He replied, nodding his head. “Yet.” He added, softly, turning and showing himself out of your room.

Sighing and rubbing at your face, you turned towards the bathroom door, stripping off your clothing as you went. You melted into the hot water, up to your neck, eyes falling shut as it slowly eased away your aches and pains, taking your worries and stress away with it.

“If I were to be stuck here for the rest of my life, the only thing I would get used to, is this glorious hot water.” You mumbled yourself, drifting off.

You were awoken in the middle of the night, shaken by your shoulders and the frantic calling of your name. You batted your hands at the ones holding and shaking you, whimpering as you were drawn out from your peaceful slumber.

“What?” You rasped, in a sleepy voice. “What!” You barked, jerking up in bed. “Damien, what in the world! You're acting as if the house is on fire.” You sighed, brushing your hair out of your face.

“It's not, is it?” You added, face snapping to your open bedroom door.

“No, no! The house is intact.” He assured you, no less frantic and antsy.

“Then, what is the rush?”

“It's Henry, he's terribly unwell, and you are a healer, are you not?” He asked in a jumble of words.

“I am.” You nodded, frowning and throwing back your blankets. “What is wrong with him?” You asked, getting out of bed and taking your robe as Damien held it out to you.

“I'm unsure, I went to check on him in his study, he always works very late.” He explained, leading the way down the hall. “He was quite pale, and I'm sure he's thrown up in the bin.”

Your frown deepened with every description Damien gave you of Henry's ailment, your brain shuffling through dozens of different possible illnesses based on them. When you and Damien finally reached the ground floor study Henry spent a great deal of his time in, you found him lying on the sofa, an arm slung over his pale and sweaty face. You knelt down on the rug beside him on the sofa, gently resting your hand on his elbow.

“Henry.” You whispered softly.

“What do you want?” Henry growled, but it sounded more like a pained whimper.

“I've asked her to look you over, Sir.” Damien replied, hovering from the other side of the couch, his face creased with concern and worry. “She's a healer down in the village.” He explained, chewing on his lip.

Henry huffed, but didn't remove his arm. You frowned up at Damien, then stood, going around the couch to whisper in his ear.

“Give me a moment with him.” You said and tilted your head towards the door.

Damien looked between Henry on the couch and the study door, but nodded his head and went out, quietly closing the door behind him. Rounding the couch again, you took up the fire poker and pushed the burning logs apart until they were nothing but glowing embers, then brought the burning candlestick on Henry's desk over to the small end table at Henry's feet on the couch, plunging the study into near darkness.

“You can take your arm away from your face now, Henry.” You whispered softly, kneeling back down beside him. “The light shouldn't bother your eyes so much.” You told him, tilting your head at him, having an idea of what was bothering him.

Henry slowly removed his arm from over his face, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light. His handsome face was quite pale, his eyes were red and damp, his curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. He carefully turned his head towards you, narrowing his eyes at you.

“How long have you had migraines?” You asked him, lifting a brow at him.

“Since I suffered that illness.” He replied, gulping thickly. “They're crippling.”

“I can see that.” You replied, glancing over at the waste bin by his desk, where he'd thrown up. “Come on.” You sighed, standing up. “Let's get you off to bed. You need to rest.”

“I have work to do.” Henry protested, slowly sitting up.

“It can wait, Mr. Cavill.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “If you don't rest, you'll end up throwing up more, and probably passing out. Neither is good for your business or your health.” You protested, planting your hands on your hips.

“So, up you go.”

Henry looked up at you, narrowing his eyes at you. Both of you stood there for a long moment, staring each other down, before Henry growled and stood up. Smirking, you moved around the couch, taking up the candlestick and opened his study door. You and Henry went up the stairs to his room, you paused, resting your free hand on his thick arm as he swayed outside his door for a moment. Henry squeezed his throbbing eyes shut, reaching out blindly to open his door.

You set the candlestick aside and guided him to bed, pulling back the blankets and made him sit down, before he fell. Frowning at him, then sighing, you bent down and pulled off his slippers, setting them aside. Henry watched you through half-lidded eyes as you fussed over him, helping him remove his shirt, then piled up his pillows, so he could rest back on them, and covered him with his blankets. Moving away from him, you went into his bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cold water and brought it back to him.

“Put this over your eyes, it'll help some of the discomfort.” You told him, holding the washcloth out to him.

“As you wish.” He smirked, his tone teasing as he pushed his head back and draped the cloth over his eyes with a moan.

“How is your stomach?” You asked him, watching him gulp thickly.

“Like a raging ocean.” He replied, licking his lips and fisting his blankets, then sat up suddenly, his face going pale as a ghost.

You reacted quickly, picking up the bin by his table and thrust it out to him, just in time for him to throw up, wrenching hard. Henry whimpered as the wrenching agitated his throbbing and pulsing skull. He looked so weak and harmless, like a small boy trapped in the body of a man. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you used the damp cloth to wipe at his sweaty face, the scent of vomit was something you had grown used to as a healer. Sighing, you set the now warm cloth on his nightstand, chewing on your bottom lip as you regarded him and thought about something that could relieve the pain of his migraine and the discomfort of his stomach.

“Do you have any willow trees nearby?” You asked, frowning at him, as a solution brewed in your mind.

“Of course, what kind of question is that?” Henry huffed, shaking his head at you, then instantly regretted it. “The whole county is known for them, there's three in the graveyard alone.” He told you, gripping the waste bin, as another wave of nausea hit him.

“Good.” You nodded, getting up. “I'll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Henry demanded, as you rushed out of his room.

“Is Henry all right?” Damien asked, he had been lingering in the hall.

“He's got an acute migraine.” You told him, rushing up to your room to pull on a shawl. “I need to retrieve some things to help lessen his pain and the discomfort of his stomach. But, I'll also need hot water and a tea set.” You told him, pulling on your shawl and grabbed the sharp letter opener on top of your dresser, before running downstairs and out the front door, into the darkness.

You knew where the Bane's family graveyard was, you had to pass the narrow path that led to it on your way up the castle. The air was bitterly cold and windy, pushing off the ocean and mixing with the late autumn night. The spooky shadows of the trees that lined the path to the graveyard were frightening, but you were far too focused to allow yourself to become scared and paranoid about them. It took some doing, in the dark of the quarter moon, but you found one of the willow trees, near an overgrown, dark stone mausoleum, the names of Marianne and Colin Cavill carved on the sealed doors. You removed the sharp letter opener from the inside pocket of your robe and started cutting into the bark of the willow tree, collecting enough to fill one of your robe pockets, then started searching around it roots, running your fingers through the leafy tops of small plants, until you found the second thing you were looking for, mint. You knew you could find it here, it was how the village of Mintwillow had gotten its name, after all.

Pockets full with what you needed, you raced back up to the castle and into Henry's room. Damien had gotten everything you asked for together. You dumped your pockets out on the table beside them and started breaking up the bark into smaller bits with the mint and dumped them into the boiling water of the teapot.

“What is all of that?” Damien asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Willow's bark and mint.” You replied, stirring the concoction. “Do you have any honey?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him. “Willow's bark can be rather bitter, so the sweetness of the honey will help with that, as well as coat his throat, after all the throwing up.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, rushing back down to the kitchen for the honey pot.

“Thank you.” You smiled, pouring some of the tea into a cup, then adding a drizzle of honey into it.

“You can go, Damien.” Henry rasped, his voice now sore from throwing up and wrenching. “I'm sure she can care for me now.” He said, his eyes on you.

Damien looked between you both, then nodded his head, excusing himself. Satisfied with his tea, you carefully brought it to him.

“Sip it slowly.” You told him as he raised it to his lips, then chuckled. “It's not meant to taste good, just to help.”

“It better.” He huffed, taking another sip of it. “Or I'm going to be very angry.”

You smiled at him, unphased by his mood swings. “I've given this tea to many people over the years, and it's never failed me.” You assured him. “But, I should let you rest. Sleep is the third best thing for a migraine like this.” You told him, turning away.

Henry's hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stopping you in your tracks. “Stay.” He said softly, his tired and glassy eyes staring holes into you. “Just for a little while.” He whispered, so quietly, you weren't sure he had said anything.

“Perhaps, you could read to me? It helps me sleep.” He added, glancing at a book sitting on his nightstand.

You swallowed slowly, surprised by his request, as the heat of his hand wrapped around your wrist, pushed out the last of the cold that had settled into you, when you were outside. This was a side of him you hadn’t expected, and you weren’t sure how it made you feel; perhaps conflicted from when you experienced his normally callous mood. Licking your lips, you nodded your head at him and Henry felt relieved that you agreed to stay with him, it gave some deep part of him a great amount of comfort, so he slowly let your wrist go. You grabbed a chair from his table and brought it to the side of his bed, picking up his book and saw it was 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

Clearing your throat, you flipped the book open to its marker and started reading at the top of the page. Henry relaxed against his pillows, sipping the rest of the tea you had made him, before setting the empty cup aside and closed his eyes, focusing on the soft and easy rhythm of your voice as you read aloud to him.

Henry woke several long hours later, his head still throbbing, but not as badly as it had been for the last few days. He opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep from them, when he noticed you, book open in your lap, and sound asleep. You had also fallen asleep, while reading to him. Henry smirked and got out of bed, carefully setting the book in your lap aside, and gingerly lifted you into his arms, your head lulling gently against his shoulder as he carried you out of his room.

“Good mo-”

“Sshhh.” Henry shushed Damien, angrily, as he appeared on the stairs. “Don't wake her.” He growled, in an almost protective manner, then tenderly shushed you as you whimpered and shifted restlessly in his arms, hugging you closer to his chest.

“My apologies, sir.” Damien replied demurely, moving out of Henry's way and bowing his head, to hide the smirk on his face as Henry went by.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Henry carried you up to your own room, pushing the door open with his foot and delicately laid you down, your blankets still thrown back from when Damien woke you up to tend to him. He stood above you for a long moment, after covering you up, watching you snuggle and melt into the mattress and pillows, a faint and sweet smile on your lips. But, he quickly turned away as his heart started to pound and his chest hurt, like he'd been punched by a giant.

Leaving you to sleep in your room, Henry returned to his own and felt his head start to throb again.

You woke just before noon and found yourself back in your own bed, figuring Damien had brought you back to bed. Rising and stretching your stiff body from bending over Henry and sitting in a chair all night, you got out of bed and dressed, just as Damien came in, carrying a tray.

“Oh, you're awake!” He grinned, setting the tray on your table, lunch no doubt, since you had slept through breakfast.

“Yes.” You replied, stifling a yawn into your fist as you sat down at the table. “Thank you for bringing me back to my room.” You added, munching on a bit of your food.

“Oh, I didn't.” Damien replied, making your bed. “Henry did.” He explained, seeing your confused expression.

“Henry did?” You replied, slowly setting your teacup down.

“Yes, you fell asleep, while you tended to him and when he woke this morning, he found you sound asleep on a chair.” He explained, fluffing your pillows. “So, he carried you back up here, to bed.” He said it all, like it was the most normal and natural of things.

“Oh.” You gulped, picking your tea back up and taking a large gulp of it. “Is he any better?” You croaked, keeping your eyes on your food.

“He was quite well, until a few hours ago.” Damien frowned, collecting your dirty clothing. “Seems his headache has re-surged.”

“Oh no.” You cooed, frowning over at him, very concerned. “I should check on him at some point today.”

“It could do him some good.” He agreed with you.

After breakfast, you dressed and found Henry hunched over his desk in his study on the ground floor. Even standing out in the hall and peeking through the cracked open study door, you could see the pain Henry was clearly in. He rubbed at his temples at regular intervals as he frowned at the report in his hand, eyes narrowed at the black lettering. Frowning and pressing your lips together, you turned on your heels and went into the kitchen, where Damien had taken the herbs you used the night before to help Henry's migraine.

Finding and filling a kettle, you set it on the stove to boil, preparing the cup of mint and willow's bark, with a drizzle of honey and a splash of milk. Smiling, you set the steaming cup onto a small plate, carefully carrying it down the hall, and into Henry's study.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked, sounding annoyed, as he looked up from the report he had been staring at for nearly an hour.

