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vampsywrites · 1 year ago

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IV — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Making out, Mentions of blood, Arguments, Physical Fights, Protective Neteyam, Slight Jealous Neteyam

Word Count: 5k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"Control your breath, like a soothing river finding its rhythm."

Today's lesson was a departure from the usual climbing sessions you've had the last months. Neteyam had proven himself more than capable of scaling the heights with ease, showcasing his prowess as a skilled and agile climber. It was time to advance his training further and introduce him to a new and essential skill: the art of breath control.

As Omatikaya, he lacked the enhanced lung capacity that your own physiology provided. Over generations, your people had adapted to the challenging conditions of Pandora's higher elevations, making your lungs incredibly efficient at utilizing the limited oxygen resources available. This biological disadvantage of his made it all the more crucial for Neteyam to learn proper techniques.

Sitting cross-legged opposite each other, knees touching, your hands gently pressed against his diaphragm and chest as you began the lesson.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose," you instructed softly. "Fill your lungs to their fullest capacity, and feel the air spreading to every corner, energizing your body."

Neteyam followed your guidance, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply through his nose. His chest rose, and you could feel his abdomen expanding under your touch as he took in the breath. His inhale was steady but not as deep as you wanted it to be.

"Remember to ease your body," you pointed out gently. "Try again. I want you to hold that breath for a moment, just a beat longer than you're used to. Then release the air slowly through your mouth. Let it flow out like a gentle stream, not a gusty wind."

Neteyam complied. He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath through his nose, following your guidance carefully. His chest expanded further this time, and you could feel the tension in his body as he held his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his mouth.

"You are doing well," you beam.

Despite appearing as though you were focused on teaching Neteyam, your gaze occasionally shifted to the others around you. In the distance, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Kiri were having their own lessons, led by a skilled warrior-hunter from your clan. It seemed as though they were learning well, albeit still displaying moments of clumsiness.

These past few months, normalcy resettled itself in the Sully family rather quickly, like a piece of a puzzle that’s been jostled loose slotting seamlessly back into place.

Kiri, in particular, seemed to be in her element — lost in a world of her own. The girl had long wandered away from her group, traversing the slope of the rock with a skill that far surpassed her experience. She was completely absorbed in the breathtaking views the mountain provided and the wild flora that adorned its sides.

Tuk, on the other hand, was having a blast with a group of younger kids. They were energetically bouncing off the lower parts of the rock wall with their ropes, playing and laughing together. Their youthful enthusiasm was contagious, and it brought a nostalgic smile to your face, reminding you of your own childhood.

Lo'ak had also adapted smoothly, effortlessly climbing higher peaks with a few Na'vi your age. He appeared at ease, his initial apprehension towards the heights now gone as he engaged in friendly banter and conversations with your people.

“I think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up, syulang.”

Neteyam's voice draws your attention away, his calloused hands cupping over yours and pressing them flat against the planes of his chest and abdomen. His dark azure skin was smooth beneath your touch, the defined muscles firm and sculpted, evidence of his disciplined training and physical prowess as a warrior.

A cross frown danced on your lips as you retorted, "It is you who is placing my hands over your skin. I am just making sure you're learning properly. “

Neteyam's lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't see you removing them," he quipped, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

With a shake of your head, you slap at his side of his ribs, eliciting a grunt of surprise from the man.

"Enough. Show me the form I taught," you instruct, shifting back into your role as his teacher.

Neteyam does his breathing exercises accordingly, and you watch with a keen eye, pleased to see his improved technique.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

"Yes," you nod approvingly, genuinely impressed, "that is good."

As the lesson continued to flow smoothly, you instinctively moved closer to Neteyam, wanting to better feel the rise and fall of his chest as he practiced his breathing. In response, Neteyam couldn't resist the impulse to pull at your arms, playfully coaxing you into his lap.

"Skxawng! " With a laugh, you surrendered and settled into his embrace.

Fronts firmly pressed against each other, the closeness between you felt comforting and familiar. It was like two halves of a whole coming together, bodies fitting together so naturally that it was as if they were meant to be in this position.

Neither of you made a move to break the embrace. There was no rush, no need to move on from this moment of connection. Instead, you found yourself cupping his face in your hands, a rare smile gracing your lips as you gazed down at him. Neteyam's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, fiddling with the back of your woven chest piece, causing a delightful shiver to travel down your spine. The simple touch spoke volumes, conveying a level of intimacy that went beyond words.

"I am still so impressed at how fast you have learned," you whisper softly.

"I have a great teacher," Neteyam laughs, his tail coiling around your thigh in an affectionate manner. Mirroring his actions, your tail trails up his torso, exploring his rugged skin before wrapping itself around his forearm.

As your hands move to his sides, intending to trace comforting circles, you notice a sudden jerk from Neteyam, followed by a low hiss slipping from his lips. In an instant, worry floods your senses, and you draw away from him, giving him space.

"What is it?" you say in panic, your eyes quickly scanning his figure for any signs of distress. They land on small, bloodied scratch marks by his ribs, and realization washes over you.

"Ah," you grimace, a hint of shame in your voice as you hastily reach into your medicinal pouch, your fingers searching for a specific bottle. "I apologize. I did not realize my claws were digging into your skin."

Neteyam offers a reassuring smile, though you can tell that he isn't blaming you in the slightest. "It's alright," he says. "You are acting like I was just maimed. These are little scratches, nothing serious."

You appreciate his attempt to alleviate your concern, knowing that he is not blaming you in the slightest. Still, you find the bottle you were searching for and carefully apply the healing ointment to the scratch marks, your touch featherlight. Neteyam observes your hands move swiftly, appreciating the skill with which you handle the situation.

As Tsahìk, you were used to being gentle and careful with your touch, but there were moments when your physical attributes could unintentionally cause harm. At the tips of your slender fingers were rugged and curved structures resembling claws. This unique feature was a defining characteristic of your people, granting you a remarkable advantage in navigating challenging terrains with ease.

Once you finish applying the ointment, Neteyam takes ahold of your hands, dragging them up until they are eye-level. The warrior's touch is tender as he begins to trace his finger along the curve of your claws. His eyes study the intricate detailing, admiring the look of your unique appendages.

When relaxed, your fingers appeared deceptively normal, concealing the sharp daggers within. But with a simple flex of your hand, the claws emerged gracefully. During his lessons, you would usually keep them out, ready to demonstrate and assist him at any moment.

"I should have been more careful," you murmur, withdrawing your claws.

Neteyam shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "It's not your fault." He then holds your hands in his, his large palm practically engulfing yours. "Your baby hands did not cause much damage anyways."

In offense, you playfully slap his shoulder, your mouth dropping open in feigned shock. "I will have you know that these 'baby hands' have scaled mountains and traversed terrains you cannot begin to imagine!"

Neteyam raises an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed, but a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "Oh, I am sure they have."

The carefree scene is abruptly interrupted as a shadow suddenly looms over you. Lifting your gaze, you find a familiar face twisted into a stern expression, the lines of displeasure etched across his edged features.

"Tserat," you spat the name out as if it were a poison lathered on your tongue, your disdain for him evident in the sharpness of your tone.

Throughout your life, this man had been a constant thorn in your side, always critical of your choices and quick to engage in arguments.

Among many, his vehement disapproval of your sudden engagement with the eldest Sully boy was no secret, and you were well aware that he had something to say about it now.

The Na'vi acknowledged you with a forced smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a flicker of malice in his gaze as he shifted his focus to Neteyam, sizing up the warrior with a critical eye.

"Forest boy, I see you're enjoying your little lesson," Tserat quipped with a mocking tone. "Didn't know you needed such close instruction."

"We were just practicing some breathing techniques," Neteyam replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he maintained a remarkable composure despite the charged atmosphere. The venomous tone with which Tserat addressed him was not lost on the Omatikayan, but he chose not to acknowledge it — avoiding any unnecessary conflict.

And yet, Tserat's taunts only continued as he stepped closer, trying to provoke a reaction. "A lesson on breathing techniques?" he scoffed. "Those are only given to little children."

Your patience was wearing thin, and frustration seeped into your voice as you snapped back at him, "Why do you come to us? What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to know why you are allowing him to seduce you like this," Tserat hissed, his glare intensifying. "This vrrtep—"

The derogatory word hit a nerve, and anger surged within you. Snarling in response, your tail whipped around angrily, "You speak to future Olo'eyktan, Tserat!"

"Future Olo'eyktan?" Tserat scoffed derisively. "The halfbreed can barely scale up a hill! A forest dweller like him wouldn't last a day with our mountain-born warriors, let alone dare to lead them."

"You would do well not to underestimate him," you spat back with a fiery edge, warning firm as you stood your ground, defending Neteyam. "He is embracing our ways with utmost respect and honor, more than some who were born into it."

"This outsider can learn, but his roots are deep in the forest. He will never truly understand the heart and soul of our people." Tserat remarked, face twisted in a hateful sneer. Then, his attention shifted to Neteyam, words dripping with scorn, "You should just go away!"

"Tserat—" you interject, but your words are cut short when a strong hand latches onto your elbow, shutting down the stream of your furious thoughts.

Neteyam steps closer, his hands now moving to gently grip at your waist, seeking to ground you.

"Leave it," he urges softly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Leave it, tìyawn."

You oblige, trying to shift your focus to Neteyam, desperately wanting to tune out Tserat's jeers, to let them fade into the background like distant echoes. But you knew him all too well; if he was anything, he was relentless.

"Stupid girl," the hunter hisses, his words laced with venom, as he whips his head back in agitation. "Always going head first. Never thinking!"

"Watch your tone," Neteyam growls under his breath, the low rumble vibrating through his chest like distant thunder, as his tail wraps itself around your hips protectively. Though his eyes remain fixed on Tserat, Neteyam's senses are on high alert, attuned to every nuance of your body language—from the subtle shift of your ears pinning back against your head to the coiling of your tail low by your feet.

At the sight of your clear discomfort, his other hand itches at the side of his hip where his blade was, instincts screaming for him to act.

"Hey!" The loud voice of Lo'ak booms across the clearing, announcing his arrival. His eyes narrows as he strides forward, each heavy step accompanied by the rhythmic swing of his braids and the clicking of beads.

"Fuck is your problem?" Lo'ak scowls, his tone laced with anger and disdain. He forcefully shoves Tserat back, nearly knocking the man off balance. The grin Tserat flashes at the Omatikaya in response is nothing but a display of teeth and pure viciousness.

"Look who's here, another half-bred freak," Tserat bites back as he pushes against Lo'ak's shoulders, attempting to regain some ground.

Kiri, appearing in a disheveled mess but fierce as ever, storms into the scene — anger lacing her features. Without hesitation, she raises her voice, directing her anger at Tserat.

"Leave us alone!" Kiri shouts as she takes hold of Lo'ak's arm, preventing her younger brother from making any rash moves. But before she can persuade Lo'ak to calm himself, he wrenches his arm free from her grasp.

Without a second thought, Lo'ak hurls himself forward, his fist colliding with Tserat's jaw in a sickening thud. The hunter's head snaps to the side, blood spewing from his split lip as he's left momentarily stunned. After coming to his senses, Tserat snarls, eyes filled with rage as he hits back at Lo'ak with an equal measure of force.

Both of them grapple each other, bodies locked in a struggle. In the chaos of the crossfire, Tserat unexpectedly knocks into you, catching you off guard. Your feet tangle, and you stumble backward, unable to maintain your balance. With a harsh thud, you crash onto the unforgiving dirt ground, pain flaring through your body.

"Tserat!" you shriek, a mixture of anger and pain lacing your voice.

Before you can fully gather your bearings, Neteyam is already in action. In one fluid and furious motion, he lunges forward and shoves Tserat away from his brother, the sheer force of the push sending the hunter hurtling back into the rugged rock face of the mountain. The impact reverberates through the air, a loud thud echoing in the clearing, followed by the rumble of loose stones tumbling down the slope.

Dust billows up around Tserat, momentarily obscuring his figure in a haze of grit and debris. As the cloud of dust clears, Tserat emerges, his eyes burning with a dangerous glint, his rage undeterred by the impact.

Neteyam's lips curl back into a snarl, fangs bared in an unmistakable display of aggression. A guttural hiss then erupts from his lips, a growl that emanates from deep within his chest. It's a primal warning, a clear message that he will not tolerate any further harm directed towards you or anyone else he cares about.

"You—!" Tserat, refusing to back down, meets Neteyam's hiss with one of his own, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the axe at his hip.

Neteyam's response is swift and decisive. He too arms himself, unsheathing his knife. Its sharp metallic sound rings out like a battle cry, slicing through the air with a deadly "shhlck!" The blade gleams in the dappled sunlight, its edge honed and ready for any threat that may come his way.