“Damien said, your migraine returned.” You replied, carefully setting the cup down on a clean corner of his desk. “So, I brewed you another cup to help.” You told him, smiling at him sweetly.

Henry set down his neglected report and stared at the steaming cup of tea, the muscles of his jaw flexing as his mind roiled with a kaleidoscope of thoughts, before huffing and picking his report back up. “You can leave.” He hissed, not looking back at you, with a cold aura rolling off of him.

“Um..” You floundered, then let out a soft sigh and excused yourself from his study.

You made it halfway up the staircase to your room before a wave of tears hit you, no one had been so rude and cold to you as Henry was, and you had encountered some stubborn people in your practice. Taking a moment to get a hold of yourself, you continued upstairs to your room. But, it was an hour or two later that Damien appeared in your doorway with a note in his hand.

“This came from the village for you, Ms.” He said, holding it out to you.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking the note from him and breaking the seal. “Oh no.” You gasped, reading the note.

The note was in your father's own hand, but wrote about one of your patients who suffered from a chronic illness, telling you that he had turned for the worst and you needed to hasten down to the village before it was too late. In a flustered rush, you grabbed your cloak and the bag you kept your herbs in and rushed down to the front door, your heart pounding and mind racing, praying that you made it back to the village in time.

“Where are you going?” Henry's voice boomed, aided by the echo of the vast foyer.

“One of my patients in the village needs me.” You replied, startled and out of breath.

“No.” He snapped, shaking his head, rage burning in his blue eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“What!” You snapped, gobsmacked.

“You heard me.” Henry hissed at you, his body tense. “You aren't to leave this house, unless you have my say.” He told you, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “And you do not. So, go back to your room, this instant.”

You stared at Henry wide eyed, shocked and dumbfounded. How could he refuse to allow you to go down to the village to tend to one of your patients, one so critically ill. Surely, being someone that has lost loved ones to such a crippling illness would understand that need and haste of trying to cure someone with something so life altering. Who did he think he was? Your warden, keeping you in this dark and oppressing castle, cut off from those you loved, with only his hot and cold tempers and Damien the rest of your life.

“No.” You replied, your voice a mixture of stubborn defiance, shock and outlined in fear of what he would do with your disobedience. “He'll die.”

“Then, he can die and you'll have one less obligation.” Henry answered, his voice cold as ice. “Now, do as I told you.”

You gulped, watching him practically grow with his rage and impatience towards you, and your hand still resting on the handle of the front door, gripped it tighter. Henry saw the small action, like a wolf seeing the small twitch of a rabbit's body, readying itself to bolt from the reach of its mighty jaws. You had the door open by the time he took a step towards you and felt the brush of his fingers against the fabric of your cloak as you bolted out the door and into the bright light of the early afternoon sun.

Running several yards, and expecting Henry to catch you at any moment, you realized he wasn't and paused to look back towards the castle. You saw the outline of his tall frame standing just before the threshold of the doorway, unmoving to dash after you and drag you back inside. Henry just stood there, fuming with rage and shaking with something far more complex as he battled to go after you. But, after several long moments, he disappeared, the door slamming shut with an echo.

“Such a strange man.” You panted to yourself, before turning back down the path towards the village, wasting no more time to reach your patient.

“Sir?” Damien frowned, hearing the crash of the front door slamming closed from the other side of the house, and came running to make sure nothing nefarious had occurred.

“Damn that girl!” Henry roared, storming into his study.

“Has something happened to her?” Damien asked, alarmed for your welfare.

“Not yet.” Henry replied, angrily pacing the room. “She's left, after I explicitly told her not too.”

Damien's brow creased for a moment, then it dinged in his mind. “Her note, of course.” He nodded, smiling to himself.

“What note?” Henry growled, stopping his pacing to look at his servant.

“She received a note about twenty minutes ago, from her father.” He explained to his master. “One of her patients suffers from a chronic illness. Her mother cared for him before her death, and she's picked up the patients, in her wake.”

“You read the note?”

“I might have glanced at it.” He replied, smiling softly. “But, the rest of it, she told me herself.” He added, he had grown quite fond of you.

“Why didn't you tell me she received it?” Henry hissed, his lips pressed into an angry line.

“I didn't want to bother you.” Damien gulped, biting the corner of his own lip. “I know you've been very busy lately. Especially after one of the ships go-”

“I want any correspondents she gets, I don't care who they come from!” Henry barked at him. “I'll determine whether or not she'll receive them or not. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.” Damien nodded, nervously licking his lips.

“Clear this away.” Henry huffed, waving a hand at the tea cup still on his desk as he sat back down.

“Right away, sir.” He rushed over and picked the empty cup up.

“Close the door.” Henry called as Damien started to leave.

Nodding his head, Damien closed the door behind him and took the cup into the kitchen to be washed. With the door closed, Henry leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips to his temples. His migraine had gone away after drinking the last cup of tea you had made him, but now it started to come back, his anger with you disobeying him and leaving the house, and him not going after you, to bring you back.

“Why didn't I bring her back?” He growled at himself, pressing his fingers harder into his temples. “Why couldn't I go after her?” He panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing pain in his skull.

You sighed as you stepped out of a hut in the village, exhausted from the run to the village and the struggle to help your patient. A warm hand rested on your shoulder and you didn't need to see who it was, before you turned into the warm body it belonged to, enveloped by iron hardened arms that clasped you to an even warmer chest.

“You did your best, little lamb.” Your father's rough voice whispered into your ear, his hot breath warming the cove of your cold nipped ear. “You did your best.”

“Ma would have done better.” You mumbled into his tunic.

He smiled into your hair and brushed it out of your face, before cupping your cheeks in his calloused hands. “Your mother would have done all the same things, little lamb. She taught you well.” He assured you, before gently kissing your forehead. “I should walk back with you, it's getting too dark for you to walk alone.” He said, letting you go.

“I don't want to go back, papa.” You frowned, not willing to let him go. “Please, don't make me go back to him.” You begged, looking up into his eyes. “He's so cold and mean to me.”

“Has he tried to wrong you?” Your father frowned, a flash of anger in his eyes.

“No. Thankfully. But, all I do is sit in my room and read or stare out the window. The only person I have to talk to, other than myself, is his servant, Damien, who is a very sweet and attentive person, it's just..” You paused, your chin dropping to your chest as tears started to overwhelm you.

“It's lonely.” You sniffled.

“I know how you feel, my sweet.” He sighed, huddling you back up into his arms. “It's lonely for me as well. But, things will get better, he'll warm up to you, once you work your sweet charm on him.” He chuckled. “I've seen you melt the icy heart of so many, I doubt Mr. Cavill will be immune to it.”

“I don't know, Papa.” You sighed, fruitlessly dabbing at your tears. “He's not like anyone I have ever met before.”

Your father's roar of laughter echoed in the growing misty darkness. “The man is the richest in the county and among the elitist rich in the country, lamb. He's got airs and graces, self entitlement, ego and everything at his fingertips. He's spent his life with people at his beck and call, doing his bidding and obeying him.” He chuckled. “You've never dealt with a rich person before. But, you'll adapt, you are so much like your mother in that aspect. You are strong, independent, intelligent and like a red hot piece of steel coming out of the forge, capable of shaping and molding yourself to fit into any situation.”

“You just need to show him that.”

“So, you think I should go back to him and his dreary castle?” You frowned up at him, your stomach in knots.

“I do, lamb.” He nodded, but you could see he had knots in his own stomach. “If he ever does anything vile against you or your person, you come home, and he'll feel the strength of my hammer.” He told you, showing where you had inherited your stubbornness.

“All right, Papa.” You sighed, but straightened your stiff back. “I'll go back, for you.”

“Then, let's be off!” He said, taking your bag for you and accompanied you back through the village and up the road leading back to Cavill and his Castle of loneliness. “I'll write to you more regularly.” Your father said, as you both reached the turn on the road leading up to the house. “So, it will seem like I am with you more.” He promised, his voice slightly weak.

“I would love nothing more.” You replied, your own voice weak with tears and emotions, as you reached out and squeezed his hands.

Taking leave of your father, you made the solitary and anxious walk up to the castle, trying not to let the shadows from the trees and sudden animal noises spook you, keeping your eyes forward. Once you reached the front door you thought of knocking or ringing the bell, but knew if you did it would wake Henry and you weren't in the mood and didn't possess the strength for his cold wrath. So, you tried the handle and found it open, which in actuality, didn't surprise you. No one in their right or ill mind would try to rob the Bane, no matter how rich he might be.

You quietly closed the door behind you, before taking off your shoes, not wanting to make the old floorboards creak under their soles. Gingerly tiptoeing by Henry's study door, it was closed, but you weren't willing to risk him being inside and hearing you, before mounting the stairs, pausing with each small noise you or the house made. Only letting out a soft sigh of relief, you weren't aware you were holding, when you reached your floor, no one but you occupied the floor, with the Bane on another floor and Damien sleeping somewhere below stairs no doubt.

But, you lifted a brow at the stream of light coming from under your room door, but brushed it off.

“Maybe Damien made up my fireplace to keep my room warm, while I was away.” You said to yourself, it was something sweet and thoughtful Damien would do. “Has to be, what else would it be?” You sighed at your silly paranoia and went inside.

“So, you came back.”

You yelped, dropping your shoes and bag to the floor with a clatter, pressing your back to the now closed door and your hands to your pounding chest. “What are you doing in here?” You demanded, out of breath from your fright.

“Waiting for you.” Henry replied, leaning forward in the chair by the window, that you usually occupied to read during the days.

“In my room?” You asked, lifting your brows at him and trying to collect yourself, not wanting to give the beast the satisfaction of seeing you off-guard.

“It's only your room, because I allow it to be.”

“How kind of you.” You hissed, finally recovering yourself and relaxed. “I didn't think you were capable of it.”

An oddly sinister smirk tugged up one side of Henry's mouth. “I am capable of a good many things.” He replied, licking his lips and resting his elbows on his knees. “How was your little patient, anyway.” He asked, lifting a brow at you. “Did you cure him with your cute little leaves?”

“Don't mock me!” You snapped, hands tightening into fists.

“I'll take that as a no, then.” He smirked more at you, apparently pleased with himself.

You drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trembling with a built up amount of emotions, before suddenly snapping towards him, in a fit of rage. “You fucking bastard!” You growled, jaw clenched and hands raised.

Henry snapped to his feet, like a flash of lightning, grasping your raised wrists in his hands, instantly restraining you and pushed you up against the wall beside the window he had been sitting next to. “That is fowl language from such a sweet mouth.” He growled, looking into your angry eyes.

“Did your patient break your little heart?” He mocked you, venomously.

He didn't believe for a moment that you had actually gone down to the village for a real patient, that your father had only sent the note as a cryptic message for something entirely different. Like a lover or beloved, trying to plot something to get you away from him.

“What are you talking about!” You yelled, struggling against him, confused and frightened.

“Do you think I'm a fool!?” Henry bellowed back at you, painfully pinning your hands to the wall at either side of your head. “I know that note was a fucking lie! A feign to get away from here, probably to see some peasant lover.”

“What do you care?!” You huffed, even more confused and shocked at him and his outburst. “You'd pawn me off to anything that gave you the chance to do so! You didn't want me here to start with, I know that, the whole village, if not the county, knows that.” You taunted him, hotly.

“Yet, here you are acting like your my scorned lover!”

“Because you are mine.” Henry growled in a low tone. “My possession to do with as I please.”

“Ha!” You laughed in his face. “I am no such thing.” You huffed, shaking your head at him. “I don't belong to you. My only misfortune is being held prisoner here, with a monster as a jailer.”

You yelped as one of Henry's hands gripped your jaw in a vice-like grip, forcing your head back to look up at him. “You belong to me.” He hissed, his face so close to yours now that your noses brushed and his hot breath wafted over your face. “I paid for you. All that money your dear father owes me; for the goods he uses to sustain his profession, for the taxes on the land his forge and house rest on, and so much more.”

“He sold you to me, to have those debts paid for and cleared away.”

The dull nails of his fingers pressed into the smooth skin of your cheeks and you whimpered, pathetically, immobilized by one of his hands pinning your wrists above you, his other hand gripping your head, like a bear trap, and his body caging you in, preventing even the smallest of movements of your body.

Your rage was forgotten in that instance, seeing the true Bane, and fear paralyzed you.

“So, yes.” He grinned at you in a way that made your heart stop. “I am your jailer, and you are my prisoner, and if you ever leave this house again, you will feel my wrath. Do I make myself clear to you?”

“Yes.” You gulped in a breathy whimper, unable to move your head to nod.

“Very good.” Henry replied, tipping his head slightly to the side. “Now, that's settled.” He looked to the clock, then back at you. “It's almost two in the morning.” He moved to stand sideways, but still stood close to you.

“Go to bed.” He ordered you, his tone leaving no room to argue.

Licking your dry lips, you slowly moved away from him, to the edge of your bed and pulled down the blankets, while he approached the door. You gulped, your throat sore from where the heel of his palm had pressed as he held you. “My patient,” You dared to say, as he opened the door. “died.” You informed him, your face hardening against the hurt of losing a patient and the fear that gripped you as Henry turned around.

Henry regarded you with a tired, cold and indifferent face, but his blue eyes gave away to something deeper you couldn't place your finger on. “You no longer have any patients, real or otherwise. So, you should put your mind to other things.” He told you in an emotionless voice, then left.

“Other than you, you mean.” You said to the closed door of your bedroom.

You stood by the side of your bed for a long time, paranoid that Henry was just standing in the hallway listening in on you, which he did for several minutes, before going to his own room, before your turned and went into the bathroom, desperately needing to soak in a hot bath. You needed that delectable heat and steaming water to melt away every ounce of stress, fear and exhaustion that you had coursing through your sore body, and it did just that. You didn't get out of the tub until the water turned as cold as Henry was towards you and it was almost four in the morning. Then, and only then, did you put on a nightie and crawl into bed, using the dying light of the fire in the grate to read your current book and fell asleep as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon and tree tops.

“Good morning, Ms.!” Damien's chipper voice rang out as he entered your room with breakfast.

You groaned and tossed the blankets over your head, you had only gotten four hours of sleep and weren't in the mood for how happy-go-lucky Damien sounded, especially after what had happened with Henry during the night.

“Oh, come on!” He teased you, setting the silver tray of food down on the table. “It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the wind is hardly blowing and the birds are singing!” He said, trying to infuse his energetic mood into you, coaxing you up and out of bed, as he threw the curtains open and opened the windows, letting in the fresh sea air.

“Not today, Damien.” You sighed, turning your face into the plush pillow with a groan.

“Didn't sleep so well?” He asked, tilting his head at you, as he stood at the foot of your bed.

“You can say that.” Your mumbled reply answered, staring at the thin seam of light at the edge of your blanket.

“All right, then why don't you stay in bed, until you feel ready to get up and meet the day.” He suggested to you, though the concern was evident in his voice.

“Thank you, Damien.” You replied, closing out that thin line of light, plunging yourself in the darkness you felt yourself being swallowed into.

Lingering for a moment longer, Damien quietly showed himself out of your room, silently closing your door after him. You laid in bed for a long time after he left, not moving and barely moving, before letting out a deep sigh and tossed the blankets off of your body with a huff.

“Damn that man.” You growled, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Damn him to hell!” You shouted, your anger and despair culminating inside of you.

You didn't care if he could hear you, let him hear you and rot for it. You had done him no wrong, you had done nothing to him, other than the misfortune of your father giving you to him to pay a lifelong debt, before you were even born and your father owed his father, before his death.

“Why couldn't all of you died in this miserable house, that's never been a home.” You growled, beating your fists against the feather mattress. “Do this already dismal world a spot brighter for the rest of us.” You raged, jerking your body to sit up and threw your pillow against the door.

You sighed and rubbed at your face, trying to calm yourself, not wanting the Bane to reduce you to this mood and attitude, it was one thing for him to act like it and another for you to do it. Your parents raised you better and would be disappointed in your tantrum. Straightening your back and taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, you got out of bed, pulling on your robe and tied it around your waist, before moving over the breakfast Damien had made for you, it was almost cold now, but you didn't mind; your stomach was rumbling like an angry tiger.

Finishing your breakfast, you glanced around your room and sighed, there was nothing to do. But, read, that was.

Getting up, you went into the attached library, since you had finished your last book, The Iliad by Homer. You froze half way into the room, there was a package sitting on the table that hadn't been there the day before. You glanced at the door that led out of the library and into the hallway, it was closed, but the cobwebs that usually covered it, were broken and disturbed.

“Damien.” You sighed, shaking your head, figuring the man was just trying to cheer you up.

Picking the wrapped package up, you touched the delicate, fancy, black and gold wrapping paper, feeling the heft of what was inside and wondered what in the world he had gotten you. It felt like a book, from what you could feel through the paper, and you didn't want to ruin such nice, and clearly expensive, paper. So, you carefully unwrapped it and setting the paper down on the table, it was indeed a book, a hardcover of deep brown leather and gold stamping decoration on both covers and the spine.

Turning it over, you blinked at the cover.

“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas.” You read off the front cover, before opening it, a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on it slipped out and fell to the floor, making you bend down to pick it up.

Setting the book down, you unfolded the note, then frowned and shook your head at it, it was written on Cavill Industries stationary. But, the words surprised and shocked you even more.

My actions last night were unspeakable, I do not wish to keep you a prisoner in a place that has become my own penitentiary, nor make you feel fear, while you stay within these walls.

I have my reasons, that are not your fault and beyond your understanding. Take my apology with this gift, I have read it myself, and would love to know what you think of it.

Perhaps over dinner, one night.

If you would be so nicely inclined to have it, with me. - Henry

Your mouth was agape by the time you finished reading his note, having to read it twice over to ensure you weren't misreading it. You were so taken aback and dumbstruck by it, how could this be the same man that had pinned you, bodily, to a wall the night before, telling you of the wrath you would endure if you considered leaving the castle without his permission.

Was it some sick and amusing joke of his?

Was he trying to lull you into some sort of false confidence?

Was he trying to brainwash you into falling into being his good little pet?

Or was Henry being genuine and trying to make amends for his inexcusable and ungentlemanly behavior towards you?

It was all too confusing and made your head throb.

So, you set the note down on the table and picked up the book, rubbing your palm over the orate cover, before moving over to the window seat, settling on its plush cushion, the filtered gray light coming from the cloudy sky came through the windowpane, illuminated the pages just enough for you to read by, and you quickly got lost in the world that inked its pages.

249 notes · View notes

yami-writes · 4 years

Note

if your asks are open & my request isn't too much. could you write a secret relationship one shot with mina & a skater fem! reader? so like the bakusquad wants to have a movie night, but like mina declines since girly had a date with her cute skatergirl planned on that day already & like she snitches out to the date & like both of them snitch into minas room later & cuddle & kiss, reader on her lap clinging like a fucking koala on her & how her classmates would find out, react. please my bisexual ass needs more girlxgirl content here, espacially with the mha girls 😔✊

(✨) paring(s) — Ashido x fem!skater!reader (⚠️) warning(s) — none! (🔖) word count — 2.3k (💌) yami's note — yuhh fr tho 🤧 we need more mha girls but dw i gotchu 😌✨

“What? Why?” Kirishima questioned, poking his head out from behind Bakugo, “We’ve been planning this for weeks! You can't just flunk on us like this!!” Kaminari exclaimed, causing Mina to rethink the amount of time that went into tonight's now somewhat ruined plans “Aha~ yeah... sorry about that guys. Maybe another time.” she scratched the back of her head.

Mina was about to leave before being stopped by a hard grip on her wrist “Oi, raccoon eyes. You better have a good excuse for this.” Bakugo glared, his crimson eyes almost seemed as if they could pierce holes in her soul. ‘Why does Bakugo of all people care!?’ She fumbled on her words, trying to find a reasonable excuse that would reward her the get-out-of-jail-free card without spilling the beans on anything private. “Uh- well- I uhm…”

“Bakugo, leave her alone. Forcing yourself into her business isn’t very manly of you.” Kirishima chimed, ‘Right before I was about to get blown to bits! Thanks, Kirishima!’ Mina sighed in her head, before checking the time. 2:54pm. She promised to meet her date at 3pm.

Before anyone knew it, Mina was dashing down to the common room and out the door, almost appearing as a pink blur to everyone around her.

“Wha-what was that??” “I think that was Mina~” “Where is she going that fast!?” “I don't know,,” “Mina’s fast but I didn't think she would be able to pull off those kinds of speeds.” the class-A girls conversed, wondering in concern what's got Mina in such a rush.

“Shit! I'm gonna be late! This isn't even the first time!!” Mina panicked, still racing over to the park the two of you had planned to meet at.

Mina recalled the time she came almost 20 minutes late to a date because she didn't know what to wear, digging through her closet to find something she thought you would like. Dresses, skirts, sweaters, shorts, jeans, you name it, she probably tried it.

To say the least, Mina was nervous.

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Mina continued to race towards the park she had agreed to meet at. Her pace began to slow as her stamina got closer to reaching its limit. “Hey, Mina!!” she heard a familiar voice call out. “Y/n!! Hi!” huffed out as she came to a stop. Mina took a moment to gather her breath, her hands on her knees as she pants. “Did you seriously run all the way here from your dorm?” y/n questioned after a minute of silence.

“Of course I did! I didn’t want to be late,,, again.”

“You’re a riot.”

“Thanks!”

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The weather outside was nice and the view the park offered was wonderful. Flowers of all sorts bloomed on the flowerbeds. Mina could see daffodils, tulips, alliums, sunflowers, all of different colours. The clouds created gorgeous patterns in the sky, larger ones blocking out the sun and giving the area a slightly darker atmosphere, nobody seemed to mind though. Trees shaded parts of the park, most of the adults seemed to linger around there, watching the children play together.

Mina and y/n took a seat at one of the benches that was shaded by a tall and broad tree, the smell of nature flowing around it, their hands intertwined. Mina wasn’t the best in some compartments, but one thing she is good at is conversation. It's hard to find a dull moment with her, maybe that’s why people like being around her so much. y/n definitely wasn’t at her level when it came to social skills but the conversations between them flowed so effortlessly, the two of them just seemed to click in the best way possible. Two puzzle pieces that were meant to be together, created to be together.

“Hey! Mina, look!!” y/n pointed to an ice cream parlor across the park, a small line of children with their parent’s 5 dollar bills in their hands “Let’s get popsicles!”

“Sure! Last one there has to pay!!” Mina ran off towards the parler.

“Hey-! No fair!!” y/n ran after her, taking an extra moment to pick up her skateboard, the thought of riding it to pass Mina not crossing her mind. Mina was a fast runner, most of the men in her class not able to compete without their quirks, same thing goes for y/n. It was possible her skateboard wouldn’t even be able to put up a rewarding fight.

Mina waited by the parler, almost mockingly stretching her arms as she waited for her date to catch up. “Took you long enough~!” Mina giggled

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” y/n got out a $15 bill from her pocket before immediately having it taken from her hands. “I was joking! Let me pay instead!” Mina pleaded “I wanna make it up to you for coming late,”

“Babes, you were a minute late..”

“I made you wait an extra minute!! And what about all those other times I-” Mina was cut off by the Parler man clearing his throat to get their attention. She shoved her money onto the counter before ordering y/n’s favourite flavor and a strawberry popsicle for herself. The Parler man took the money before opening his parler and handing them the requested flavoured popsicles.

“Thanks, sir!” Mina chirps before taking y/n’s hand, bringing her back to the bench the two of them were sitting at before. The two of them unwrapped their cold treats, enjoying and sharing them with each other.