As the pain from the earlier shove courses through your body, you grit your teeth and rise to your feet, adrenaline fueling you. You rush to Neteyam's side, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your trembling hand as you press it against his chest.

"Ma'Neteyam" you hush. "Mawey. It is alright. It is alright."

Tserat's eyes burn with envy and resentment as he watches the bond between you and Neteyam, a bond that he can't comprehend, much less accept. To him, it's a betrayal, a disloyalty to your people.

The way your touch traced the outlines of Neteyam's skin, the concern in your eyes, and the unwavering support you offered—it all but intensified his misplaced fury. The sight of your closeness with this outsider feels like a knife twisting in his heart, fueling his anger and pushing him to the brink of it all.

Driven by a whirlwind of emotions, Tserat lunged toward you both with a roar of anger. But before he could reach you, a commanding voice cut through the air like a thunderclap, halting him in his tracks.

"Ftang!"

As you turn around, you see your mother landing with a mighty thump, her ikran letting out a shrill, piercing cry. The elderly chief dismounted and approached your group with a stony expression, her fur coat still adorned with remnants of snow.

With every step, your mother shed away her usual warm and caring persona as Iumayi and slipped into the familiar face of Olo'eyktan. Ruthless, cold, Olo'eyktan.

"Why are you here, boy?" she hissed, her icy gaze remaining fixed on Tserat. He looked away, clearly disgruntled and tense under the weight of her scrutiny. ”You disobeyed direct orders! You are supposed to be on patrol! Instead, I see you stirring up a fight!"

Amidst her tirade, your mother's gaze locked onto yours. Her stern expression softened momentarily as Neteyam rushed to help you up, his touch tenderly tracing the outlines of your bruises. The sight of her child in distress stirred her maternal instincts, but she swiftly composed herself, tearing her gaze away from the display of care between you and Neteyam, refocusing on the matter at hand.

"Olo'eykte," Tserat gritted his teeth, his words now flowing in the Iuva'rian dialect, knowing that Neteyam couldn't understand it, "Can you not see this mockery of a union? Y/N was promised to me."

"It doesn't matter what you believe was promised," your mother stated resolutely, switching her language to match his. "Eywa did not will for your union to happen. The Great Mother guides us all, and sometimes our paths lead us in different directions."

As his ears pinned back, a hint of vulnerability flashed in Tserat's eyes. Frustration, resentment, and envy tangled together, gnawing at his heart.

The memory of your father's vision surged in his mind, a painful reminder of what could have been. He recalled how the Olo'eykte had approached him, believing it was he who was in the vision. "A mighty warrior, fierce and protective of his people," she had said, her eyes ablaze with belief in his destiny.

With those words echoing in his ears, Tserat had undergone rigorous training, honing his skills and preparing himself for the role he believed was his birthright. But all of that changed when the Sullys arrived. With Neteyam's emergence as Toruk Makto's son, everything shifted.

The vision, once meant for Tserat, was now directed toward Neteyam, a forest dweller with no ancestral ties to the clan. The mantle of leadership, which he had longed for and devoted himself to, was abruptly snatched away, as if it had never truly been within his grasp.

"Everything is changing," Tserat spat out, hurt etched across his features. "This family brings destruction and war wherever they go. What's to say they won't bring it here?"

"This warrior," Tserat turned to look at Neteyam, his expression brimming with disdain."—does not even know how to breathe our air properly. And you want him to lead us?"

"This is not the time or place for a challenge," Iumayi scorns. "If you believe yourself more worthy to lead, you will have your opportunity to prove it in a ritual battle after he completes the coming of age ceremony."

Tserat ran his tongue over his lips, his emotions carefully hidden behind a neutral mask. With a sigh, he averted his gaze, locking onto the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the chief.

The tension in the air was palpable as the confrontation reached its conclusion. Tserat eventually turned and left, his departure marked by one last glowering look directed Neteyam's way.

Neteyam, still holding you close, sensed the lingering unease and decided it was best to move away from the scene. With one arm wrapped protectively around you, he bid a goodbye to your mother and led you toward Seze.

The Omatikayan carefully lifted you up and secured you onto her back, ensuring your safety as he climbed on behind you.

"Irayo," you whisper. Neteyam's strong arms encircled you, and you leaned back, resting against him

"Kea tìkin," Neteyam hums.

Neteyam had led you to a secluded green clearing hidden deep in the heart of the valley. The tall, ancient trees stood as protective guardians, shielding you both from the prying eyes of the outside world. The rustling leaves and the distant songs of wind created a calming atmosphere, offering a private haven for you and Neteyam to grapple with the emotions that had been swirling between you.

Approaching the dense thicket of trees that hovered over the peak, your steps faltered when Neteyam's rough fingers wrapped around your elbow, gently pulling you back. His hand then rested softly on your hip, thumb tracing soothing circles on your striped skin.

The weight of moodiness still clung to you like a stubborn fog, but his touch and tender words began to penetrate that cloud, slowly lifting the veil of uncertainty that had settled.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, baby," Neteyam murmured, the foreign English endearment slipping off his accented tongue as smooth as the cascading waters of a tranquil stream.

Despite his plea, your lips were sealed shut, teeth biting down on the plump flesh, eyes refusing to look away from the blooming purple bruises on your skin. Faintly, you felt a burning sensation building up on your waterline, an all-too-familiar sign of tears threatening to spill over. It was an emotion you had long tried to suppress over the years, but the events of the day had taken their toll on your strength.

"Sweet girl," Neteyam soothed, his thumb pressing onto your lips and gently easing it away from your fangs. He then reached out to brush a reassuring hand against your cheek, guiding your watery gaze to meet his. The sight of your unshed tears pierced through him like a spear, striking a chord deep within his heart.

"Tserat is a fool," you drew in a shaky breath, the frustration evident in your voice. "Stubborn. Resistant to change!"

"I saw," he acknowledged with a low chuckle, but his expression softened with understanding. "People like him hold on to old ways out of fear. But change is the natural course of life. Do not worry, they will come to understand soon. Give them time."

Neteyam then paused, his eyes taking you in, a rugged hand running up your back in a comforting gesture. The forest around you seemed to grow quieter. "You two seemed to know each other…"

You nodded, a mix of emotions welling up inside you as memories of the past flooded back. "Yes," you replied, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "We were once very close. Me and him were promised."

"Oh," Neteyam breathed out, his voice tinged with a deep, rich green envy that simmered just below the surface. The intensity in his eyes blazed, and a hint of possessiveness seeped into his tone.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, drawing you closer to him, and you willingly leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his protective hold.

The lithe form of his tail swished from side to side, revealing the restlessness he felt, while his eyes remained fixed on yours, guarded yet filled with a yearning for understanding. You could tell the man before you bled with questions, but he was treading carefully, respectful of your boundaries and not wanting to intrude.

It was something you had noticed over the past few months spent together. Neteyam, a warrior at heart, was skilled at concealing his emotions. He had a way of pushing down his feelings, riding out pain - both emotional and physical with a stoic determination until they dissipated. His strength and resilience were admirable, and you respected his ability to handle difficult situations without faltering.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, a part of you longed to see more of his vulnerability, to understand the layers beneath his tough exterior. You wanted to know the man beyond the warrior, the man behind the title of future Olo'eyktan, the person he was when he let his guard down.

In moments of quiet intimacy like this, you caught glimpses of tenderness in him, emotions he carefully kept in check. It made you feel that you were so close to understanding him on a deeper level, yet there was still a distance that kept you from fully unraveling the complexities of his heart.

"I said once," you reiterated gently, wanting him to know that the past was merely a stepping stone that led you to him. "I did not go through with the ceremony."

His grip on your waist softened, and he pulled you even closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. It felt as if the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you in that secluded green clearing.

"Why did you not?" Neteyam's question hung in the air like a delicate thread, his voice barely above a whisper, brimming with vulnerability.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the topic of conversation causing your heart to race. The freckles upon his nose and forehead caught the golden rays of the setting sun, making him look even more mesmerizing as his eyes languidly traced your face.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you found the strength to answer honestly. "I did not want him," you stated firmly, making it clear that your heart had never truly belonged to Tserat.

Ears pulled flat back, he stepped closer and found his hand reaching out to take a hold of his your hip. His gaze was dark, untamed like the forest as flickers of emotion flashed across the specs of gold, brown and green in his eyes. The tension between you and him thickened, fueled by a potent mix of jealousy, desire, and the simmering anger from the confrontation.

"And who do you want?" Neteyam's voice was a husky murmur, tinged with longing. He searched your eyes for an answer, almost as if he feared what would come out of your lips.

And you knew that this was the moment of truth, where your confession could either bring you closer or drive you apart.

In the past few months, both of you had danced around the touches of affection, tiptoeing around the unspoken feelings that had quietly but intensely grown between you. On the surface, it seemed as if you were merely fulfilling your duties, following the paths arranged for you. But beneath it all, there was something deeper, a bond that had become undeniable.

Standing before Neteyam, you could feel the tremor in his touch, the unspoken fear of rejection. But there was also a glimmer of hope shimmering in those golden pools, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you would choose him.

Without skipping a beat, you looked up into his eyes, your own gaze unwavering. "You."

"I want you, Neteyam."

Neteyam felt his heart leap to his throat at your words, desire chipping away at was left of the walls he had built up. His grip on you tightened and he looked into your eyes, seeking permission for what he was about to do, gaze gliding down to your lips.

Without words, you both knew what you wanted, what you needed. You understood the unspoken plea in his eyes and nodded, granting him permission to close the distance between you.

Neteyam's hand moved from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer as he drew you into a deep kiss. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair, and you felt the roughness of his braids against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of earthy warmth and a hint of something uniquely him.

"I want you too," he breathed out against your lips, attempting to pull you even closer, molding his body onto yours. "More than anything."

Minutes pass and the intensity of your passionate kiss gradually subsided. Finally, you both drew away, finding yourselves breathless yet exhilarated. The rush of emotions still coursed through your veins, leaving you both trembling with the weight of the moment.

Neteyam's forehead pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours as you gazed into each other's eyes, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"I see you," you finally gasped out, your voice hitching. Those three simple words carried the weight of all your feelings, a declaration of your understanding and acceptance of him, flaws and all.

Neteyam froze, his breath catching in his throat. The exhale from his lips was entirely broken, as if you had stolen his last remaining breath from his lungs. Slowly, he found himself giving in to the overwhelming rush of emotions, the walls he had built over years finally falling down in ruins.

"I see you," Neteyam returned, accent thick, voice breathless and guttural. He leaned in to kiss you once more, sealing his emotions with the tender touch of his lips against yours. Those three words were repeated over and over against your lips, a desperate show of his affections.

Neteyam bared everything he had inside, his deepest desires, fears, and dreams, pouring his heart before you like a crimson offering as he hoped beyond hope that you would handle it with the utmost care.

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

the relationship is established! now its time to plan on how to destroy it. /hj

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If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :( Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc sometimes I can't see the comments ^^

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trevuorzegras · 9 months ago

Text

━╋ MY RIGHT TO BE HELLISH, part three

jealous by nick jonas

summary: In which the rumors of Quinn’s little brother Jack, and y/n y/l/n make him realize he’s jealous. (part 3/4)

pairings: quinn hughes x actress!reader

platonic!jack hughes x reader. social media au

faceclaim: dove cameron

prev part

next part

newestupdates

newestupdates: Actress Y/n Y/l/n and NHL star Jack Hughes seen walking together in New Jersey. New couple alert? Thoughts? #baewatch #y/ny/l/n

tagged: yourusername, jackhughes

liked by _quinnhughes, njdevils, and others

yourusername: we are strictly friends, please do not stretch my interaction with a FRIEND to be something it is not.

↳ jackhughes: completely agree.

user1: this is a little weird.. yeah?

↳ user2: they’re celebrities get over it 💀

↳ user1: doesn’t mean people should assume who they are and aren’t dating. it’s weird to invade their personal lives like that.. user2

jackhughes: we are strictly platonic, this post is very uncomfortable for the both of us. we kindly ask to stay out of our personal lives.

liked by yourusername

user3: they’d be cute though

↳ _quinnhughes: no

*this comment has been deleted.*

user4: quinn is NOT slick 😭😭

user5: i feel so bad for them, this is so invasive.

lhughes_05: now this is weird

liked by yourusername, jackhughes, and others

_quinnhughes: they aren’t together

↳ user6: just say you want that to be you 😭

↳ _quinnhughes: i want that to be me

*this comment has been deleted.*

user7: HE BEING A LITTLE TOO RISKY RN 😭😭

trevorzegras: yeah let’s not

↳ user8: trevor y/n + quinn shipper confirmed??