Conversation continued to flow between the two, time quickly passing by. Parents began taking their children home, young adults began walking home from their jobs, the city seemed alive.

Wind blew on the three branches of the park, a chill starting to coat the air.

“It’s probably gonna get cold soon, maybe we should get inside.” y/n proposed

“Yeah... Hey! You should come to the dorms!” Mina was quick to suggest, she’s always wanted to bring y/n to her room. The idea of having y/n close to her body, sharing snacks and watching funny videos on instagram always brought warmth to her heart. The idea of getting caught never really crossed her mind.

“Are you sure? Your classmates are definitely gonna find out.”

“No they won’t, I promise!”

“Mina, they’re heroes-in-training…”

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When mina was set on a decision, it was hard to get her to settle for something else, that’s something y/n’s learned many times. Mina dragged her partner to the UA dorm buildings, planning out loud what they could do together. Face masks, tiktoks, nails, and dancing are only a few of the activities that came into question.

“I like the sound of face masks, I've been needing one for a while, my acne’s been acting up.” y/n groaned. “Dancing also sounds pretty fun, do you have any new playlists?”

“I always have new playlists! Plus, Jirou recommended me some new songs the other day, her music taste actually isn’t that bad,” Mina giggled, “For a goth, that is.” y/n laughed at her comment.

Mina talked about her classmates often, sometimes even gossiping about them. She never said anything hurtful, though, it was usually just a few mentions after finding something that reminded her of them. She once found a icyhot packet in the store and went on about this hot and talented guy in her class, a frog jumping around near a pond caused her to ramble on about her friend Tsu, and the taste of a tea served to her at a cafe reminded her of the tea her friend Momo would serve at the tutor sessions she hosted.

Soon enough, the couple was standing in front of Heights Alliance, preparing a plan to get inside without being noticed. “Everyone’s usually elsewhere at this time, probably in their rooms or off training or something~” Mina opens the door to the building, “We should be good.”

Mina peeps her head inside, making sure no one was in the common room before she proceeded. She motioned for y/n to come inside, before walking further inside the building. “C’mon, my room is this way!” Mina took y/n’s hand, passing by the common room and to the elevator. y/n couldn’t help but look around, she had never been in the Dormitories until this point, it was much nicer, and bigger, than she expected. The elevator ride was quiet, the fear of having classmates hear them while they continued their loud conversation through the halls on their minds.

The elevator stopped at the selected floor, Mina took y/n’s hand again before leading her to their destination just around the corner. “Here is it! Come on in!” Mina smiled before unlocking and opening her room door.

“Oh wow, so… pink.” y/n gasped “Yeah!! Do you like it?”

“Of course I do! Your whole room just reminds me of you, I love it!” y/n wrapped her hands around her date “And I love you too!”

“I love you more!!” Mina giggled, returning the hug. Her embrace was warm, warmer than one might expect, that might be the result of such a pure heart.

“Whatcha wanna do? I have a bunch of stuff here,” Mina pulls out a box from under her bed and begins to dig through it, “I have face masks and beauty supplies here, snacks and candy hidden around my room, we could also watch some movies or find a show to binge!”

“Face masks are a good idea, and I’m down to watch a movie while we wait for them to dry.” y/n gets down beside her on the ground, watching her sift through her box of stuff.

“Awesome! What movie should we watch? I have a bunch of DVD’s on my shelf but we could always find something on Netflix. Oh and pick your favourite face mask!” Mina presented about 12 different face masks for y/n to choose from.

“Oh~ I like that one! It’s my favourite colour, and it has a nice scent.” y/n picked up the f/c bottle, reading the labels on the back and admiring the smell emitting from it. “Nice choice! I’ll go with this one!” Mina holds up a pink, sparkly bottle with grapefruits and strawberries on the front. “This one’s my favourite, I use it all the time!”

“I can see why,” y/n laughs, Mina joining in.

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The two of them sat comfortably on Mina’s bed, y/n on her lap and arms wrapped around her. A movie the couple had agreed on plays in front of them on Mina’s laptop as they wait for their face masks to dry, sharing candy she had hid around her room. Mina occasionally placed soft kisses on y/n’s cheeks, jaw and neck, it was her favourite thing to do in this position. While Mina enjoyed receiving affection, she seemed to love giving affection even more.

Soon enough, the movie ended and credits began to roll, giving y/n and Mina a moment to stretch after sitting in one position for over an hour. “That was a good movie.” y/n said between stretches. “Yeah, I’m gonna recommend it to Hagakure, she’s been looking for good movies to watch lately.” Mina got out her phone to check the time, “We still have a few hours, wanna watch another one while we wait for our nails to dry?”

“We’re gonna do nails too?”

“Yeah!”

“Sure.”

Uhm i’m not sure how to continue and end this so i’ll do HCs for this part LMAOO

I gotta get better at writing smh

Anyways, after Mina took you to her dorm for the first time you started coming over more often

The two of you always have a shitton of fun when you do

Not like you ever not have fun with Mina

Although this one time was different~

Your skateboard had dirt and mud on it from riding after a storm, so you had left it by the door to avoid tracking any of it in Mina’s room

But it so happened Denki was walking by and found it in the hallway floor

And seeing it was outside Mina’s door he decided to not knock and ask if it was hers

He caught yall cuddling while binging your favourite anime

“Yo, Mina, is this skateboard you-”

He went 👁️👄👁️

After an eternity a few seconds of pure silence Denki’s like BHJNBHJVHJ WHO’S THAT???? AND WHY ARE YOU SO CLOSE TO THEM-??/?????

Mina sighs and explains the whole thing about how yall have been dating in secret and going on dates and stuff

The look on the boy’s face was literally surprised pikachu

Mina asked him to keep a secret but c'mon now we all know Mr. Kaminari cannot keep a secret for the life of him👩🏾‍🦯 big mouth headass

He told everyone.

the look on Mina’s face when Sero brought up her secret girlfriend the next day was priceless

“H-hOW YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!?”

“Denki told me.”

Denki: *choke*

He knows he’s ‘bouta get his ass beat.

As for reactions, they’re mainly looking pretty positive ✨

Denki, kirishima, bakugou and sero are the first people to find out, and probably one of the only people Mina talks about you to besides the other class a girls

They’re happy for her (although bakuhoe wouldn’t admit it- he pretends he don’t care but c'mon we know better than that), and definitely wanna meet you sometime soon

All the class A girls and basically screaming

Cuz like- wHAT

How could Mina keep such a big secret grrrrr >:((

She ends up bringing you and the rest of the girls to her room to meet you

Expect expect like 30 questions from each of them about various different topics that may or may not matter

Remember the boys who didn't care about seeing the girl’s rooms in that one episode? Yea this squad is still on their shit🧘🏾‍♀️

Okay well they do care, just not as much dnjskbjdkn

Sato would bake you a yummy cupcake!

You ain’t neva eating something that delicious ever again just sayin~

Everyone else would silently wish to meet you one day

Tenya is probably the only person you should look out for

if you don’t have Aizawa’s permission to be on campus he probably won’t let you inside🖐🏾

aizawa don’t care tho so getting permission isn’t a problem

Overall, 1-A’s reaction to Mina’s girlfriend is pretty positive! 😗✌🏾

masterlist

#mina x reader #ashido x reader #mina ashido x reader #mina #ashido #mina ashido #mina imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #x reader #mina x y/n #ashido x y/n #mina ashido x y/n #mina headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

139 notes · View notes

twstoric · 4 years

Text

this game of ours

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: Request: Fem!Dom reader// They notice Rook's been very... /attentive/ to them lately. When they realize he's been half stalking them in his infatuation, they turn the tables on him and suddenly, /he's/ the prey and doesn't realize until they have him /pinned/ against a tree, a good ways from the main building, teasing him into a begging mess for more with just their words and a few good touches. (teasing, begging, outdoor bangin)

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: Oh the requests are open 👀. Could I ask for some really rough nsfw w Mr Rook? It's consensual ofc, but like.. I wanna fuck this man so bad-

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: rook hunt x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: The prized hunter of a distant land is known to be quite eccentric in his methods when cornering prey but to the misfortune or perhaps fortune of so called hunter, his next target is you

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): KINGDOM AU KINGDOM AU KINGDOM AUー stalking (mentions), obsessive behaviours, servant!reader, hunter!rook, may-or-may-not be set in twst universe, dom!reader, use of weapons (self-defence), semi-public sex, riding, light hair-pulling, biting (minor)

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.9k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: i love rook very very very very vvvv much and these requests resonated with my soul unfortunately so here we are 😔

Over the peak of the highest snowy mountain, beware of a forest shrouded in white. The eerie silence may just freeze your lonely heart.

Up the river flowing with heavy streams, beware of the shards of crystals hanging from the trees. The air may waver your soul.

Close to the hill, far from the trees, layered under thick powder of snow, the Castle of Beauty greets but does not welcome.

In the territory of pure colour lingered with sinful desires, you may want to watch your back.

For you could be the next prey to fall in these lands.

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

Part of the first things you’ve found since working in the walls of decorated perfection, the outfits you’re equipped with is not helpful against the weather. It's a complicated piece with too many knots and loops to efficiently get into first thing before the sun rises but it’s a custom; the silent law when you work in the very palace you’re in.

The wind isn’t kind that morning. Carrying snow into your hair and each puff of breath you let out crystalizes in front of you. For such a land only painted with white as far as the eyes can see, the Queen is very strict when it comes to tending to the gardens.

Along with the few handful servants tending to the growing flowers, you busy yourself with cutting the stray leaves growing over the symmetrically cut bush. The freezing air threatens to freeze your lungs as you work steadily through each bush. Behind you, a servant lets out a loud gasp.

"M- Master Rook…”

You pause at the name, mind blanking for a moment before you snap back to the loud laughter of the infamous hunter behind you. “Such formalities you’re saying!” He hums and you continue cutting the leaves. “Is my Queen in the chambers?”

A chorus of flustered confirmation greets your ears as you blow the top of the bush. You hear another round of shy pleasantries from the other servants, the hunter among them amusing their chatters.

Feeling satisfied with your work, you wipe your hand down your dress, somehow clammy from the cold air. You straighten up, snow crunching under your shoe as you turn aroundー only to be met with the chest clad in dark fabric and you jerk your hand back in panic.

The pruner in your hands risks injuring the man in front of you before you back off in a hurry, hands held high to make sure you won’t swing it in another dangerous direction.

Your heart pounds in your chest from the near miss, blood running colder not from the temperature at the prospect of hurting someoneーlet alone a prized hunter of this kingdom. “M- Master Rook,” you call out timidly, the air stilling and nervous glances directed at you when you force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I apologise. I wasn’t.. I didn’t hear you come near me- My deepest apologies!” You hurry to bow your head but an amused chuckle greets your trepidation.

You feel fingers grasp your shoulder before trailing down your arm and the smooth glide of gloved fingers grasping your fingers, easing the tight hold you have on your gardening tool. Rook takes the small device away, clasping it between his hands and trailing a finger over the exposed blade with a sweet smile.

“You have very fast reflexes, madame.” He murmurs softly, voice carried by the wind only for you to hear. There’s a glint of something you’re not familiar with when Rook shifts his eyes to look at you, a smile twisting his lips. Just as the expression settles on his face, it’s instantly replaced with a bright smile. “Do be careful next time! It would be a shame if you were to hurt these beautiful hands.” He takes your hand as he speaks, placing the pruner back in your hands.

You’re unable to say anything as he takes a step back, lifting his hat and giving you a bow. “Then if you would excuse me.”

You don’t see him again for the rest of the day.

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Seeing Rook Hunt is perhaps akin to observing the steady trickle of water into a pot. You’re fully aware the goal is to fill that small container but because of the irrational pace, it stays in the back of your mind until the water eventually overflows from being left alone too long.

You’re fully aware of his presence but waiting to see him is unnecessaryー nothing will change if you keep waiting but when you finally look for him again, his presence can be overwhelming.

The guilt is present in the back of your mind from the near accident; a proper apology feeling like the only remedy to your nagging feeling. But being the trusted aid to the Queen, he doesn’t hang around the castle for long; going in and out like the changing seasons. You find yourself always thinking about a way to properly apologise and… a little curious to the expression he was wearing.

You don;t think you’ve ever seen someone look so noticed with such a sharp object beforeーmaybe hunters think differently about weapons..?

At the start, your mind would only shift back to the blond whenever you weren’t busy but lately… you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. As if his mere existence has taken a spot inside your head and made itself comfortable to plague your dreams. What used to be the few fleeting thoughts turn to lingering ideas; somehow always imagining his presence near you.

It feels like you can’t see him when he’s there but you can’t exactly.. dictate yourself for being paranoid when the reason the garden accident happened was because you couldn’t feel him sneak up on you either.

You pause.

Thinking back on the matter, it feels as though… you really can’t tell his presence when he’s around. The garden wasn’t even the first time. Suddenly the thought of all the times he’s walked near you without you noticing race in your head like a poorly timed cut scene. A shiver runs down your spine.

No one knows when Rook will return from his hunts. He’ll leave when ordered but when he’ll return is always random.

Your hand tightens on the basket you’re holding. There’s the rush of fear in your chest when you hurry outside. You need to confirm something.

The outside isn’t as colder as it normally is (fortunately) and you hurry yourself towards the river a little further in the woods. The air thins the faster you go, basket feeling a lot heavier in your arms despite only filled with sheets. You can’t feel the twitch of your fingers, the only sound registering in your mind is the crunch of snow.

The familiar view of the old tree bark greets you and you’re running the best you could towards it.

The echo of footsteps follow you until your back presses against the tree and you throw the basket to the side. A small noise of surprise spurs you to round the other side of the tree until you see blond tufts of hair and you lunge at the perpetrator in time to grab the dagger sheathed to his side.

You breath heavily, trying to steady your breath as you hold onto the blade and point it in front of you. Unlike what you expected, you’re met with a look of confusion.

“Master Rook,” you breathe, unable to take the silence and lifting the weapon higher when he steps closer in return. Seeing the display, the blond chuckles before a full blown grin stretches his lips and he’s clapping his hand like a spectator watching a performance.

“Mh, you indeed have fast reflexes don’t you?” The question is phrased like a praising lord to his disciple and you feel unnerved at the smile on his face.

You step closer, tilting the tip of the blade to his chest. Rook doesn’t move. “Why were you following me?” He stays silent at your inquiry, head tilted as if he’s unaware of your accusations and you dig the tip of his blade to his chest, not enough to touch skin under the thick layer of his coat. “How long have you been following me?”

“Oh?” he inhales, hands held up in surrender but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “I see you’ve noticed. Tell me, since when have your suspicions aroused for you to think it was me?” Rook blinks slowly at you, lashes fluttering against his cheek and glinting with the very same look you’re unable to stop thinking about.

Your fingers tighten on the hilt of the blade, biting down on your bottom lip to hold in your confusion. You almost can’t fathom how this is happening. “Lucky guess,” you settle on instead and you feel your eyes widen when Rook takes your wrist and presses the weapon in your hands against his neck.

“Do you want revenge, ma chérie?”

As if incited by the look in his eyes, you feel a bubbling annoyance in your chest. He’s playing with you despite always unsettling you and he knows yet chose to turn a blind eye to your comfort. You grab the front of his attire, his eyes blinking in surprise before you’re yanking him roughly and using your weight to push him against the tree.

Rook’s lips part soundlessly and you don’t allow him to speak when you lean close, lips barely brushing against his. “It would only be fair, wouldn’t it?” Your voice rises in pitch, from excitement or something else you’re not sure but you dig his dagger on the tree against the side of his head with a hard stab. “It’s only fair if your head’s filled with me as much as mine is with you.”

Your lips crash against his afterwards, flinching at the cold touch of his skin but melting soon enough when Rook wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You make a sound of protest, unhooking his arms around you and roughly holding them up on the tree.

Rook eagerly chases after your lips when you pull away and narrow your eyes at him warningly. He’s smiling when he starts unbuttoning his coat, hands held up against the tree obediently as you work his clothes open. He shivers violently when you push his shirt open, exposing the hard muscle of his chest against winter air but Rook isn’t shivering from the coldーhis excitement for you makes a drunk smile appear on his face.

“I’ve been watching you for quite awhile,” he sighs blissfully and you hum, moving on to the knots on his pants. “There was.. something about you. I didn’t know what it was but the urge to know everything spurs me to action.” You listen to his confession, impatiently tugging at his pants as Rook leans his head back. “A beautiful flower among a garden of edith. It was almost extinct, ma chérie, to find everything about you.” His voice turns giddy and he bites his lips excitedly when you free his cock, already hard and twitching against cool air.

“You talk a lot, Mister Rook.” Your fingers wrap around the hard flesh, Rook whining at the freezing touch of your finger and you squeeze harder. The small gasp he lets out makes you warm. You steadily jerk his cock, smiling at the crumbling expression on the hunters face. “Mister Rook,” you whisper against his lips, catching his attention. “You’ll get tired from standing up too long. Why don’t you lay down?”

He visible tenses at that, lips pursed in a thin line but the blush on his face is still present when you give another encouraging squeeze. “You want to find everything about me, don’t you? I can be a little mean, you know?” The tone you use breathes an air of innocence and you feel the cock in your hands twitch. You smile. “Just kidding~ You should lay on the sheets in the basket. I’ll clean them up later.”

You’re thankful the sheets in question were your own.

Rook complies to your wishes easily, movements rushed when he pulls away from you and folds the sheets into a thick enough layer and pacing it on the ground. You pat his shoulder to get him to lay down and it’s enough for him to sit on, his back leaning against the tree.

There’s a fleeting look of discomfort on his face when he sits down but Rook is instantly reaching out to you. He breaths a string of sentences you don’t understand but it doesn’t seem to matter when you settle yourself on your knees, straddling his legs and Rook waits patiently.

“You’re very pretty Mister Rook,” you place your hand on the side of his neck, fingers pressing against the back of his ears and Rook leans into your touch. His hands hurriedly bunch your dress over your hips, exposing your legs but you don’t seem to shiver from the cold. Not when you’re focusing on your source of fire in front of you.

“Touch me,” he breaths, bucking his hips up and you see the flicker of frustrations in his eyes when you raise yourself higher. “Mon ange,” his eyes gloss over and you watch, unable to look away, as Rook circles his hips up in slow motion, bottom lip sucked into his mouth. “Won’t you bless me with your touch? I need you. Please, mon chérie.”

It snaps you out of the little game you’re playing and you’re angrily tugging at your undergarments, ripping the soft material but unable to care when you feel frustrated at the power this man holds over you. “You’re so pathetic,” you bite out in irritation, no bite in your words as you grab the base of his cock.

Rook gasps, knees trembling as you press yourself against him. He watches, careful, calculating, burning the image before him in his mind when the head of his dick breaches past your opening and you moan softly, sinking yourself on his cock.

The tight heat wrapping around him is delicious and Rook feels like crying out from joy. Your hands tangle in his hair, steadying yourself as Rook bottoms out and you take a moment to appreciate the stretch of his cock in your pussy.

Every little thought melts away in your head and all you can focus on is the press of each rigid vein against your walls rippling pleasure into your blood. You curse softly, finally finding the strength to move and the sound of harsh slap of skin against skin fills your ears when you set a fast pace.

Rooks fingers tighten around your waist, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as you pleasure yourself on his cock. The tip of his hard length kissing your insides perfectly with each descent. You feel the spreading heat in your stomach, sharp gasps leaving your lips whenever Rook bucks his hips up to meet you.

His fingers grasp the snow besides him, skin protected by gloves but he can’t focus on the prickling coldness when you tighten around him. A sharp yank to his hair makes him gasp, a loud moan spilling from his lips and you slam your ass down timely, raking a shudder down his spine.

Rook chants your name like a devoted worshipper and feels the sudden urge to litter his skin with your mark. So you do; lips planting against smooth skin and you bite and suck at every inch you kiss, drawing out whines from the blond.

His thighs twitch uselessly, feeling the building heat close enough to burst. The small jerk of his head is enough to tell you of his impending orgasm and you grin, trailing your cold fingers on his chest and flicking a pert nipple. Rook’s breath hitches, eyes hazy as you bounce on his lap, movements becoming uncoordinated from your own approaching climax.

Your hand cups his face gently, contrasting your brutal desperation, and you smile at him as if revealing a glimpse of paradise. “Cum for me,” the whispered command is enough to make Rook tense and he’s cumming with a violent shiver, hips bucked up into you and his hand holds you down as he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you.

You gasp, coming soon after. Your thighs twitch and jerk, body reduced to a quivering mess as you hug Rook close to you. His face buries into your soft breasts, hands no longer bunching up your dress and letting the material fall over your legs. It almost seems like you’re only sitting on top of him like this. You can still feel his cock inside you.

“Good boy,” you praise and Rook nuzzles closer to you. As if natural, you stroke his head, looking around to see that his hat had fallen off somewhere along the journey of your wild cat and mouse game. “Should we get going, Rook?”

The blond suddenly snaps his head up, wide eyed and looking at you in awe. He mumbles something under his breath, arms wrapping around your waist tightly. Clear excitement with the building pitch in his tone when Rook holds you close, peering up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Mon amour, marry me?”

You blink, lips parting before a blush settles on your skin but rather than from embarrassment, you feel more confused. “Um. W- we’re sorta doing all the wrong steps here, aren’t we?”

He grins in response.

#rook hunt #pomefiore #rook x reader #twst x reader #twst n/sfw #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland #request #f!reader

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ginwhitlock · 3 years

Text

summary: JASPER/ BELLA. set in eclipse (but is so far from canon honestly all you need to know is that victoria is after bella). When Jasper snatches Bella away to Texas to escape a vampire’s hunt for the girl who killed her lover, Bella comes clean about her hearts unfaithfulness on an unsettling summer morning, in front of God and everybody.

fic type: oneshot, no explicit scenes

warnings: religious guilt, Bella’s weird brand of horny, cheating on Edward, oh and Alice just doesn’t exist— don’t think about it too hard

There was this openness in the air, something stirring from the west, saturating the cotton fields. A yellow eyed barn cat stood still in the morning light, it’s black coat shifting with the bite of ghostly mice. Whiskers twitching.

It was watching her, she was sure of it, like the pecan trees and the paddock mud and the mosquitoes. All beady-eyed and searching the brown haired girl, the one with crooked ankles and misaligned bangs that just barely kissed her cheeks in the late summer sun. She looked home grown. Wheat wild. A child of desert planes. And most importantly, she looked lost.

“I thought you’d still be sleeping by now.” A hushed baritone slipped from the screen door, it’s owner donned in dark royal denim and loose leather.

If it had been just months before, Bella would’ve rolled her eyes.

But she was different now. As different as Washington was to Texas. As different as evergreens were to red oak. She swore even the sweat didn’t smell right.

“Wanted to catch the sunrise.” There was a softness to her front teeth, the round of her molars quiet against one another. To whose ears she was catering to she didn’t know. And to be honest, she didn’t quite care anymore.

Bella made out a lazy nod from her peripheral, the shaggy haired man seemingly relaxed out here on the front porch of her judgement day, all tan and tall and scented like rolled tobacco.

Shut up, stupid girl.

Jasper murmured out a response, something about humans needing sleep and southern sunrises being worthy enough to diminish the former from its place on his immortal pedestal. There was a creak and a groan from the haint green floorboards underneath her before she found herself shoulder to shoulder with the two hundred year old soldier; a stray wind had blown through the shaved baby blond hair lining his chin in the slightest of ways. There was a caution light screaming out from his stature and the brunette girl had the painful urge to swallow it under her teeth and tongue. Soak it in holy water and hide it in her skin for him to find. Or rather, Him, if this stay was going to end like she thought it ought to.