↳ trevorzegras: 😉 user8

user9: TREVOR SHIPS THEM 😭😭

user10: this is so disrespectful, take the post down atp. they can’t even live their lives without you guys butting into it.

yourusername

yourusername: me & jack are laughing AT you guys btw!! two people can be friends without dating. for all my jack & quinn girlies, here’s a snap i got from jack a few days ago. enjoy 🌤️

tagged: jackhughes, _quinnhughes

liked by lhughes_06, canucks, and others

user11: THE WAY SHE USED THE PAPARAZZI PHOTO FROM THE GOSSIP PAGE LMFAOOA

user12: she’s so unserious i love her 😭😭

jackhughes: FRIENDS!! forever

↳ yourusername: JACK LMFAOA YOU SOUND LIKE A MIDDLE SCHOOL GIRL

↳ jackhughes: okay i was trying to be nice 😒

user13: wait cause quinn been looking extra FINE lately..

liked by yourusername

↳ user14: THE WAY SHE LIKED IT LMFAOO

user15: her and quinn would be cute.. STOP

liked by lhughes_06

↳ user16: wait cause you’re onto something

↳ user17: luke liked this comment?? 🤔

lhughes_06: no pic credits for the second to last picture?

↳ yourusername: oh so you’re done lurking in my comments now, lukey??

↳ lhughes_06: no idea what you’re talking about, have you taken your crazy pill? yourusername

↳ yourusername: OH OKAY. lhughes_06

user18: why is no one talking about how good y/n looks??? let’s focus on her for a moment 🫣

liked by _quinnhughes

↳ user19: atta boy quinn with the slick comment like

user20: oh quinn is LURKING 😭

user21: what’s with the hughes lurking & liking in these comments..

user22: SHES SO UNBOTHERED LMFAO

next part

one more part, then the quinn series is complete! don’t be afraid to request using my ask box!

find my navigation, here!

check out my nhl masterlist, here!

taglist | @literatureluster @bunbunbl0gs @alwaysclassyeagle

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gremlin-girly · 2 months ago

Text

Flufftober Day 5

Prompt: Acorn, Chesnut, Pinecone ( @flufftober )

Pairing: Halsin (BG3) x Gn!Druid!Reader

Warnings: None! (Not beta'd and a little rushed so I apologise)

Tags: Love confession (that I didn't write haha), but we assume it happens (I just had another idea for it and I didn't want to write another 2k on it), mutual pining

Summary: All children in Emerald Grove take part in an annual game to find 3 things within the forest. Having never played this before, and being a new member of the grove, you are ecstatic to play (despite being an adult) and challenge the arch druid himself to beat you in the game.

Word count: 1.7k

I hope you enjoy! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated 💜

A/N: Another late one... I'm trying my luck here haha.

Prev | Next | Masterlist

“But... you are an adult.” Halsin's deep voice rumbles with amusement as he looks down at you, desperately trying not to grin and failing miserably. You were looking up at his broad frame, eyes glimmering with mischievous challenge. You never ceased to amaze the giant elf. It was no wonder he was sweet on you.

“But it’s a passing rite for all of the children of the grove,” you counter, hands on hips.

“Yes but it’s a game for children.” Halsin leans closer, gritting out the words so that the children nearby can’t hear. “it’s not a true rite-“

“Am I not a child of Silvanus?” you say loudly, giving Halsin a smug grin as some heads turn in your direction. He sighs, defeated, cracking a wide grin as he shakes his head.

“Yes, I sup-“

“Then it’s settled.” You say firmly, prodding at Halsin’s enormous chest. “I will complete the rite, as everyone else has. I’m not above taking part – am I?”

Halsin raises his hands in surrender, still smiling at you pleasantly. By Silvanus, he was utterly smitten. You could ask for anything from him and he would give it, more than willingly. “No, you are not.”

“And neither are you.”

Halsin raises an eyebrow at you curiously. “No, I’m not.”

Your mischievious smirk grows into a beaming, toothy grin. “Then you should take the rite with me.”

Halsin barks a laugh, which attracts more attention from the residents of the grove.

“I’ve already completed the rite. And once again, it is a game.” He chuckles, onlookers smiling knowingly as they continue about their preparations for the upcoming event.

“You completed it over two centuries ago,” You point out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of your scheme. “And if it’s just a game... where’s the harm in playing it?”

“I’m sensing a challenge.” Halsin smirks and shakes his head, braids swaying softly in rhythm. “I’m the archdruid. I have things to do. I-“

“Please?” you cut him off again, giving your best doe eyed look to the gentle giant before you, watching his shoulders sag in defeat.

“How can I deny you? You make an excellent point.” He says, cheeks pinkening with a little embarassment at the prospect of playing a children’s game in front of his grove. Worse yet, he was actually slightly worried about how he’d fare. You, however, are just happy he’s agreed.

“Wonderful!” You clap ypur hands together excitedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Halsin.”

Halsin watches as you make your way towards Kagha, animatedly discussing decorations and procedures for tomorrow, wondering how on earth he became so lucky to have you in the grove.

The following morning was a blur.

Decorations had been set up the night before and the children were ecstatic. Restless to begin the scavenger hunt that was a “rite” of passage to the grove. Colourful streamers hung from trees danced in the autumn breeze and smoke billowed from the fire pits that were already cooking food for the evening’s feast.

You had been trying to pry information for Kagha all night , whilst you helped her tie the streamers, about what the test would be like but she’d refused to answer.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” she chuckled. “Like the rest of the children.”

You’d omitted to tell her that Halsin would be joining the festivities. A small piece of revenge for refusing to tell you what to expect.

When the sun was at it’s highest peak shining down across the woodland near Emerald Grove, the members of the grove gathered to watch the children being the “rite”. As it turns out, the “rite” was a treasure hunt. Specifically, a treasure hunt for random foragable items in the forest that tested a young druid’s ability of recognition. There were no rules as the game – rite – was simple. Find your items and return to the grove. The children were split into pairs and handed a piece of paper with their items listed, before being sent on their way into dense forest beyond the grove.

Naturally, you were paired with Halsin. As the only two adults taking part, Halsin had spun it as watching over the children to save himself the embarassment of telling everyone he’d be taking part. Not that you hadn’t told a handful of people already why he was taking part – or that some of the elders already knew why.

You looked at your list with furrowed brows of concentration. Chestnut, pinecone, Acorn. You’d already found a pinecone and knew where the chesnut and oak trees in the forest were, so the other two were going to be an easy find. You hated to admit it but Halsin had been right.

It irked you more that he was being so pleasantly smug about it too.

“You could have told me the kids go in pairs.” You huff, trapsing through the undergrowth in the direction of a chesnut tree. The scent of damp woodland was all around you, a comforting sense of home you couldn’t escape.

“It must have slipped my mind.” Halsin said cheerily, offering you a large hand to help steady you as you clambered over a fallen log. You take it but pretend to be begrudged by it, making Halsin chuckle.

“It’s not a real challenge either, is it?” You grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. So much for your grand plan of impressing him.

“No. But I did try to warn you.”

You kick a pebble trying to hide your frustration at your plan going so unbelievably sideways. You don’t realise you haven’t let go of Halsin’s hand.

“Oh!” you gasp, tugging your hand away quickly. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

You wipe your sweaty palms on your clothes and your cheeks flush. Halsin says nothing, he only smiles adoringly, as you both make your way to a small clearing.

The sun beams filter through the trees, illuminating the clearing, bathing a chesnut tree in golden light. It looks magnificent. You stretch your arms wide before picking up a fallen chesnut, turning it in your hand to admire it. There were no marks , no worm holes. Utterly perfect. You hand it out to Halsin, who holds it between his gigantic thumb and forefinger.

“A perfect chesnut,” he comments, tucking away into a leather pouch on his belt with a smirk. “Congratulations. You only have one more left to find.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You mean we.”

“Of course. We.” He gives you another smile like butter wouldn’t melt. You’d swear up and down he was the embodiment of sunshine itself. Your eyes rake over his form with a resigned smile before you realise something.

You prod at the emblem on his chest. “Found the acorn.”

Halsin looks surprised and looks down to where you’re prodding him. The acorn emblem of Emerald Grove is engraved in his leather coverings. Halsin rumbles with laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth and you struggle to stifle a giggle.

“Ah, I suppose you have. Although, I believe the rite calls for an actual acorn.” He can’t even speak to you without cracking a smile. You swat and his large chest playfully.

“The rite didn’t say anything about that.” You point out, and then press your palm over his emblem. Halsin stiffens and watches you carefully. You didn’t seem to notice you’ve placed your hand directly over his heart, and he’s trying desperately to stop it beating so hard; he’s too worried thinking you’ll feel it.

You smirk up at him with the mischevious glimmer in your eyes he’s grown to love, hand still pressed over his heart.

“So I believe I win. Or, we win.” You chuckle sweetly, smirk morphing into a beaming grin. Halsin looks at you awestruck as the sunlight bounces off your skin, illuminating all of your beautiful features as you smile just as radiantly as the sun. His sun-kissed skin tinges pink, along with the tips of his ears, for once unsure of what to say.

“Halsin?”

He blinks down at you. You’re looking at him expectantly, but your hand hasn’t moved. He clears his throat.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, fighting the the redness that threatens to rush to his face.

“I said; do you want to head back? Try and enjoy some of the food before the kids eat it all?” you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer.

Halsin swallows thickly. “I – yes. We could.”

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

You’re both looking at eachother, daring the other to pull away or to address the tension that had been building between you for quite some time. Your fingers trace the indents of the emblem idly and you open your mouth to speak but Halsin beats you to it.

“Why did you insist I come with you?”

You take a breath, not quite sure what to say. You offer a sheepish smile and a small shrug.

“Thought it would be good for you to get away. Have some fun.” You meet his soft brown eyes with your own. “Maybe I just wanted you to myself for a little while.”

Halsin’s shoulders sag with relief, one of his large hands envelop the hand over his heart. “You don’t have to bring me out here to have my attention,” He chuckles, squeezing your hand lightly. “You never have to ask for my attention.” His eyes have a playful glimmer as he looks at you. “And you don’t have to make an elaborate ploy to get me to spend time with you.”

Your breath catches and heat rushes to your cheeks. You chuckle timidly, caught red handed.

“Well... as we’re here then.” You look about the beautiful clearing, still bathed in golden light. “Shall we sit a while?”

By the time you return to the grove, you’re both strolling hand in hand with beaming smiles and adoring, bashful glances.

Both you and Halsin blush. “I found something better.” You quip. “And I’m sure the Oak Father would be proud.”

“Did you get all over your items?” Kagha calls out to you with a knowing smile.

#flufftober #fluff #flufftober 2024 #no beta we die like men #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate halsin #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin x you #halsin x y/n #day 4 #gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #halsin fluff #gn!reader

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fairysluna · 11 months ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING | Chapter 5: it's nice to have a friend.

New Girl!AU — A disastrous break up led you to them; three guys living in a huge apartment and in need of a new roommate who helped with the way too expensive rent.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY — Your best friend finally visits your new home, but in a terrible moment. As she takes all the attention, you find yourself locked in your room with an unexpected company. New feelings and confusions might appear.

TAGS — alcohol consumption, baela makes her first appearance, mentions of virginity loss, awkwardness between aegon and reader bc they're dumb af, use of y/n. If something is missing, let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — PLEASE READ THIS!! Just to clarify, Baela and Rhaena are Velaryon, just Laena's daughters not Daemon's, Jace and Luke are Strong, and Aegon, Aemond, Daeron, Helaena and Rhaenyra are Targaryens; this means only the Targs and Strongs are related. Thank you for reading!!🤍

WORD COUNT — 4.6k

PREV CHAPTER ㅤ| ㅤNEXT CHAPTER

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

Lucerys’ big, blue eyes were staring at you as you read through his latest English test trying to see and correct the things in which he had failed. Jacaerys had asked you to help him with his studies after their mother threatened to ground him if he came home with another bad grade. In return for your work, he would do the dishes for you for an entire month; and you couldn't say no to that.

“Alright, a C+ is not terrible, but it can be better if you really put effort into studying,” you advised him. “You're a smart kid, you can definitely get an A+.”

“It’s so hard for me, there's too many concepts. I don't even know what a funnel introduction is,” he murmured, bumped out.

“It's fine, Luke, I'll help you study for your next test and you'll get at least a B+, I promise,” you said, smiling softly at him.

For a moment he just stared at you, being completely silent as he placed his chin on his hand while leaning on the table. You lifted your eyebrow and your smile slowly started to disappear.

Oh, gods, not again.

“You have a beautiful smile, you know?” he suddenly said, taking you by surprise and making you remember his little crush towards you.

“You need to stop trying to flirt with me, Luke,” you warned him. “I'm too old for you.”

“It was just a compliment,” he shrugged.

“Luke…” you said his name with a scolding tone.