He couldn’t feel that… could he? Stupid, stupid—

“The marigolds should be blooming about now, just west of the barn. They’re quite a bit prettier than Peter’s fields.” There was something off in the lit of his tongue, the way it flipped and rolled off his teeth. It came out… wrong. Forced. Like he was trying to be overtly kind. The way you talk to a frightened rabbit you clipped with the lawn mower.

Bella frowned something deep and turned nose at Jasper. “Why did you bring me here, Hale?”

With the question came a wince to his brow, a noticeable blow to his stature. He seemed to fold ever so slightly towards the young girl.

“Don’t— don’t call me that.”

Silence filled the unwalled prison of the porch like nothing else, the birds and wind seemingly gone to rest whenever the two entered into each other's space. Like worldly magnets, chess pieces that threw blows instead of diagonals. The quiet held them both. It held them together.

Bella Swan blinked slowly in an unknown apology before settling back on the blond with the stone facade. She waited for him to continue.

He sighed. “It’s safer here. Victoria wouldn’t come this far south without encountering things far worse than the likes of Emmett or Rose.”

“But this wasn’t Edward’s plan, was it?” Bella’s lashes were like rodeo announcers with their back and forth turns to the outlook of western Texas.

Jasper looked every bit of his one hundred fifty years as he laid a freezing hand on hers, their knuckles slotting together with unpracticed ease. “No. But it’s mine. And you’re gonna have to accept that.”

She refused to nod at the man with the thigh clenching, hard work mending, touch, for more than a second. She was far from the type of girl that would lay down and let the boys run out their wildest stupidities on her seemingly catastrophic life, but she felt almost resigned in Jasper's hands. There was a calmness between them she couldn’t place as artificial or not, the soft wool of contentedness slowly covering the surveyor-ship she felt stepping outside this morning. The stares of the flora and fauna turned internal. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach, on the nape of her neck, across the fragile skin of her cheeks where freckles started to show, and mostly, on the warming flesh of her hand where their hands met gently.

Maybe it was Edward looking onto them from a frozen forest hundreds of miles from here as he hunted a scarlet monster, discovering the hidden plumpness swirling around in his lover's chest for the brother he always worried about, but for all the wrong reasons.

Or maybe…

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

His eyes were like serpents, glowing yellow under the copper wind chimes above them.

“Whatever you wish, Isabella.”

Swallow. Breathe. “When you were human… did you believe in God?”

A pause sliced the air in two. The cotton plants seemed to stop swaying. The feline vanished. A golden eyebrow fell to his browbone.

“Yes, Isabella. Yes I did.” His face was drawn, distant, like an old time movie screen was playing out on his stone eyelids.

Bella’s lips pulled at themselves with her front teeth. “Do you think He’s vengeful?”

Their eye contact sealed itself, his hand moving on its own accord up her hand to her wrist, cradling the small, delicate bones that allowed her to touch him— but not now. Not ever again.

“When I was a boy, my mama took me to church every Sunday at seven A.M sharp, and sent me to Sunday school after the service. I was the oldest, even then, and I had more responsibilities than just listening to the preacher ramble on about divinity and charity and sacrifice.”

Jasper's face was taught with memory.

“I had two baby sisters by the time I turned seven and they were the number one priority, you have to understand, Isabella. Ada and Caroline couldn’t have been older than three when the Leroy boy died sitting in the pew behind us… poor child got heatstroke in his wool britches and after that I started dressing the girls in the lightest things I could find and never waited long after the sermon to get back.”

Bella turned stormy under the weight of the seemingly young man's words, her eyes dropping from his own to study the way his fingers wrapped around her skin like a life jacket, one part caregiver and one part destroyer. Jasper's own hands seemed to start to tremor just slightly under her stare, or maybe it was from the wash of his own words.

He took a breath he didn’t need. “But. I started listening when my mother got sick, before the girls finished schooling. Started praying. A part of me was guilty that I hadn’t started before I needed something, that the reason I spoke to Him was for a favor, and a big one at that. I was making up for lost time, I thought. I was begging on my knees for anything. And I didn’t get it.

“They buried an empty coffin with my name on it under a white wooden cross after the army said I went missing. Caroline would plant violets around it in the spring, weed out the planters and start again in the fall. She’d leave me communion wafers in our family pew and have Ada try to talk with me through the minister.”

“I’m so sorry.” A true sadness settled in her bones, her seemingly selfish desire to have the question answered sat like a heavy stone in the out of her stomach. Her heart held out a warm woolen space for him and she silently begged he would sit in it, for his own sake.

He waved her off and took on a slight smile, something she had never seen from Jasper. Not in any capacity before that very moment.

She decided she would try to see it every chance she got for as long as he’d let her.

“I wasn’t a man of religious structure, Isabella, but. I was a man of faith. The small times I was allowed to watch over my sisters only reminded me of that, no matter how far down to hell I had reached, I still had faith in redemption.”

His teeth clicked together not unpleasantly. “But I haven’t answered your question have I?” There was a knowing-ness in his voice box and Bella wanted to drink it down like communion wine. She smiled back slightly.

He was beautiful when he sighed.

“I’ve done horrible things. Killed innocent people. Slaughtered children and mothers and lambs of God. I have worn blood on my hands like a second skin and not once during any of it did I feel remorse. But darlin,” his lashes fluttered like leaves, “not once did I think God wanted me to hate myself for what I had done. I think… He forgave me a long time ago, before I ever forgave myself. So no. I don’t believe in my brother’s vengeful punisher. Not today. Not in this lifetime.“ She’d never hear the ‘not with you’ fragment he had stuck in his mind.

She had to step back from him then, the vampire who had become all consuming to her chest and her heart and her fingers. The air was warmer in the space behind him but it almost didn’t matter, the warmth layering her skin was enough to burn through an air conditioning unit anyway. Bella’s hands found clumsy solace in her back pockets as she stared ahead at the rows of painful cotton buds waiting to be harvested. The blood almost pulled to her fingertips.

Teeth and lips found each other. “I don’t think I’m not going to get punished for this.”

Her words were concrete. Cement. Blacktop on a Kansas back road. They could’ve cut glass if she wanted them to. They almost did as he looked at her.

“For what, Isabella?”

Knowing bastard. Always. Knowing.

No trembling allowed now.

“For wanting you when Edwards away. When he’s in the same room as us. When he’s hunting the woman who's trying to kill me and you’re just standing there telling me not to be afraid of my own horrible heart… for betraying everything I’ve begged for since me and your brother met. I deserve to get punished for this, don’t I? Don’t you think?”

She was sweating now, cold droplets running down her back to her the soft slope of her ass. Her knuckles were popping against each other like fireworks and she thought she might faint right then and there, MONSTER written across her forehead in a bruise from the impact.

A scarred hand felt itself into its place under Bella’s chin and forced her rocking skull to finally glimpse the face she had been thinking of every moment she pulled her eyes away. Jasper Hal— Whitlock? And his clear midnight pupils branding her soul in a sinner’s blush. His lips formed a wonderful crook as he slowly pushed her flat against the ancient siding of the old farmhouse belonging to his long standing brother who looked like everything Jasper was except for his spirit.

She could die this way and she would face God with a smile.

“What I feel for you deserves no punishment darlin, but if you insist, I think I’d rather do the punishing than any divine power.”

His lips were light rosy steel against Bella’s own as the clouds started to stretch out infinitely behind his back, unnoticed by the interlocked couple in their wake. A soft moan escaped as felt the soft chill of a crucifix digging into her neck.

Maybe God would forgive her for this. Just once.

#my fic #mine #twilight #thetwilightsaga #fic #twilight fics #my writing #jasper x bella #jasperella #writing #fanfiction #vampire #twilight fanfiction #oneshot

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

drown all my shadows

Octoberfest 15: Lost (whumptober #20) - Last one!!

Jaskier wakes in a fog.

His immediate first impression is, in a way, a lack of impression. The world around him seems featureless. He’s standing, though he doesn’t remember standing up, or walking here in the first place. The fog is thick around his thighs, sending up slow, curling whisps whenever he moves his hands. It’s not much better elsewhere, filling the air and turning the world into an opaque canvas of white. He can’t see beyond his own outstretched hand, everything lost in the gloom.

It’s unnerving. The world is dampened around him, like there’s cotton stuffed in his ears. Jaskier doesn’t know how he got here. He and Geralt had been together - on a hunt? There had been a cabin - a woman? a witch? - and they’d given chase, following her into the woods beyond…

He remembers nothing else. His memories are as foggy as his surroundings. One moment he’d been running after Geralt through the forest of craggy, blackened trees, and then next thing he remembers is opening his eyes to this barren landscape. The silence around him is so intense he can hear his own heartbeat rushing in his ears, deafening.

Half just for something else to listen to, Jaskier says, “Hello?” His voice falls flat in the fog, eaten up by the mist. No one answers. “Geralt? Hello?”

There is nothing. He does a once over of his surroundings once again, but in every direction all he can see is white. It’s almost like being in a box, surrounded by walls on all sides. Feeling panic starts to worm its way into his chest, Jaskier takes a few steps forward. He can’t explain why he feels dread curling through his stomach. It’s just fog, he tells himself. But it doesn’t feel like fog. It feels empty and oppressive and cold, clinging to him and tugging at his clothes and his feet. Something equally cold and empty echoes through Jaskier’s chest, a spot of fearful loneliness that he has always worked hard to keep at bay.

With no other recourse, he walks.

There are no features to the landscape that he can distinguish. The fog is endless; he may as well not be moving at all, for all it changes. The ground under his feet is a plain gray dirt, but he has not stumbled upon a single plant or animal since he’d started walking. It feels quickly as if hours have passed, though it also could have been only moments. There is no way to mark the passage of time or how far he’s walked. There’s no sun in the sky; the fact that he can see at all suggests that it must be there, but the fog has swallowed it along with everything else. He can only put one foot in front of the other, occasionally calling out to anyone who might be near.

It could have been minutes or hours or days, but eventually something does change. He thinks he’s imagined it, at first, but as he moves closer there’s no mistaking. There is a shape in the fog, something just slightly darker than the rest of his surroundings. He can’t make it out, but Jaskier moves towards it with a burst of enthusiasm that borders on fear. As he nears, the fog dissipates enough for him to make out the outline of a figure.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jaskier says, relief sweeping through him. Even if this person is as lost as he is, at least there will be someone with him. Anything to help assuage the nervous, lonely thing inside him. “I thought I was the only one out here, are you alright?” As he approaches, he can see that it's a woman, her yellow dress faded with age. Jaskier practically runs to close the last few feet between them, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. The dress is soft under his hands, but extraordinary cold. At his touch, the figure shifts like water under his hands, turning in his direction.

She has no face.

Jaskier screams, but the sound is consumed by the fog like all the others. He falls back, scrambling away on his ass. The thing that looks like a woman but has no face does not follow him, standing perfectly still. The flat expanse of smooth skin where her features should be does not change in the slightest or react to him in any way. Jaskier stumbles to his feet and runs back into the fog, desperate to escape the horror of it.

His heart does not stop pounding, no matter how much distance he gains. It’s impossible to tell if he is gaining distance. And it isn’t long before he stumbles across another figure, practically running into it. The man is the same, utterly devoid of features, a personless person shaped thing. Jaskier feels the terror gripping him wind tighter and tighter as he turns and immediately finds another faceless figure in his periphery. The shells never react to him, but for some reason that is more frightening than if they’d tried to attack him.

Jaskier runs, not stopping to assess the shapes he sees blurred through the fog. He’s panicking, he knows, but he can’t stop. He’s alone in this horrible fog with these empty people. There’s no escape; no matter how far he runs, there’s no thinning of the mist.

Finally he collapses, curling into a tight ball in the thickest part of the fog. Gasping into his knees, Jaskier thinks, frantically, that he might be trapped here forever. Who would look for him? Who would even know where this is? No one at Oxenfurt would think anything of his disappearance, his family haven’t seen him in decades. He has fans who will forget him, patrons who will mourn the loss of his art but move immediately on to newcomers. As he thinks, Jaskier feels the fog closing in tighter around him, kissing his cheeks and clutching at his shoulders. It’s so cold, in a bone deep way that scares him as much as the faceless people. No one will remember him, no one is looking for him -

Geralt, he thinks. Geralt will look.