“It is!” he assured you.

“Well, then thank you. That's very sweet of you.”

The main door opened just when you finished talking, Aegon was soon walking inside the loft with his hands holding at least five bags, each filled with the groceries for the month. You excused yourself before standing up and going to help him.

Things, surprisingly, were not awkward at all anymore. You were grateful for that, knowing that all your business with Aegon was now forgotten since what happened a few days ago. You both agreed, however, that you would not say anything to the rest of the guys, just so they wouldn't get the wrong impression. You were pleased, though, because now your relationship with Aegon was better, and you knew he trusted you a tiny bit more now. You were happy about it, too.

“Want some help with that?” you asked as you tried to grab some of the bags.

Aegon immediately shook his head, telling you it was okay as he moved the bags away from your hands, even when he seemed to be struggling a bit.

“Don’t worry about it,” he breathlessly said. “There's a sad, hot girl looking for you out there, you should probably go and see what's that about.” He walked past you and left you standing right in the middle of the hall.

You watched him enter the kitchen and leave the bags on the floor before he went to the fridge and drank orange juice straight out of the bottle. You sighed before you curiously peaked to the entrance only to find your best friend standing there with her backpack hanging from her shoulder. Her eyes were red — it seemed as if she was crying the whole way there, her lower lip was quivering as she held back her sobs.

“Baela?” you asked as you walked towards her, wrapping your arms around her as she laid her head on your shoulder, weeping against your shirt. “Hey, babe, what's wrong? What happened?”

“Garett and I fought today,” she sobbed, “It was bad, I took my thing and I left.”

Your hands went to her hair, your fingertips soothingly caressing her head as you comforted her. “It’s okay,” you cooed, grabbing her face and wiping her tears away with your thumbs. “Let's go talk in my room, alright? Come on.”

Baela obediently nodded as you guided her through the loft with your hand on her lower back. Aegon gave you a confused look and you just shrugged as a response. He followed you with his eyes until you disappeared around the corner and were out of his sight.

“How did you know the address?” you questioned, curiously.

“You sent it to me when you came for the first time just in case they would kidnap you or murder you,” she explained as she sniffed.

“Oh, right…” you muttered.

“It's a really nice apartment, you were lucky to find it.”

“I know, and it's quite cheap too.”

“I can't believe there's three men living here-”

All of the sudden, Jace walked out of his room; his sleepy face and swollen eyes would be proof enough to know that he had just woken up. However, what actually caught your attention was the way his body froze when he laid eyes on Baela, and also the way that she stiffened up when she saw him standing in front of her. His eyes widened as his lips slightly parted in what seemed to be a silent gasp.

“Baela…” he murmured. Suddenly you felt invisible.

“Hi,” she said in a sigh. You frowned, confused.

Standing there between them, you found yourself being taken aback by their reaction, about the way they looked at each other as if their breaths were caught up in their throats. You glanced at Baela, then at Jace, trying to find some explanation to this awkward situation, but you found nothing more than sparkling eyes in them.

“What- Did I miss something?” you asked, interrupting the moment and feeling Baela's stare falling on you.

“No,” Jace quickly replied. You could almost see him blushing. “Nothing happened.”

“Weren't we going to your room?” Baela turned to tell you, and you nodded. “Alright, let's go then.”

You resumed your path towards your room, and as soon as you crossed the door, Baela closed it behind her back. Suddenly, all traces of sadness were now replaced by something new; nervousness, perhaps. You sat on your bed staring at your friend who was now looking at you with widened eyes. You were beyond confused, filled with questions and doubts that needed to be answered before your mind would explode.

“Listen,” she started.

“I think there is a big elephant in the room right now.”

“There's a lot to unpack.”

“I can tell,” you replied. “You know Jace, don't you?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I actually know him very well. Very well.”

You stopped for a second. “How well?”

“Remember my time in Dragonstone as a camp counselor?”

Oh Gods.

“Yes…” you muttered, unsure of whether you wanted to hear the rest of the answer or not.

“Remember what happened during that summer?” she questioned, surprisingly shy.

“I do.”

“Well, it was Jacaerys,” she confessed.

Your eyes widened as you heard her saying it and confirmed it as if it wasn't breaking news, then your mouth dropped. A gasp escaped from your lips as you stood up from the bed and walked towards her.

“Shut up!” you said out of surprise. “It was Jace? That Jace?”

There was a moment of silence before Baela nodded and said, “uh… yes.”

“What?!” you yelled.

“Babe, keep it quiet, please,” she whispered.

“I thought Jace was a virgin,” you confessed, talking in loud whispers, still in shock.

“I can assure you that he's not.”

You covered your mouth as you saw her getting flustered by the situation. The whole thing with her boyfriend, and whatever had happened between them two, had been quickly forgotten by you two, because now you were trying to make sense of how small the world really was.

“I can't believe this!” you exclaimed.

“Well, imagine my situation,” Baela said, scandalized. “I just found out that, out of the billions of people in the world, my best friend is living with the guy that took my virginity during summer camp!”

“It's kinda romantic, though,” you confessed. Baela noticed the dreamy look on your eyes as you spoke; she was already used to it. “Maybe it's destiny.”

“You're insane,” she chuckled.

“Just imagine, Baela! What are the odds?”

“I'm dating Garett!”

“You were crying because of him a few minutes ago!” you reminded her. “What did that douche do anyway?”

Baela took a deep breath, rolling her eyes as she remembered everything. You knew a part of her was slightly embarrassed to tell you, only because she knew you would say ‘I told you so’. She was too stubborn to admit she had been wrong about him all this time.

“He got jealous because he went through my phone and found a picture I took with a friend from work,” she explained.

“He went through your phone?” you repeated, widening your eyes. “Gods, Baela, what are you waiting to break up with him?”

“I don't know!” she replied in despair. “Maybe I love him too much.”

“Whatever you two have going on, I can assure you that it's not love. You deserve better than him, and you know it.”

“I will break up with him… some day,” she promised, doubting. “But now, I need a place to stay tonight because I can't go back to my apartment if he's there. Can you help me with that?”

“Of course,” you immediately replied, “you can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” she sighed.

“Though he should be the one looking for shelter,” you couldn't help but to speak up. “It's your apartment.”

“I know, but I'm doing what I can, alright? I feel like there's a lot of shit going on right now. Can't we just drink our weight in booze?”

“I- I don't know, babe,” you slowly said, “I have a bunch of papers to grade and next class we'll revise them and-”

“Hey, it's okay,” she shrugged, “Maybe one of those guys will make me some company.”

A soft knock was heard and soon Aegon opened the door of your room. He was looking tired and uninterested as usual. Baela crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at him up and down. Aegon didn't even notice such a gesture, because all his attention was on you.

“I brought pizza from the supermarket,” he informed you. “They’re getting out of the oven, so come and have dinner. You can also come, if you want,” he spoke to Baela, finally glancing at her.

“We'll be there in a minute,” you replied.

Aegon left as quickly as he arrived, and your attention returned to your friend, who was arching one of her eyebrows.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing…” she shrugged, but her tone made you a bit suspicious. “Shall we go now? Crying makes me hungry.”

“Alright, let's go… I'll introduce you to Aemond.”

She grabbed your hand and you guided her through the hall until you were back in the dining room. Lucerys looked up from his plate and his mouth fell as he saw Baela walking confidently towards the table. One single glance at him and you sighed relieved to know that his crush towards you was now replaced by his crush towards Baela.

Aemond —who was wearing a kitchen apron and had his long silver hair in a bun— also appeared with two pizzas in his hands, being followed by Jacaerys who carried one. As they put them on the table, you cleared your throat trying to make them acknowledge your presence in the room.

They both stood still as they saw her.

“Aemond, Luke,” you started, “this is my best friend Baela. She'll be staying with us tonight if that is not an issue.”

“Of course not.” Aemond stepped in, removing the oven mitts from his right hand and stretching it to reach hers. “I'm Aemond Targaryen,” he introduced himself with a soft smile as he brought her hand towards his lips and left a kiss there.

Jacaerys rolled his eyes.

“How chivalrous,” Baela commented, pleased with that small interaction.

“Shall we take a seat now?” you proposed, going to your usual spot.

“Where do I sit?” Baela asked.

“Wherever your ass fits, but not in my chair,” Aegon suddenly said, appearing out of nowhere and taking his seat in the spot right next to you.

You gave him a bad look as he sat down.

“You can sit beside Aemond.” You pointed at the empty chair right next to him. Baela did what you said and smiled at him politely.

A quick glance at Jacaerys and you noticed how his jaw slightly clenched and how his eyes would, occasionally, look at them. You narrowed your eyes, noticing there was something going on there probably related to what you had just found out.

“Well, can we start eating now?” Aegon asked. “I'm fucking starving.”

Without waiting for an answer, he took a slice of the pizza and opened his mouth to eat almost half of it in a single bite. Aemond looked at him as if he was scolding him for his terrible manners, but you could only giggle at that.

“Do you guys happen to have beer?” she curiously wondered, staring at Aemond. “I'm in need of some.”

“There's a couple in the fridge, and-”

“No, no. Those are mine, I bought them,” Aegon interrupted.

His lips were covered by stains of tomato sauce, and you gave him a napkin so he would clean himself. He quickly took it and cleaned his mouth.

“Aegon, she's a guest,” Aemond said.

“And?”

“And you need to be polite.”

“I'm sharing my pizza with all of you, I think I'm being polite enough,” he argued as he pointed at the three pizzas on the table.

“I can go and buy some beer,” Jacaerys suddenly offered, “uh… there's a store around the corner, I can grab some beers for you.”

“That's so thoughtful, Jace,” Baela thanked him.

“You guys need to be careful,” you warned them.

“Why?” Jace questioned.

“It's just that your brother is here, and he is a minor-”

“I’m sixteen,” he quickly replied.

“Which means you have to wait two more years to legally drink,” you reminded him.

“Listen, it's my free night, and I don't want to listen to music or smell a beer tonight,” Aegon groaned, interrupting the conversation.

“No one is inviting you to join, Aegon,” Jace murmured.

You gave him a bad look. “Don't be mean.”

Of course no one noticed, but Aegon looked down at his lap just so he would hide the faint rose blush that appeared on his cheeks.

“Y/n will be busy tonight, so maybe you guys can give me some company,” she proposed to Aemond and Jacaerys, who immediately nodded.

“Can I be there too?” Luke asked.

“As long as you stay away from the alcohol,” Baela told him.

“Fine,” he sighed.

“Then you can join us,” she cheerfully said.

An hour was all they needed to create their own personal little pub. You were in your room, the door closed and your eyes feeling tired from reading so much - especially when you had to almost guess what the poorly written words were. The weariness was starting to show as you would continuously jawn and rub your eyes, trying to stay focused on your task.

You saw the clock. 11pm. As you listened to the faded music coming from the living room, you missed the days when you were able to stay awake until sunrise. Perhaps you were getting old.

Or maybe you just needed coffee.

The pen in your hand dropped as you stood up, stretching your limbs and sighing while you put on your comfy slippers. You left your room and rushed into the kitchen, finding Jace staring at Aemond and Baela sitting on the couch. He looked dissociated, as if his mind was giving him a thousand thoughts in a second, and even when you saw him distracted, you asked him:

“Where are the coffee pods?”

Jacaerys’ eyes wouldn't even dare to leave Baela. You would notice how he was nervously tapping the kitchen counter and biting his lip. It was quite obvious that he didn't even hear a word of what you've just said.

“How long have you known her?” He suddenly asked.

“Who? Baela?” you spoke as you looked into the drawers.

“Yes,” he said as he finally turned around to look at you.

“She's been my best friend since sixth grade, why- Oh, here they are,” you mumbled once you found what you were looking for.

You grabbed the coffee pod and put it in the coffee machine, waiting next to it for the cup to be filled.

“So you know,” he assumed. “Of course you do, she's your best friend.”

“What do I know?”

“That we- you know…” he shyly said. “Summer Camp, Dragonstone… uh, sex.”

“Well, she just told me, actually…” you confessed. “I mean, I knew how she lost it, but she never told me the name of the guy, so I didn't know you two had met before. Also, you've never mentioned anything about that camp before, so...”

“Gods, she looks even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said with a shy smile, looking at Baela and then back at you. “Shit, she's here and my hair looks hideous, I don't know why I cut my curls off, I feel like Samson.”

“You look fine, Jace.”

“Yeah, you say that to Aegon everyday, how can I believe you?”

You were about to open your mouth and say that you actually meant it each time you would say that to Aegon, but, somehow, admitting that information made you feel embarrassed. You just decided to change the subject before the silence turned into an awkward one.

“Listen, you do you, I'll be in my room-”

“Wait, no,” he interrupted you. “You need to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't- How am I supposed to get close to Baela if you're gone?” He asked you, widening his eyes with panic.