It’s such a relief he almost cries with it. No matter what Geralt has said in the past, they’re friends, and Geralt is the most noble man Jaskier knows. Geralt would not write off his disappearance. Geralt cares about him, and he will find him. Geralt will come.

And suddenly, as if summoned by sheer will, Jaskier finds a familiar hand thrust into his face.

Geralt’s eyes are wide when Jaskier looks up, and it’s so good to see him, so good to see anyone that Jaskier fails to spring immediately into action. Impatiently, Geralt shakes the hand in front of him. “Jaskier,” he says, insistent. “Take my hand.” So Jaskier does.

Instantly the fog retreats, as if blown back by a strong blast of aard. The forest comes into focus around them, the spindly arms of the trees reaching up towards the pale blue sky. Jaskier is pulled to his feet, Geralt’s hands settling on his upper arms as he is given a thorough once over. “Are you alright?” Geralt asks, gruff but clearly concerned.

Jaskier feels a bit faint, weak in the wake of his terror. “Ah,” he says faintly. “M-Mostly, I think. Yes. What was that, Geralt? Where was I?”

Geralt frowns, glancing around the forest around them. It’s quiet, but in the way forests often are in the fall. If he strains, Jaskier can hear the rustle of animals rooting through the fallen leaves that coat the ground around them, the soft calls of birds and the chirp of squirrels and chipmunks. “The witch was kidnapping people,” Geralt says. “Do you remember?”

Jaskier nods slowly. It’s coming back now, without the fog leaking into his brain and obscuring his thoughts. “People from the village. We chased after her, when she ran from the cottage. She -”

“Hit you with a spell,” Geralt finishes. “Yes. It put you in some kind of… in-between place. Managed to get her to tell me what it was, before I killed her. It feeds off of people’s loneliness. She used it to strengthen her magic.”

“There were others there,” Jaskier says, feeling nauseated as he remembers the blank stares. “They had no faces.”

“Already gone. Eaten up by her magic,” Geralt says, gently. He’s smoothing his hands up and down Jaskier’s arms now, a grounding gesture that Jaskier is grateful for. “It wouldn’t have happened to you. I found you easily, once I got her to tell me the spell. People care about you. The spell only feeds off of lonely people.”

“I knew you would find me,” Jaskier says. He feels tired, exceptionally so. Like the fog sapped up all of his strength, both physical and emotional. “Fuck, Geralt, it was awful.” Unable to help himself, Jaskier leans forward until he’s resting his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder, fingers tangling in the familiar leather armor.

To his surprise, strong arms come up to hold him tightly. Jaskier sighs, relief sweeping through him as Geralt’s warm palms press into his shoulders. “It’s alright,” Geralt says, in the same tone he uses on Roach when he’s trying not to spook her. Jaskier would take offense if he didn’t feel so much like he might be spooked. “I would never have left you there.”

“I know,” Jaskier says, tired but content. “I would never forget you. I’m never lonely with you.”

Geralt squeezes him tightly, once, before releasing him, though not entirely. One hand still rests on Jaskier’s shoulder, just at the joint of his neck and collarbone. “We should get back to town. Are you alright to walk?”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, though exhaustion rests in every bone. “Bit of a fright, that’s all. I’m perfectly hale and hearty.”

To prove this, Jaskier turns and starts away, not even sure that he’s going in the right direction. A hand catches his wrist as he does, and he turns back to Geralt with a questioning look. He’s met with a soft expression, one he’d rarely seen before on the witcher. “I’m glad,” Geralt says. “That you’re not lonely.”

Jaskier finds himself smiling, warmth flooding through his chest to finally chase off the cold from before. “Never with you, dear. Never with you.”

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yellowsuitcase · 4 years

Text

Snowed in // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hello! I wrote this for @whack-ed and @jamilelucato ‘s A Very Harry Potter Christmas challenge! My prompt was Day 9 - Snowed in during a storm. I’m fond of this imagine and I hope you are too! Happy Holidays!!!

Summary: Best friends to lovers. Y/N and Draco are on the Slytherin quidditch team, but what happens when they arrive at the changing rooms early, only to have a full blown snowstorm start right outside the tent?

Warning(s): Swearing, kissing

Word Count: 4.2k

“You ready to play, Malfoy?” Y/N asked Draco. They were strolling to the changing rooms to get dressed for their quidditch match set to take place in half an hour. They had decided to leave the common room a bit earlier than the rest of their team. Draco was the Slytherin seeker, and Y/N was one of three chasers, arguably the best. The pair had met in their second year at Hogwarts when both got picked to be on Slytherin’s team. Throughout the many many practices and high-intensity games, the team grew close to one another. Draco and Y/N, in particular, had become the best of friends. However, unbeknownst to Y/N, Draco wanted for them to be more than best friends. He’d had a crush on Y/N for as long as he could remember but never dared to tell her. The way he saw it, it was better to maintain what they had rather than risk it all by confessing.

Draco pressed the tip of his broom to the floor as he walked, using it as somewhat of a cane. When he heard Y/N’s question, he turned his head towards her. She had an excited smile on her face; it was one he was familiar with. She was always in a happy mood whenever quidditch was involved. “Are you, Y/L/N?” he asked, redirecting her question back at her.

Y/N scoffed. “I’m always ready, you know that.” Draco chuckled lightly. “I do, but Gryffindor isn’t an easy team to beat,” Draco replied. He knew the frustration of losing to Gryffindor well.

Y/N nodded and shrugged her shoulders. “That may be true, but maybe if you yank your head out of your ass and catch the snitch within the first ten minutes, we can finish them off early.” Draco faked a hurt reaction to his friend’s words by putting his hand over his chest and pasting a pained expression on his face. She stifled a laugh while Draco rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you get four goals within the first ten minutes of the game, huh?”

“Malfoy, you know that’s impossible-“ Y/N was cut off by a strong gust of cold wind slapping her in the face as she opened the door leading outside. Regardless, she pushed through; Draco was right behind her.

“I didn’t think it’d be this cold today,” she murmured. Draco nodded as he took his gloves out from his pocket and slid them onto his pale, ring clad hands. “We’ll get warm once the game gets going, don’t worry,” he replied, opting to find a silver lining. The two of them walked down the hill as fast as they could, the chilly air nipping at their exposed skin.

When they finally got into the changing rooms, they breathed a sigh of relief as they were now shielded from the cold. Draco looked around. “Nobody’s here... that’s a bit odd,” he observed. Y/N pursed her lips in thought as she scanned the changing room. “Well, we did come down a bit early. I’m sure someone will be here soon.”

Draco, who was still curious, walked over to the entrance to the tent. The strong wind hit his face again; this time, however, snow came with it. “Y/L/N! It’s snowing!” Draco exclaimed excitedly, wanting to share this with his friend. Y/N immediately dropped the black boot in her hands and rushed over to Draco. The pair smiled at the sight of the little flakes falling to the grass, rapidly coating it. But then the wind began to pick up, carrying the snowflakes with it. “Shit, it's snowing,” Draco said, realization was settling in. There was no possible way to play a match in such extreme weather. This must be the reason nobody was with them in the changing room. Draco sighed and looked at Y/N. She looked utterly crushed; she’d been looking forward to today’s match for weeks. "Let’s head back to the castle, no point being here anymore,” Draco reluctantly suggested. He knew, however, Y/N wouldn’t be easy to convince.

Y/N frowned, her eyes growing sad. “Maybe it’ll pass. It looked like it was slowing down just a second ago, didn’t you see?” she asked. Draco shook his head and put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s not going to stop, Y/L/N. Come on, let’s get out now before it gets too harsh,” he pleaded gently. But to no avail. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and marched over to her locker. She picked up her previously discarded boot and slipped it on her foot determinedly.

“Y/L/N… they’re not going to let us play in this weather,” Draco told her. But she paid him no mind and only continued to put on her uniform. He glanced outside and saw that the snow had gotten significantly higher despite only a few minutes passing since it had started. Draco began to grow anxious, and briskly walked over to the girl, now clad in green robes. “Y/L/N, please. The snow is rising, and if we don’t leave soon, we might not be able to get back.”

He watched as Y/N sighed and looked up at him. “Why are you so hung up on some snow? It cannot possibly be that bad,” she snarled as she got to her feet and stomped over to the entrance. But when she saw the amount of snow on the grass, her anger dissipated and turned into shock. Draco threw up his hands. “I told you, we have to go now, gather your stuff,” he instructed. Y/N reluctantly stepped away from the tent’s opening, quickly unhooked her bag from her locker, and swung it over her shoulder. Draco promptly threw on his quidditch robes, as they were warmer than his regular clothes, and went to stand by the entry and wait for her. He noticed her red nose and cheeks as she walked towards him.

They looked outside at the abundance of white. Draco glanced at Y/N. She looked apprehensive. Truth be told, he was too. So without allowing himself to sit on the idea, he reached out and took her hand in his. He saw her look at him in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “Ready?” he asked. Y/N squeezed his hand in reply, making butterflies erupt in Draco’s stomach. He took a deep breath and walked through the exit and into the storm. Immediately he and Y/N were met with the painfully bitter wind. They could hardly open their eyes, much less walk against the wind.

Draco gripped Y/N’s hand tighter as he pushed himself to step forwards. Left foot right foot left foot right foot. But it was no use. The wind was too strong, and the snow was too high. His entire pant leg was soaked up to his shins. He looked behind him to see Y/N was struggling as well. Her hair was blowing violently, and she had her free hand up in an attempt to shield her face. Draco looked forward again and continued to trudge ahead. They were almost to the stairs now.

Suddenly, Draco felt Y/N release his hand. He whipped his head around to see her teetering on her feet, about to topple over into the snow. Before he could catch her, the wind pushed her backward, and her body collapsed onto the snow, sinking into it. Draco rushed over to his best friend and hurriedly stuck his hands into the snow so he could get a grip on her torso. Once he got a good hold, he locked his knees and lifted her out of the snow. She was shivering like a leaf, and her robes were now soaked. Draco could clearly see the redness of her cheeks and the purple of her lips. He was afraid of what might happen to her if they kept pressing on, so in a split-second decision, he positioned his hands underneath her armpits and raised her up and into his arms. Luckily, she got the message and swiftly wrapped her trembling legs around Draco’s waist and her arms around his neck. Once Draco was sure she was secure, he began heading back to the tent. With the wind now at his back, he got himself and Y/N inside in no time at all.

It wasn’t much warmer within the tent, but at the least, it blocked out the wind and snow, and that’s all Draco needed. He raced to the nearest bench and gingerly sat Y/N down onto it. Once she was settled, he took his bag off his back and ripped it open with shakey hands. The black handle caught his eye instantly. He reached for his wand and pulled it out pronto. Without a moment's hesitation, he muttered, “Incendio.” A small flame burst from the tip of his wand. “Hold your hands out,” he told Y/N. She listened to him and raised her hands to the warm fire. Draco patiently held his wand steady as she tried to get warm. However, after a few minutes, Y/N was still shivering aggressively. “I’m n-not gonna g-get w-warm until I g-get dry,” she stuttered through chattering teeth. Draco nodded and put out the flame on his wand, and hastily cast the hot air charm. A gust of wind blew through Y/N’s clothes and dried her right up. When she regained her composure, she said, “Thanks. S-shall I do you as well?”

“That’d be nice, yes. Are you feeling any warmer?”

“Not quite yet. But maybe if we keep casting this spell, we can fight off the cold,” Y/N mused. Draco chuckled. “That is certainly an idea, but we can’t stay here forever. We need to get back.” The same warm air he cast on her flew through him as Y/N returned the spell. It melted the snow on his shoulders. He thanked her with a nod and took a seat next to her on the old wooden bench. “Got any ideas, Y/L/N?” he asked while relighting the flame with his wand. She sighed. Her body was still shuddering. “All I know is I am not going back out there. S-suppose we should just wait for s-someone to find us?” she asked. Draco shrugged. “I thought of that as well, but I doubt anyone is venturing out into that anytime soon,” he said, gesturing to the storm raging on beyond the tent walls. “We’d have to wait until the blizzard is over before anyone attempts to locate us. And who knows how long that could be?”

Draco watched as a deep frown appeared on Y/N’s face. He knew she was afraid. Frankly, he was too. He felt like an idiot. How was it that after five years at Hogwarts, all he could do for them was light a small flame? He had pondered creating a makeshift fire pit on the ground, but the earth was likely too cold, and what if it spread? Then what would they do? Draco felt lost. He glanced around the tent, trying to look for an answer. And then he saw it—his broom. Of course!

“Y/L/N, our brooms!” he yelled abruptly, startling the girl beside him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Our brooms! We can ride them back to the castle. Merlin, why didn’t I think of it before?” he wondered aloud as he jumped to his feet and grasped his broom between his fingers. Long ago, his father had bought the entire team Nimbus 2001s, and even though it had been roughly four years since then, the brooms still held up strong. Draco swelled with pride; he was confident they’d be able to fly them to safety. But then he looked at Y/N and his smile faded. She was still on the bench, her fingers clutching it tightly. Draco propped up his broom and walked over to the girl, kneeling on the ground before her. He took her hands in his, making her look at him. “You’re having doubts?” Draco questioned. Y/N nodded; her face looked grim. “I just… I-I don’t know, Malfoy. It doesn’t seem s-safe. I mean, what if one of us f-falls? What if I turn around and y-you’re gone? What if the wind is too strong and w-we can’t make it or what if we can’t see, o-or—”

“Shh,” Draco shushed her gently. “We can do it. I’ve seen you on your broom; you’re quicker than a bird. We have our goggles; we’ll be able to see. And if you fall, I’ll come back for you,” he assured her. Y/N grimaced. She was still afraid. Draco squeezed her hands and stood up, taking her with him. They each already had their gloves on. All they needed were the goggles. Draco pulled his out and put them on his forehead. Y/N reluctantly did the same while the blonde boy took their brooms into his hands. He offered Y/N hers, and they slowly walked to the entryway of the changing room.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked. Y/N shook her head. “No. No, I-I can’t do this. It’s too risky, Draco,” she stammered. Draco’s heart skipped a beat. She never called him by his first name. It was always his surname, Malfoy. His face must’ve shown his surprise because she immediately tried to backtrack. “I mean, really, Malfoy, don’t you think we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves?” she asked nervously. Draco noticed she was still shivering quite intensely. He wanted nothing more but to hold her in his arms and warm her up, but he needed to know if she wanted that too. He decided to test the waters and call her by her first name as well. “I know it’s intimidating, Y/N,” Draco watched as Y/N’s face faltered upon her name reaching her ears. “But this is the best option we’ve got, and I truly believe we can do this. Have you seen a better seeker than me?” he asked in a joking tone, trying to cheer her up. This was successful; Y/N began to chuckle under her breath. “Oh, I think I have,” she said mischievously. Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he prodded. “And who might that be?”

Y/N smirked. “I think you’ve heard of him. His name is Harry Potter,” she stated playfully. Draco narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to make himself appear intimidating. “You take that back, you git.” Y/N squealed and ran away from him just as he took a step towards her. “Make me!” she shouted. “You little…” Draco muttered under his breath before starting to run towards her. Y/N giggled and darted across the tent, diving behind a random Ravenclaw locker. But Draco was hot on her heels, and within seconds, he had cornered her.

“I’ve got you now, Y/L/N,” Draco declared in a sing-song voice. He lifted his arms to grab her, but then she yelled, “Nope!” as she snuck underneath Draco’s outstretched hands. The boy snickered and watched as she ran to the opposite side of the tent. “Come here, you little minx,” he called after her. Her sweet laughter filled his ears, and he felt his heart pound. She looked so beautiful with that smile on her face. Draco felt as if he was on the moon, knowing that he had put that smile on her face.

After a few minutes more of running around, Draco was able to trick her. Y/N was hiding in a corner, trying to locate her friend. He was right on the other side of the lockers, waiting for her to make a break. And when she did, he was ready. He pounced on her as she turned the corner in front of him. He took her into his arms and held her still. “Damnit!” she yelled. Draco laughed at her reaction and gripped her tighter, her back pressed to his chest. When he determined they had both caught their breaths, he gently loosened his grip and turned her around. When their eyes met, Draco said nothing. He only studied the girl in front of him. Her cheeks were rosy, but not from the cold. Although it was dark in the tent, her eyes seemed to sparkle. Even with her hair all messy and her skin bone dry from the wind, she had never looked more beautiful than she did right then.

“Are you warm now?” Draco asked softly. Y/N gave him a small smile. “Not quite,” she murmured. Draco breathed in deeply; his heart was pounding in his chest. It was now or never. “Could I hold you?” he whispered. Y/N simply nodded. Draco felt butterflies ambush his stomach, but with surprisingly steady hands, he drew her in close and put his arms around her lower back, pressing his chest against hers. She settled right in, put her head on his shoulder, and exhaled slowly. Her breath formed smoke in the air. Draco couldn’t believe he had her in his arms like this. Sure they had hugged before, but this was… different. It felt intimate. He could feel her heartbeat. He could smell her hair.

Draco savored that moment. He was fully present in it, and he felt safe in it. That was until she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Her gaze flickered to his lips, and to Draco's surprise, she said, “Kiss me.” His heart skipped a beat. Without wasting another second, he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. It felt as if fireworks were going off. Draco had yearned for this moment for so long, and it was finally happening. The girl he loved, the girl he adored, was kissing him.

Then out of nowhere, Draco pulled away, leaving Y/N confused. However, that confusion was soon replaced with joy when Draco spoke. “I love you, Y/N,” he said. “I love how you make every bad day that much brighter. I love how your pranks keep me on my toes. I love your laugh, your smile, your everything, and I… I can hardly bear it. You’re literally the biggest source of my happiness, and I am so lucky to have you in my life. And if we freeze to death out here,” Draco paused as Y/N chuckled lightly, “then at least I can die knowing I finally confessed my feelings for you."

Y/N shook her head in amazement. “Draco Malfoy, you are the most dramatic person I know. I love you too, you wanker," she said before kissing his cheek. "Now enough with the sappy shit, let’s get out of here,” she said calmly as she walked away, leaving Draco alone and, quite frankly, flabbergasted. Y/N seemed to sense this. She turned back to him. “Surely you didn’t think I wasn’t crushing on you, did you?” Draco opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say. “Merlin, Malfoy. Are you that thick? I’ve liked you since our first year!” she shouted. Draco gasped. “You’re lying,” he declared, not wanting to believe it. Y/N rolled her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “We can discuss this later, come on, I’m getting sick of this place.”

Draco conceded and met her at the exit. They held onto each of their wands and were about to face the music until Draco had an idea. He grabbed Y/N’s hand and stopped her from stepping away. “What?” she asked, her face was scrunched up in confusion. “Let’s ride the same broom. That way, we’ll be heavier, and it’ll be harder for the wind to push us back. And that way, we won’t lose one another,” he said, excited that he had thought of that at the last minute. Y/N rolled her eyes and put her broom back where it had been propped up prior. “What? It’s a good idea!” Draco insisted. “It is, but I wish you would’ve thought of it earlier. Maybe then we could already be sitting by the fire munching on chocolate frogs. I only need one more to complete my collection, you know.”

Draco put an exaggerated frown on his face, earning himself a quick kiss from Y/N. “It’s a lovely idea. Let’s try it out,” she said as she caved. Draco smiled and hopped onto his broom, gesturing to Y/N to do the same. She threw her leg over the broomstick, slid her goggles on, and put her hands on Draco’s waist. “Hold me tighter. You won’t hurt me,” Draco instructed her. He felt her arms snake around his stomach and squeeze. And with that, Draco pressed forward and out into the storm.

When they left the confines of the quidditch tent, they were immediately met with the painfully cold wind. The storm had not ceased its intensity in the slightest. It was more or less a winter wonderland, a bright one at that. Even though she had goggles, Y/N still felt the need to shield her eyes by burying her face into Draco’s back, leaving the Slytherin boy to navigate all by himself. However, it seemed as though his hypothesis was correct. The combined weight of each of them allowed the pair to, miraculously, cut right through the storm. They were streaking through the white sky, weaving around the trees and soaring past the Owlery. Then Draco had an idea. He gripped his broom firmly and called out to Y/N, “Hold on!” With a deep breath, he leaned forward and spun them right into a barrel roll, eliciting a scream from Y/N. Draco laughed at her reaction while zooming over the Quad. Finally, though, he landed them in front of the doors to the entrance hall.

Once on the snowflake covered ground, they slid off the broom and ran up to the polished wooden doors. Draco tried the handle and found that it was locked. He angrily whipped out his wand and bellowed, “Alohomora!” The doors slowly creaked open, and Draco quickly ushered Y/N inside before following after her and slamming the door shut behind them. When the storm was blocked out, the lovers looked at one another and let out an enormous sigh of relief. Y/N slid her goggles off her face and dropped her bag onto the floor. Draco did the same, then propped his broom against the stone castle wall. He turned back to Y/N, and upon seeing the circles indented into her skin from her goggles, he began to giggle. “What’re you laughing at?” she asked. This only made Draco chuckle more, and without saying anything, he brought his hands to his eyes, mocking the rings on her face. Y/N sighed while Draco wheezed and held his stomach. “Really, Draco? You are an absolute child.” This caught Draco's attention.

“Hey! Says the one who started a game of tag while a blizzard was raging on outside and actively burying us in snow,” Draco retorted. Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, shove off, Malfoy. It was fun, am I not allowed to have fun?” Draco put his index finger and thumb to his chin, faking contemplation. “Stopp,” Y/N whined while stomping her foot, making Draco’s heart expand with fondness. He smiled and walked over to her, drawing her into his arms. “Come here, darling. I’m sorry for teasing you.” He went to put his head on her shoulder, but suddenly, Y/N wiggled out of his arms. He looked at her quizzically. “Darling?” she asked incredulously, her eyebrow cocked. Draco felt blush fill his cheeks. “Well, I just thought…”

“You thought what? That you could call me darling simply because we kissed?” Draco grimaced and averted his eyes. He felt like an absolute fool. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed—”

Y/N interrupted Draco’s stammering, “At least ask me out first…”

Draco closed his eyes, feeling his initial panic dissipate. He thought he was in trouble, but it seems as though Y/N was only playing with him. He felt her begin to laugh in his arms. His eyes flickered open to see her smiling at him brightly. “Alright, then, would you—”

Draco was once again cut off, but this time it was by Adrian Pucey, a fellow Slytherin. He was a chaser on their quidditch team. “There you guys are! We thought you were lost in the storm. Where have you been?” he asked. A look of confusion overtook his face when he noticed the position they were in. “Why are you guys hugging?” Draco and Y/N’s faces burned, and they immediately let each other go.

“We were in the locker room. Took Draco’s broom out into the blizzard and luckily were able to get back. Has dinner been served yet?” Y/N asked, successfully dodging Adrian’s question. “Oh yeah, it’s meatloaf tonight. If you hurry, you can still get some,” Adrian informed them. “Great, thanks, mate,” Draco replied while giving him a wave. Adrian seemed to get the message and retreated back down the corridor from whence he came, leaving Y/N and Draco alone once again.

“As I was saying—”

“Meet me outside the common room at eight tomorrow night,” Y/N said while giving Draco a couple pats on his chest. “See you then?”

Draco looked at the girl in front of him, a bewildered expression on his face. He nodded rapidly. “Y-yeah, I’ll um see you then,” he replied. Y/N smirked and pressed a kiss to his cheek before sauntering down the hallway, leaving Draco shocked but also somewhat fuzzy inside. “Bloody hell." he brought his hand to the back of his neck. "That girl will be the death of me,” he murmured as he watched her walk away, knowing he was going to spend the remainder of his time before their date thinking only of her.

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