“The same way you did when you first met her, isn't it easy?”

“You have to understand,” he said, looking deadly serious. “17 year old me, is not the same person as 22 year old me. I've grown weak.”

“Find that inner 17 year old you,” you shrugged, as you started to slowly walk away. “Best of luck, my friend.”

You walked out of the kitchen with the cup of hot coffee in your hand. As you passed by the living room, you gave a threatening look to Luke who was too close to the beers in the center table. As a response, he lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence, and looked at you with those blue, puppy eyes. You sighed, resuming your way towards your room and humming the song that was playing back in the living room.

Once you returned, it was a complete surprise to see Aegon laying on your bed with his computer on his lap and a bowl of chips on his side. He was shoeless, in his pajamas, looking so comfortable that you even thought for a small second that you accidentally entered his room instead of yours.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, as you walked towards your desk and left the coffee cup there.

“I'm watching a movie and they aren't letting me listen because their music is too loud,” he explained.

“Why don't you use subtitles?”

He scoffed, “I'm watching a movie, not reading a fucking book.”

“Aegon, you need to stop appearing in my room,” you mumbled. He paused his movie, sitting up on the bed. “Last time was a disaster.”

“I won't be a bother to you, I swear it. I'll be quiet and let you do your thing,” he told you, looking at you with his puppy, lilac eyes. You couldn't say no.

“Fine,” you mumbled, sitting in your chair before you resumed your work. “Keep the volume down too, please.”

“Alright,” he said, and each started to focus on your own thing.

You gave him one last look before you turned around and grabbed your pen. The music was muffled thanks to the thickness of the walls, and all you could hear was the soft voices of the actors coming out of Aegon's computer. It was quite relaxing, there was no awkward silence or anything as such. It felt comfortable and nice.

His presence felt nice.

Suddenly, you heard him laughing out loud, and it was contagious enough to make you smile, distracting you from your work. You turned around only to see him covering his face with one of your pillows, somehow you thought it was cute.

“What are you watching?” you asked as you stood up and sat on your bed next to him.

“Pineapple Express,” he said between giggles, still laughing at one of the scenes.

“Can I watch too?”

“I thought you were busy working,” he replied, looking up at you.

You sighed, “yeah, you’re right.”

Aegon looked at you for a few seconds before pausing the movie and sitting up.

“You look stressed,” he pointed out. “Want some help with whatever you're doing?”

“Would you help me?” you asked, incredulously.

“Yeah, why not? I wanted to be a teacher when I was little,” he confessed, “until I realized I was supposed to go to university to do it.”

“You haven't gone to university?”

“I have, actually,” he nodded as he spoke. “My father forced me to go. I never finished it though, I dropped out.”

“What program?”

“Business administration,”

“Was it fun?”

“The most boring shit ever,” he replied, and you chuckled.

He looked at you as you laughed, and a small —almost nonexistent— smile appeared on his face. It was an involuntary gesture.

“Why did he force you to study something you didn't want?” you curiously asked.

You knew that perhaps you were overstepping a line, but it was the first time he ever said something about him to you, and you were craving to know more. You just couldn't help it.

“Alright, what is this? A fucking interview?”

“Oh, come on!” you insisted. “I've seen you naked already, remember? I know more of you than Aem and Jace.”

“Bold of you to assume they haven't seen me naked yet,” he chuckled. “Will you want help with those hieroglyphics or not?”

“Don't be mean,” you scolded him. “They are just learning how to properly write.”

“Which grade is it?”

“Third.”

“Amateurs…” he mumbled.

“Stop it, they're kids,” you giggled.

“No excuse.”

“Alright, I'm gonna keep going before it gets too late,” you said as you stood up.

Aegon, out of impulse, stretched his hand to grab yours, stopping you from moving away. You turned around, failing to hide your surprise. He seemed unfazed by his own action on the outside, but on the inside he was panicking and desperately wondering why he did that.

“I can help you if you want,” he offered again.

You had to take a second to process it and answer him.

“It's- it's fine,” you shrugged. “You keep watching your movie, don't worry.”

He pressed his lips; an awkward smile.

“Alright,” he said, and let go of your hand.

“Thank you, though.” As you pronounced, Aegon looked back at the screen, almost as if he was suddenly ashamed of looking at you.

You tried to say something, but you just pressed your lips together, sealing them so they wouldn't utter a word. You turned around, and sat back on your chair. For a second you just stayed there, staring at the papers scattered around the desk, and thinking about that sudden gesture that was so odd coming from him.

You couldn't help but to ask yourself whether it was a good idea to have rejected his help, thinking that maybe this would push him away once again.

You were overthinking everything, as usual.

As you turned around, you noticed that Aegon was already with his eyes on you. Nervously, you cleared your throat.

“What?” He asked.

“Uh, what?” you repeated.

“What's wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You've been staring at your desk without moving for like a minute,” he explained. “Are you suffering a stroke or what?”

“No, I just- uh…”

“What?” he interrupted you.

“You're not mad at me, right?” The suddenness of the question made Aegon chuckle and think it was a joke, but after seeing your serious expression he realized you weren't actually kidding.

“Why would I- Listen, if I didn't get mad at you for seeing me naked, why would I get angry because of this?”

“Actually, you did get mad at me for it,” you murmured.

“Well, I'm not mad at you now, okay? Now chill out.”

“Alright, I'm so-”

“Don't apologize,” he stopped you before you could even finish. Then, he softly chuckled. “Why do you act like that?”

“Like what?”

“Weird.”

“To be honest, the first month here I thought you hated me,” you admit, “sometimes I still do, actually.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I wouldn't be your friend if I hated you, would I?”

“I'm your friend?” You repeated, widening your eyes with emotion.

Aegon looked at you weirded out, “of course you are, you dumbass. I saw you naked, we live together; I think I had no choice, actually.”

You smiled.

“Well, it's nice being your friend.”

“It is,” he agreed.

Baela suddenly opened the door in a scandalous way. You jumped in your seat, taking all your attention towards her; she wasn't drunk, but she was certainly a bit tipsy. Aegon immediately closed his computer and grabbed his now empty bowl of chips, standing up from your bed.

“Guess the party's over, so I'll go to my room now,” he announced. Some tiny part of you didn't want him to go just yet. You liked having his company. “Good night, y/n.”

“Good night, Aegon,” you sighed.

“Goodnight, Bella.”

“It's Baela,” she corrected him.

“Yeah, whatever.”

He left the room in a hurry as Baela rolled her eyes. Soon, she went to her backpack and took an oversized shirt she used as pajamas, all while staring at you with a subtle smirk on her face.

“What?” you asked.

“You need to tell me what's going on between you and him.” She removed her clothes and put on the shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“Don't play dumb,” she murmured as she went to the bed and laid beneath the covers. “Girl, you have bewitched the guy!”

“What? That's- that's nonsense.”

“Look at the floor, there's a path of his drool all the way from your bed to the door.”

“Baela, he's not- he doesn't do relationships.”

“Oh, but he would definitely do you, you know?” She said imitating your tone.

“Alright…” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“You need to shoot your shot there, he's hot.” You felt the heat running to your cheeks, and of course she immediately noticed it. You hated that she knew you too well. “Oh my! You're blushing!”

“Baela, that's enough.”

“I can definitely sense a vibe there.”

“There's nothing vibing here.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Just go to sleep, okay?” you groaned, turning towards the desk.

“Goodnight, love,” she said. You could hear her smirk on her voice.

“Goodnight,” you simply said, sighing tiredly.

The thought of Aegon being into you was too far-fetched to be truthful. He had just started to see you as a friend, and even when he saw you naked he didn't try to make a move or make comments about it that would give you sogns of his attraction towards you. In fact, he was rather indifferent about it. On the other hand, even when a part of you thought of Aegon as someone handsome, he wasn't your type at all; too immature, perhaps, it would never work between you two.

You shook your head, weirded out with the mere idea of being thinking about it. At the end of the day, Aegon was just another of your friends… right?

BOLD MEANS I COULDN'T TAG YOU.

INVISIBLE STRING TAG LIST — @aemondssiut @tillyt04 @doublesparrows @afro-hispwriter @chrisevansslutttt2 @fan-goddess @trshngyn @hiatuswhore @heavenly1927 @deltamoon666 @sahvlren @kravitzwhore @watercolorskyy @n4tforlife @lovevellichor @f4ll-for-you @namelesslosers @jvpit3rs @marytargaryen @geminidas @aphroditeisamilf @dixie-elocin @dragonslutblog

(if you want to be removed or added to the tag list, send me an ask or dm me.🤍)

follow @by-fairysluna to receive my fic updates!

#invisible string #newgirl!au #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #house of the dragon #hotd au #hotd fanfiction #modern!aegon targaryen #modern!hotd #hotd #aegon the second #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii

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seabirdtxt · 11 months ago

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.Irminsul stash --Traveler_Inventory

You and Scaramouche head over to ask the Traveler for some groceries [< prev] [Blog tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU without cult shenanigans, mostly filler chapter. sorry for the long hiatus!

WC. 1.5k

----- ⚘ -----

As much as you enjoyed spending your time running around Teyvat in-game, nothing quite prepares you for how vast it actually is.

Of course you’ve known that, logically speaking, it’s impossible to correctly scale an entire city using a limitation such as video game engines. You are still knocked completely off your feet at the sight of the sprawling verdant domes and alabaster walkways of Sumeru City.

You jog down from the Sanctuary doors and lean over the railing, eyes tracing the knotted branches of the Great Tree where they mesh flawlessly with the infrastructure of the city. The scale of things is easily dozens of times bigger than what is shown in-game, and despite the beautiful graphics it has, the game definitely cannot do justice to the sheer variety of buildings and people that make up Sumeru City. Unable to help yourself, you make wordless noises of awe as you take in the scenery.

“You’d think you’ve never seen a city before,” Scaramouche’s deadpan voice states from a few paces behind you, where he’s lazily following you down the ramp. You turn and face him, taking note of how he’d removed the colourful belts, ropes, and other identifying markers of his outfit, leaving only his bodysuit and black jinbei. He looks deeply annoyed by this state of undress, so you wisely choose not to mention it.

“I mean, I’ve never seen it like this before,” you agree, gesturing to the skyline with a wide sweep of your arm. “Like, I’ve seen some of it from a certain, uh, distance? But seeing it in person… Wow. Just doesn't compare.”

Scaramouche says nothing as he finally comes to a stop beside you, arms crossed as he surveys the view. After a few seconds he snorts derisively. “Looks the same as it always does, to me.” He scoffs. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

You let him drag you down the rest of the ramps until you both meet the pale bricks of the main road. You follow him as he leads you, presumably, to wherever the Traveler is staying. Your eyes wander aimlessly, taking in the sights.

Something tugs at the gem of your shirt and you stop walking, surprised. When you look down, you see a small child with dirt stains on their hands and knees, and a streak of dirt across their face. The child beams up at you, holding out their closed fist and shaking it at you.

“Oh, hello. What’s up?” You ask, crouching down beside them. You hear a noise of disgust from Scaramouche, which you wave off in favor of giving the child a smile. “Anything I can help you with, buddy?”

The child shakes their fist again and you finally get the message. You present your own open hand, palm upturned, and the child drops whatever they’re holding into it. They scamper off quickly before you can say anything, so instead you peer at the tiny object in your hand.

It’s a small stone, with a very simplified carving on it. It appears to be some writing, and an angular leaf shape. The marks are gibberish to you, but surely it has significance of some kind, so you pocket it and stand back up. You give Scaramouche an apologetic grin, to which he simply rolls his eyes and continues on.

The walk is, understandably, much longer physically than it is in-game, and you find yourself a little winded by the time you’re anywhere near the Grand Bazaar. You do eventually get to a building that you (very, very vaguely) recognize as the inn the Traveler and Paimon stayed at during the Sabzeruz Festival arc, and you huff a sigh of relief that the long stroll is finally over. Before you can even approach or knock, you’re bowled over by a flying white mess of limbs.

“Creator! You’re here!” Paimon squeals in your ear as she tackles you to the best of her ability, and you wince as she excitedly hugs whatever part of you she can reach. “I’m so glad that stupid mean puppet didn't kill you yet!”

Scaramouche makes an offended noise at that last remark and flips Paimon the bird.

“Yeah, here I am!” You laugh after untangling her from around your head and pat her head as the Traveler joins her, looking a little worse for wear. Their outfit is a little stained in places, and bears some signs of scorch marks at the edges.

“Good timing, we just got back from our morning commissions,” they say with a wave. “I didn’t think you’d be out and about so soon, is there anything you need help with?”

“We want your ingredients supplies.” Scaramouche blurts out, interrupting any of your attempts to phrase it in a nicer way.

“All of them?!” Paimon gasps, absolutely devastated. You quickly step in before Scara can say anything else.

“No no! Just a little bit,” you reassure the sprite, then address the rest of your request to the Traveler with an affable shrug. “If you have anything to spare we’d really appreciate it. We don’t exactly have a lot of food in my teapot yet. Or, uhh… Any food, at all.”

“Oh!” The traveler smacks their forehead with the heel of their palm. “I didn’t think of that, Your Grace, I’m so sorry!”

“You really don’t have to call me that,” You laugh awkwardly at the title and volume at which the Traveler said it, conscious of the curious glances your little group has attracted. All around you you begin to hear indistinct murmuring, and you frantically hope they’re not talking about you. “And, uh, don’t worry about it! It’s a bit short notice, I get it.”

“As long as you leave some for us, it’s no problem!” Paimon says as she recovers from her shock. The Traveler turns to her with a sly grin.

“As long as they leave some for you, you mean?” They tease, to which Paimon splutters in protest. The Traveler gently pokes her cheek while she throws her tantrum.

“Can we take this inside?” Scaramouche asks waspishly, stopping the pair’s bickering for a moment. “Or literally anywhere else? Maybe you two enjoy being ogled like zoo animals, but I personally don’t appreciate being eyed up by the unwashed masses.”

“How rude! You haven’t learned a single thing, have you?!” Paimon scolds, turning her wrath on the harbinger.

“Actually, I agree,” you give a halting laugh as you step closer to the building. More and more eyes are turning toward you. You give the crowd an awkward wave, and suddenly the murmurs turn into a clamor as people begin to understand your identity.

“Oh, whoops,” the Traveler says, grabbing both your hand and Scaramouche’s bicep. Paimon quickly gets the idea and grabs onto the sleeve of their outfit. “Time to go!”

-----

You spiral back into existence high above the streets of Sumeru, close to the Akademia front doors, having been forcefully teleported as a group with the Traveler. They set you down gently, while simultaneously dropping Scaramouche like a sack of potatoes.

“Ow! Hey, watch it!”

“Are you alright, Your Grace?”

Three pairs of eyes watch as you dust yourself off and give a cheerful thumbs up. “All good!” You announce. “Let’s talk groceries, shall we?”

In the end, the Traveler decides to give you and Scaramouche three bags of dry products—things like fruits and veggies, rice, sugar, coffee beans, and cured meat—and promises to stop by your teapot sometime later in the week to deliver cold foods and more fresh produce.

“I’m sure some of this probably isn’t what you’re used to in your world,” the Traveler says apologetically, giving you a wry smile. “If you have any questions about it, I’m sure you can ask Wanderer. He’s been enrolled in some cooking classes for the past few semesters, so he’ll know what he’s doing.”

“Hah! As if.” Scaramouche snatches the last bag of groceries out of their hands with a sneer. “That weakling is going to be out running errands for Buer’s every whim. Do you really expect him to be around long enough to cook adequately? I’ll handle this.”

The Traveler only raises a single eyebrow at the declaration, then shrugs. “Suit yourself,” they chuckle. “Just don’t poison the Creator, I guess.”

“Can the Creator even get sick?” Paimon asks, hovering around you and inspecting you closely enough to make you ticklish. “I’m not sure gods are supposed to be able to get sick, you know!”

“Well, we don’t want to find out!”

“It’s fine, a little food poisoning won’t kill me,” you reassure the three of them, knowing you’ll be having a rough go at it for the foreseeable future given what you know about Scaramouche’s current cooking skills.

“So, what? None of you have any faith in me?” Scaramouche frowns and crosses his arms as best as he can around his grocery bags.

The response comes from the three of you at the same time.

“No.”

#genshin sagau #genshin isekai #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware au #sagau x reader #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #seabird.txt #glitch in irminsul au

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fadinggalaxysalad · 2 months ago

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Could totally see the lesson plans being tossed out the window because one of his kids the students has a question and was brave enough to come to him for it. Danny's not letting them down. Maybe he's got an in with the cosmetology teacher and they get the retired mannequin heads previous students didn't want to drag home after finals. Some hair rerooting later, Danny has a whole (only slightly creepy) setup of disembodied heads on the desks with all kinds of hair types to tackle. At the very least these kids are going to get the basic hair care down so they don't go off to college with 5-in-1 shampoo and ruin their scalp. Textbook hacks are next weeks lesson to cut costs so they can afford leave in conditioner instead of spending $300 on one text book. Maybe lets some of the more advanced kids try braiding his hair since he can practically sit on it, he's proud of their efforts even if the braid crooks in the middle. Danny is going to have some weird cupboard contents in his classroom for some poor unsuspecting person to open.

Anyways, yes! Retired hero! He did his thing, he's tired and retired and is firmly on the Get Off My Lawn Unless We're All Going To Die Again list of backup heroes. Handwavy fanon Batman put up the list, maybe Barbra found out about him while she was in recovery and before she was Oracle and brought him to Bruces attention. Pre JL:D if I have the timeline right so it would make sense to have a rabbit to pull out of your hat just in case.

Wally maybe accidentally giving his identity away early by flirting in and out of the mask with the worst pickup lines ever (he learned them from Dick) and Danny the lover of puns, actually likes them. Theres only so many people who would say "I was wondering if you’re an artist because you were so good at drawing me in." line in one city after all. Everyone else is suffering. They can't hear "Are you a bank loan? Because you've got my interest." without wanting to beg for arrest (criminals) or amnesia (heroes). Leonard is doing his civic duty setting them up after hearing "If you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber." At this point he deserves the key to the city or a one time get out of jail free card. He'll settle for being left in charge of the ice sculptures at their wedding.

Okay okay I've seen a Lot of teacher Danny Aus but what if instead of chemistry or engineering...

It's Home Ec. Like this guy decided to get a degree in home economics due to literally the death trap of a house he grew up in where he ans his sister had to learn home economics things on their own so they could just survive.

But this is Danny so of course his classes are chaotic.

First day he brings out a microwave and a series of different food ingredients and shows his students just what you aren't supposed to microwave. And the first thing be shows is eggs.

By showing each different method that people have tried to cook eggs in a microwave with various levels of explosive results. Starting with a raw still shelled egg.

He did provide them noise canceling headphones and safety goggles just in case.

"Alright class, today you are going to learn what you can't cook in a microwave!"

#bart hissing at wally when ever he flirts with barts favorite teacher #wally/danny #also totally see wally constantly caling Dick to gush about his crush #<- prev tags that I completely agree with #Even Dick isn't sure how those lines worked #he's going to have regrets when Wally sends blurry photos of Danny laughing over them followed by keysmashes #Bart torn because he wants Wally happy #but if he has to hear about how his teachers ears are attractive #he might run off a cliff like Wile. E. Coyote #but this means more snack access during non school hours #he is just going to ignore that his teacher is at his cousins house for breakfast in his cousins teeshirt #Meanwhile Captain Cold is king of the cellblock for fixing this disaster #dpxdc #dcxdp

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underground-secret · 4 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: While looking into a mysterious murder in Illinois, Sam, Dean, and Y/N come across Meg, an old 'friend' of Sam's, who may be far worse than they ever thought possible

Warnings: Cannon violence, the forensic details talked about—the blood splatter—should be some part accurate but i’m also not an expert so don’t take my word like it is—i’m just a nerd. Also!! no outfit for this one since there’s really none described and not one i’m really particularly picturing since this episode is very plot driven??

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 , @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat

Word Count: 9,655

Shadow

(Master list, Prev Chapter, Next Chapter)

I pin my hair back as the Impala stops, claw clip holding back layers of hair in a half-up-half-down look. It was a last-ditch effort to make a dark blue jumpsuit look good, especially when it was a uniform jumpsuit.

I leave the car, closing the door behind me as Dean opens the trunk, pulling out a metal toolbox. It really completes the look. He closes the trunk and we move away from the car, crossing the street towards the victim's apartment. The three of us are matching in our getups, which lessens the embarrassment or awkwardness but doesn’t take away from the outfits themselves. “All right, this is the place,” Sam announces, stopping in front of the apartment building. “You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and I did just fine without these stupid costumes. I feel like a high school drama dork,” Dean comments and I’m glad at least someone agrees this costume sucks. He smiles, continuing, “What was that play that you did?” he asks Sam, “What was it…Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.” I look between the boys, smiling as I hit Sam’s shoulder, “Shut up! You were in a play?!” He scuffs and rolls his eyes. Dean laughs as he answers for his brother, “Yeah he was.”

“How come no one told me?” I ask, I mean seriously this feels like something Dean would’ve spilled to me. Dean’s eyebrows furrow, “I didn’t tell you?”

“No!” I exclaim, “Do you have pictures?” His smile brightens, a mischievous glint in his green eyes, “‘Course I do.”

“Okay, well now you’re obligated to show me,” I point out, excited to see the no-doubt adorable photos. “Are you guys done or what?” Sam asks, arms crossed against his chest. I nod with a tight-lipped smile. “And if you wanna pull this off then we need the costumes,” he adds, logically.

“And while that is a great point, I have to agree with Dean on this one. These outfits are ugly,” I complain.

“That wasn’t really my point,” Dean interjects. I purse my lips, “Shh, it was close enough. And you can’t say this isn't a borderline janitor or plumber,” I motion my hand up and down at the jumpsuit for emphasis. The only difference was the brown leather belt at the waist, which really added nothing to the look—it barely even accentuated the waistline. “I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?” Dean argues, getting back to his point.

“Whose?” Sam counters. Dean looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Ours. ‘You think credit card fraud is easy?”

“Thanks for lettin’ us look around,” Sam starts, letting the landlady lead us into the apartment. A weird feeling crawls down my spine, something heavy and undoubtedly coming from the apartment. “Well, the police said they were done with the place, so…..” she led us further into the living room. The white carpet is adorned with blood drops, some spots darker than others. “You guys said you were with the alarm company?” she asks.

“That’s right,” Dean clarifies.

“Well, no offense, but your alarm’s about as useful as boobs on a man,” she quipped, and I have to bite my bottom lip hard not to burst out in unprofessional laughter. “Well, that’s why we’re here. To see what went wrong and stop it from happening again,” Dean responds, somehow keeping it together.

“Now, ma’am, you found the body,” Sam asks, jumping right into it. “Yeah,” the lady responds, nodding. “Right after it happened?” he follows up.

“No. Few days later. Meredith’s work called—she hadn’t shown up. I knocked on the door. That’s when I noticed the smell.”

“Was there any sign of a break-in or forced entry?” I ask.

“No, windows were locked, front door was bolted. Chain was on the door, we had to cut it just to get in,” she answers.

“And the alarm was still on?” Dean asked, the scene coming together.

“Like I said, bang-up job your company’s doin’,” she remarks. It was no wonder the cops were stumped, those details practically suggest the killer walked through the walls. There was no other way to enter and leave without going through the front door or the untouched windows. “Mmhmm,” Dean hums, “You see any overturned furniture, broken glass, signs of struggle?”

She shakes her head, “Everything was in perfect condition….except Meredith.”

“And what condition was Meredith in?” Sam asks carefully, moving away from the window he was standing in front of.

“Meredith was all over. In pieces. The guy who killed her must have been some kind of a whack job. But I tell you, if I didn't know any better I’d have said a wild animal did it.”

“Ma’am, do you mind if we take some time? Give this place a once-over?” Sam asks, sharing a look with his brother.

“Oh, well, go right ahead. Knock yourself out.”

****

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean acknowledges, opening his toolbox and pulling out his DIY EMF reader. “I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam explains just as the EMF reader beeps frantically. A clear sign.

“I think I agree with you,” Dean mumbles.

I walk around the room studying the blood splatter on the wall. Whatever was here was certainly powerful, a strange feeling creeping over my shoulder. “So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked from the other side of the room. “Uh, yeah,” Dean smirks, “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky, officer of the law.”

I scuff, not surprised, “Yeah? Did you find anything useful out or just what she looked like naked?”

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he starts, his voice dreamy like he was reliving it, “She loves tequila, I mean—wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—“

“Dean!” Sam and I yell at the same time. God, he was ridiculous. “What?” he responds as if he did nothing wrong, “Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers.”

“Hm?” Sam questions.

“Meredith’s heart was missing.”

Sam chokes on his breath, “Her heart?”

“You know that makes sense,” I start, “With the blood splatter that is.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. I walked over to the side table, a phone on it, “Well she was standing here, maybe listening to voicemails since no one has come forward to say they were on call with her when it happened, you would imagine they would hear a disturbance. Then the thing must have come from behind considering the slightly darker spray of blood there,” I point to the wall in front of me and what landed on the phone. “See it’s a projectile splatter —like a mist, somewhere between medium and high velocity. But there are no arterial spurts which would suggest it being quick and skilled, seemingly grabbing the right thing without hitting an artery.” I halt my explanation, “Are you guys following?”

“Yeah, we’re following, sweetheart,” Dean responds.

“Okay, good. So, came from behind, and was able to literally just bam, grabbing the heart and then pulling back out the same way. Which is the minimal blood behind her other than the pooling of blood when she went down. There’s hardly a blood trail or drops, nothing to suggest moving to other sides of the room after the kill. Well, except that…” I point to a blood pattern on the smooth white carpet nearby, “That’s not any blood splatter pattern, at least not a naturally occurring one. Those are methodical, otherwise it doesn’t make sense.”

The drops were in a weird shape or form, it would be hard to explain to anyone who wasn’t there.

Dean makes his way over, crouching before it. He studies it for a beat before saying, “See if you can find any masking tape around.” Sam immediately gets to it, checking the cabinets in the kitchen first. “So, what do you think did it to her?” Sam asks from the other room.

“I don’t know about this,” he gestures to the blood in front of him, “But, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack, maybe it was—werewolf?”

“Can’t be a werewolf, the lunar cycle doesn’t match up,” I respond. “Plus, if it was a creature, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s probably a spirit,” Sam adds, coming back into the room with a roll of black tape.

We stand aside as Dean connects the small pools of blood, a pattern evident to him. When he finishes and steps aside the tape reveals an almost ‘Z’ like shape with a horizontal oval in the center, cutting the letter off before it continues again. “Ever see that symbol before?” Sam asks. The symbol wasn’t exactly familiar in itself but close enough to another thing to make a small connection. “Never,” Dean answers.

“Me neither,” Sam agreed.

I rub my eyes, exhausted from summoning books all night. I know the symbol has something to do with summoning a specific being, whatever that being is I don’t know.

I sit across Sam in the noisy bar we just walked into, his Dad's journal in his hands. Dean said he was here somewhere. I move to rubbing my temples, a headache engraving itself. While teleporting objects is far easier than a person I was also getting my books from home—aka around 1,120 miles away. Maine to Chicago, trying to go through my family's old journals and spell books in the hope it had the symbol and an explanation somewhere. So far there was nothing.

The chair next to me scraps back, and someone takes a seat. I don’t have to lift my head from my hands to know who it is, the presence too familiar not to recognize. “I talked to the bartender,” Dean says.

“Did you get anything?” Sam asks, looking up from newspaper clippings he must have pulled out at some point, “Besides her number?”

“Dude. I’m professional. I’m offended that you would think that,” Dean defends with the utmost serious face. Sam and I both give him a knowing look, he would never pass up an opportunity like that. He breaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he pulls out a napkin from the inside of his jacket, holding it up, pen-marked digits written on it, “Alright, yeah,” he chuckles, looking at the napkin proudly. I roll my eyes, he really is ridiculous. And of course, I just had to be madly in love with a guy who’s interested in every other girl.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” Sam lectures and it’s my turn to laugh. I hit his arm, “Oh man, he got you bad.”

Dean scuffs, “Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everyone said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so…what about that symbol, you find anything?”

“Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or any of the usual books,” Sam answers, putting down the newspaper clippings he’d been holding. “And there’s nothing, so far, in any spell books or journals,” I add as I pull out a brown strapped book from my bag, “If I have to read another book entirely in Latin I will commit violent atrocities.” I’d read at least ten journals in Latin back to back, it was rather nice to see the things my ancestors got into but after a while, it was very tiring.

“We just have to dig a little deeper, I guess,” Sam replied thoughtfully.

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” Dean asks. His brother nods, “Right. Yeah,” he moves the newspaper clippings around until he finds the right one, “His name was, uh…his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He hands the clipping to Dean as he continues, “Last month he was found mutilated in his townhouse. Same deal, the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?” Dean pushes, grazing over the newspaper. “Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, and Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender's phone number,” Dean smirks. I sigh, it sounds more disappointed and tired than anything, “Dude, really?”

“Oh, come on, it’s true,” he defends with a smirk. I scuff, a retort dying on my tongue as Sam stands suddenly, his eyes locked somewhere behind his brother. “Sam?” his brother asks as he begins to walk away. Like nosy teenagers, Dean and I turn in our seats.

Sam stops at a table, his back to us and blocking whomever he’s trying to talk to. He puts his hand on their shoulder. It’s apparent the two know each other, especially when their arms are wrapped around him in a hug. Bare arms wrap around him, hands too feminine to not belong to a woman. I throw Dean a questioning look, maybe it was a family friend? But he looks confused and even skeptical as he stands and walks over. I quickly gather my book, their Dad’s journal, and any of the other papers lying around and shove them in my bag before following after the older Winchester.

The girl was quite attractive, with short blonde hair and dark eyes. A pretty smile plastered on her face and a cute frilly lilac shirt. “Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she answers whatever question Sam had asked. “Who?” Sam asks, an equally big smile on his face. The girl brushes it off, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while.”

Suddenly, Dean clears his throat loudly, practically begging to be introduced into the conversation. I elbow him and ignore the look he gives me as I mouth ‘Let them speak.’ It was awkward enough just standing near them, off to the side as they caught up, and his attention-grabbing scheme wasn’t helping. He shakes his head at me, eyes wide and hands raised like he’s asking me why. I give him a pointed look, the reasoning should be obvious. “You’re from Chicago?” Sam asks.

“No, Massachusetts—Andover,” she clarifies. Her smile widens, “Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?”

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again,” Sam responded. “Well, I’m glad you were wrong,” she smiles. Dean clears his throat again, somehow louder, I shake my head with a sigh, he was not gonna give up. “Dude, cover your mouth,” the girl snaps and I have to stop my lips from curling into a smile. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg,” Sam starts, seemingly remembering to introduce the two creeps listening in on a conversation they should be allowed to be private, “This is my friend Y/N.”

I smile, extending a hand out of courtesy, “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.” Her hands are cold against mine, something like recognition passes in her eyes as she responds with the usual saying. Something deep inside my gut curls as I take her in, but I ignore it for now as we break from the shake. “And this is, uh…this is my brother, Dean.” This time her face lights up in surprise, eyes widening and brows shooting up, “This is Dean?” she asks. The man in question smiles with his usual charm. “Yeah,” Sam confirms.

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean asks, just a hint of pride on his tongue. Meg looks him up and down in one quick motion, her lips curling in disdain, “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice, the way you treat your brother like luggage.”

My lips part in shock, taken aback, I immediately look between both boys for their reaction. Sam’s eyes are wide, lips parted like she wasn’t supposed to say that, and Dean looks confused, eyebrows furrowed, “Sorry?” he asks.

“Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do?” she continues rapidly, “Stop dragging him over God’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s all right,” Sam cuts in before more damage can be done. But the damage has already been done. Dean whistles lowly, “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now,” he throws Sam a puzzled look before walking away. My eyes follow after him, the last minute felt like a whirlwind, before landing back on the couple in front of me. I eye Meg, what she did was so not cool on so many levels. “I…um,” I point towards the bar, after Dean, with a tightlipped smile, “I’m gonna…” I spin halfway on my heels, walking to the bar.

I take a seat next to Dean on one of the bar stools, a beer already clenched in his hand. The condensation drips down the brown bottle, dripping on the counter as he lifts the rim to his lips and takes a hefty sip. I want to say something–something comforting and helpful, but I know he won’t want to hear it. I could feel the frustration roll off of him in waves, but most importantly that hurt look in his green eyes. I lean into him until our upper arms touch for a moment before pulling away, a silent way of saying I was here with him if he wanted to talk about it or not. Either way, he isn't alone.

****

I push through the bar door before it can slam on me. Dean was walking quickly after his brother, his arm thrown out back at the building, “Who the hell was she?”

“I don’t really know,” Sam responds honestly, “I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean argues.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—” Sam explains, his voice calm and steady, before getting cut off by his brother, “Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

He stops his brother, “No, of course not. Now, would you listen?”

“What?” Dean gives in, the word harsh as it passes his lips. “I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here,” Sam explains as we stop in front of the Impala.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn’t even that into me,” Dean scuffs. I sigh for the umpteenth time today, “Seriously? Dean? That’s what you got out of that whole interaction?”

“I mean like our kind of strange. Like, maybe even a lead,” Sam clarifies before his brother can respond with some other stupid comment. “Why do you say that?” Dean questions.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?” Sam points out. I nod, “No, yeah, that’s weird. I can't even imagine what the statistical percentage would be, 'cause that’s, like, really specific.”

“I don’t know, random coincidence. It happens,” Dean answers, shrugging. “That is some coincidence then,” I respond, not understanding how he couldn’t see or feel how weird it all is. “Sure, it happens, but not to us. Look,” Sam breathes, “I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Dean smirks, “Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Sam rolls his eyes and laughs, not exactly the most convincing response. “Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean continued, pointing to his head with a grin.

“Ew, why’d you have to say it like that,” I complain. He opens his mouth to respond with something when Sam cuts in, “Both of you do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, see if you can dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor,” Sam orders, his expression going back to being serious. “What are you gonna do?” Dean asks

“I’m gonna watch Meg,” he responds. Dean laughs, “Yeah, you are.”

“That was a really weird way to put it,” I add. He sighs, annoyed, “You know what I meant, I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“All right, you little pervert,” Dean comments, and Sam looks to me for help. I shake my head, “That wasn’t any better.”

His shoulders drop, “Dude.”

Dean laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “We’re goin’, we’re goin.’”

I sit across from Dean at the given table of their motel room, a leg beneath me. Sam’s laptop is opened up in front of him and I have a creepy old book. The pages are crisp and browned, the cover a deep red with animal skulls and sigils engraved into it. It’s not the first creepy old book I happen to own from being in the family and it certainly won’t be the last. Luckily, it was mostly for show, the symbols there to keep out those who aren’t blood related—-my extended family really knew how to be private. Yet, this book held the answers.

Dean’s phone rings, breaking the comfortable silence we had been sitting in for the last thirty or so minutes, maybe more. He flicks his phone open, pressing a few buttons before placing it in between us. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?” Dean greets.

“No,” Sam responds. Dean and I share a pointed look, it wasn’t like that was exactly what he told us he was going to do. “Yes,” he clarifies. “You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection,” Dean jokes.

“Did you find anything on her or what?” Sam asks, going straight to business mode.

“Sorry, man, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo,” Dean informs, the confirmation hanging in the air for a moment before he continues, “Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door, and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?”

“Maybe don’t knock on her door though ‘cause then she’s gonna ask how you knew she lived there,” I correct, “But you can text or call and ask!”

“That’s a good point, do that instead,” Dean adds.

“What about the symbol? Any luck?” Sam asks, ignoring our suggestions.

“Yeah, Y/N had luck with that one,” Dean starts, looking at me to continue. “Right, yes. Okay, so, it’s Zoroastrian, believed to be dated about two thousand years before Christ. The symbol we saw is a sigil for a Daeva,” I inform.

“What’s a Daeva?” Sam asks.

“They’re Zoroastrian demons, really mean, aggressive things. And if that’s not enough, Daeva translates to ‘demon of darkness,’” I explain.

“Kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls,” Dean adds.

“Eh,” I shake my head, “pit bulls are cute and really aren’t mean.”

“You think everything’s cute, and demonic pit bulls would be aggressive,” Dean counters with a pointed look. “Alright, fine that’s true, I guess they would be,” I give in, ignoring the first part of his comment. “Anyways,” Sam cuts in, “How’d you figure that out?”

“I went through more books,” I shrug, “And don’t worry I will not be committing violent atrocities because I have tea!” I hold up the to-go cup with a smile even though Sam can’t see. “Oh! wait, speaking of Latin,” I start, putting the cup down and going back to being serious, “Daevas have to be summoned, conjured. Someone’s controlling it and it isn’t an easy thing to do, you don’t exactly tame them. It’s more like temporarily guiding their wrath, the second you slip up or whatever they’ll kill you with no hesitation.”

“These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them,” Dean clarifies, “And, uh, the arms, and torsos.”

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asks.

“Um, according to my great, great, great, great I don’t know how many greats Aunt you can’t actually see them, only their shadow,” I inform, moving my leg from beneath me to sit properly. “Good for lurking, not so great for us,” I add.

“That’s great,” Sam sighs.

“We can figure it out here. Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?” Dean responds, giving his brother an easy way out to have…fun.

“Bite me,” Sam retorts, and I can almost hear his bitchface.

“No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though—Sam? Are you—?” he picks up his phone, confused, before hanging up himself. I give him a look, “Dude.”

“What?”

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean responds after Sam spent a hot minute reviewing everything he witnessed. I take in the information, there was a lot of it. “Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam adds, still standing like he has too much energy to do anything else.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” Dean laughs, taking the time to point that out rather than the problem at hand. Sam rolls his eyes, irritation written all over his face. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?” Dean asks.

“He said she was using it to scry. Now anyone can learn to scry you don’t have to be a witch even if that's what it’s commonly associated with. And you can use just about anything, usually mirrors or crystals– just anything reflective,” I inform, “I haven’t heard of someone using blood before, well, not unless you count seers or high priests back in the Medieval and Renaissance period, but that was small amounts of blood on a mirror and you said it was a bowl, right?”

“Yeah, she was talking into it. She was communicating with someone,” he answers. I wet my lips, thinking over everything I know, things I had to teach myself from countless books and journals. “With who? With the Daeva?” Dean asks.

“No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse,” Sam answers.

“Scrying is usually used to locate someone or something–”

“Wait,” Sam cuts me off, “Why didn’t you try that with our Dad?”

“She did, it didn’t work,” Dean answers, sticking up for me. I nod, “It was the first thing I tried, your father didn’t—doesn’t want to be found. Although I know what he looks like it’s easier to use a personal item, which isn’t something available.”

“His journal,” Sam spits out, and for a moment I almost think he might be desperate to find his Dad. “It’s not that simple. It needs to be a personal item, not something that's been passed about. It’s been in your and Dean’s possession, it’s not personal even if it’s technically his journal,” I explain.

Dean moves back to the table we had been sitting at more than an hour ago, flipping through the files he had gotten. “And now back to the scrying,” I continue, “It’s mediums that do the summoning and communications with crystal balls because of the quartz acting as a divination tool. To use blood in a bowl?” I sigh, “I don’t know…It doesn’t really make sense unless she was using something else.”

“Holy crap,” Dean says suddenly. My eyes turn to him, Sam turning halfway around to view his brother, “What?” he asks.

“What I was gonna tell you earlier—I pulled a favor with my,” he clears his throat, eyes turning to the floor as he says, “...friend, Amy, over at the police department.” I ignore the drop of my heart, it isn’t the time and it isn’t like this is the first time. “The complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time.”

“What?” Sam asks again, moving over to look at the records. “The first victim, the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born,” Dean directs. Silence envelops the room for hardly half a beat before Sam reads aloud the information, “Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean hums, picking up the next file, “Meredith, second victim—turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.” The atmosphere seems to change, something heavy settling over us, weighing on our shoulders. “Holy crap,” Sam breathes, settling in the seat across from his brother.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started,” Sam acknowledges, “So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” Dean responds. And there’s something about this moment that feels too final—a bad feeling. “But I don't understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daaeva things fit in?” Sam points out, and I feel sick for a reason I cannot explain. “Beats me,” Dean answers.

My hands brace the edge of the bed on either side of my legs, a heavy feeling in my gut, “You are,” I breathe. I feel their eyes on me but it’s like I can’t or shouldn’t lift my eyes from the bland carpet. “It’s like this entire thing was a long line of dominos and it’s hitting now…this,” I force my eyes up to look at them, “this isn’t good.”

“You gotta give us more than that, sweetheart,” Dean pushes, their faces somewhere between nervous and taken aback. But the worlds were hard to form, it made sense in my head and I could feel it, this sick horrible feeling, “It just feels too connected, everything. Why your Dad went AWOL, why you got Sam, and why he’s sticking around, the connection around Meg, Sam’s forming abilities…this just doesn’t feel good.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Sam asks. I shrug, I don’t know what I mean other than I just have a horrible feeling, “Maybe.”

“Unless you got a better idea I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation,” Dean suggests.

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her,” Sam counters, “And it’ll give us the upper hand if it is a trap.”

Dean seems to null it over before nodding, “Trap or not, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone.”

****

Nerves course through my veins, the bad feeling still there, and no matter how much I tried to reassure myself, it wouldn’t go away. I try to make myself look busy by looking through my spell book, while Dean calls his Dad, “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse— it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” He hangs up, putting the phone in his pocket, and that twist of worry deep in his irises is enough to know he did not get an answer. The door opens slowly, a duffle bag leading the way in before Sam’s body follows in with more bags, “Voicemail?” he asks immediately. I put my book back in my bag, getting up to take one of the bags from Sam and carrying it over to one of the beds. “Yeah,” Dean answers before gesturing to the bags, “Jesus, what’d you get?”

Sam chuckles, “I ransacked that trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I’m not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything.”

“Well, you certainly are prepared,” I remark. All of us falling into the silence of getting ready for a hunt, preparing the guns–loading each one carefully. “Big night,” Dean says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. ‘You nervous?” Sam asks.

“No. Why, are you?” Dean throws back.

“No. No way,” Sam answers. I look up from the weapon in my hand and eye the two of them, “In the hypothetical situation in which you were nervous, it would be okay to be, natural even.” I’m careful with how to frame the words, any other way and they would insist they weren’t, even if it was clear with how the stiff air moves around us. They don’t say anything further, letting silence envelop us once more for a beat before Sam breaks it this time, “God, could you imagine we actually found that damn thing? That demon?” The palpable hope in his voice makes my heart twist, it didn’t feel like this would be the end even if that would be the more convenient solution. But I don’t want to be the one to break his hope with being realistic. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, all right?” Dean replies.

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month,” he entertains the idea, “‘Go back to school—be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answers. I admire his want for normalcy, the push for it. I wish it was that easy, though for him I suppose it is. “Huh,” Dean hums and his distaste for that answer is beyond clear. It was the making of a continued argument. “Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?” Sam retorts.

“No. No, it’s, uh, great. Good for you,” Dean answers, not doing a great job of being convincing.

“I mean, what are you gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asks, and I despise myself for not having an answer. “It’s never gonna be over. There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt,” Dean argues.

“But there’s got to be somethin’! Come on, Y/N, I know you have dreams,” Sam reasons, roping me into a conversation that requires a lot more self-reflection than I want to deal with at the moment. I shrug with one shoulder, but my heart beats in that slow painful way when you know what you want but can’t get, when you yearn more than you are allowed to, “Normalcy isn’t really in my books….it’s not in my blood.” I bite on my bottom lip, containing feelings that could be opened for another night. “But you have them, don’t you?” Sam pushes. I peer up from the weapon in my hands, it feels heavier all of a sudden, “Um…yeah, I do have dreams…we all do,” my eyes flicker to Dean then down at loading the gun in my hands. There was a handful of things I wanted but wants often stay as what they are….wants. “Dean, there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam,” he stressed, moving to a dresser that’s across the room. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Sam pushes. But Dean’s silent and I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. He turns back, “Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

This is the kind of argument I shouldn’t be in the room for, something that should be private but breaks out anyway. “‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom,” he answers like it's obvious.

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man,” Dean presses, turning back to the dresser and then once more towards his brother, “You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us…I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.” Anguish was clear in his green eyes, his voice dripping with vulnerability, it wouldn’t be much longer till he was claming up again, putting on his hard man persona. I wish he would realize that while they were a family it wasn’t a good dynamic. Sam had every reason to want out, it was just Dean who was stuck in the construct his father had built. But that’s a difficult realization, it doesn’t matter how much others point out, though maybe I shouldn’t be talking. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looks like his heart was ripped from his chest, though that would hurt less, “Could be,” he says sadly, a last-ditch effort at reasoning. “I don’t want them to be. I’m not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

Hands gripping cold metal. Up, up, up. I never thought I’d climb up an elevator shaft, but there are firsts for everything. Finally, my feet hit the landing and I silently squeeze through the space of the elevator gate following right behind Dean. Meg’s voice seemed to echo in the silent dark, her tongue twisting with the ancient language. It sounded like something close to Latin, but not quite.

We moved crouched down, strategic steps taken to make as little noise as possible, our guns drawn and aimed at her back. Creeping in the dark. We hide behind some crates, convenient. The sound of her voice stops, the candlelight from her altar dancing against the walls. “Guys,” she says suddenly. She knows we’re here. I feel the boys tense on either side of me, they shouldn’t be so surprised. Being right all the time is a curse at this point. “Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” she drawls.

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean announces. Her feet shuffle, the room so quiet you can hear the very small miscellaneous gravel crunching with her turn. She must be staring at us, the crates might as well have not been there with the way I can feel her intense gaze through the wood. “Why don’t you come out?” she asks, her voice so smooth and so teasing. We give each other a look, a shared understanding before reluctantly coming out from behind the crates, guns still trained on her. “Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she purrs. Her yellow leather jacket standing out in the dark. Why’d she have to pull it off so well? “Yeah, tell me about it,” he retorts.

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” Dean asks, motioning with a nod of his chin.

“Around,” she muses, “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, the shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean smirks, and there has to be something wrong with me to think that was hot in a situation like this. “So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam spits, question after question firing quickly.

“You,” she smirks, eyes feigning innocence. Something creeps in the shadows, my gun is launched from my hands. The sound of skin breaking echoes in the room, my skin burns. I land on my back hard, the cold concrete floor ricocheting in my spine, blood drips down my abdomen in the shape of a claw mark.

****

My eyes flicker open, something tight around me. “Well, look who’s up early,” Meg teases, leaning against the altar’s table, looking at her nails bored. I move my eyes across the room, Sam and Dean tied up on separate polls close to each other. A claw-like scratch mark ran across Sam’s cheek and another on the side of his neck. Dean’s temple bleeds, blood dripping down the side of his face, another on his shoulder. Both of them knocked out.

I was placed towards the middle of the room, closer to the altar than them, a stupid decision. Rough ropes bind me, just like them, another stupid decision. A decision that makes it clear she doesn’t know what I am. I peer down at my abdomen, my shirt ripped with a claw mark, my skin already pinching itself back together. “Early bird gets the worm,” I joke. She walks slowly over to me, eyes trained down to meet mine. It’d be so easy to get out of the ropes and have my hands on her, just hardly half a second. Was it worth it to wait? Would she spill her grand plan? They always do. “Do you always keep your guests tied up?” I ask, wanting to get her talking. She stops by my feet, and slowly, ever so slowly begins to kneel, my eyes following her movement down. “Only the ones that trespass,” she breathes, her eyes gleaming with something dangerously playful.

“You know, I have to say your whole plan was quite genius,” I start, leading her into confession, “Even the victims being from Lawrence, ‘nice touch, good way to draw us in.”

She smirks, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend…” Dean’s voice breaks through the room, “is a bitch.”

“You killed those two people for nothin’” Sam spits, ignoring his brother's comment. Her head lolls towards his voice, the smirk on her lips deepening. She turns her full attention to him, both boys now awake. She twists her body towards them, her hands now on the ground, on all fours she slowly crawls towards them, her back perfectly arched, “Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she drawls.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time,” Dean smiles, “But why don’t you kill us already?”

“Not very quick on the uptake, are we?” she draws closer to him, leaning in, “This trap isn’t for you.”

“Dad,” Sam murmured, the piece falling into place, “It’s a trap for Dad.”

“Can we start listening to anything I say?!” I exclaim.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look. ‘Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good,” Dean points out, ignoring my wonderful point.

“He is pretty good. I’ll give you that,” she moves over him, straddling his legs and sitting right in his lap, “But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You,” she breathes, “He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody…nice and slow and messy.”

“Why you doin’ this, Meg?” Sam cuts in, “What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?”

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do…loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy—and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” Sam spits.

“Baby, I’m already there,” she smiles, voice like velvet. She slides over to him, “Come on, Sam. There’s no need to be nasty,” she leans closer, her voice dropping, “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?” She seizes something in her hand that I cannot see from here until it’s sliding across the floor. His pocket knife. But this doesn’t seem to interrupt her, like she expected it.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean groans.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun,” wet noises fill the room as she places kiss after kiss on his neck. “You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” he remarks. She continues to kiss down his neck until the sound of metal against metal breaks through the noise of her kissing. She gets up and walks behind Dean’s post, taking his pocket knife and throwing it into the corner somewhere. She rounds the post once more, standing as she looks down at them, “You two never know when to give up, do you?” She spins towards me, “Wanna give up yours now?”

I smirk, slipping from the ropes easily, “Oh baby, I don’t need a knife.” I get up, the shadows rushing forward, I hold up a fist, halting their movements, like rabid dogs on a tight leash. Her face contorts in confusion, eyes widening, “Now you and I can have fun,” I tease, “Unless, of course, you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

“Trust me, I have no problem getting dirty,” she answers, eyes moving slowly down my frame. The real trouble is deciding how to handle her, there is so much I could do without breaking a sweat, or I can stick to basic fighting—keep it fair. She rolls her shoulders back, raising her fists in a basic fighting stance. But, maybe it’d be good to send a message. Maybe it would be fine to play dirty just this once……

A purple-tinted fog seeps into the room, tendrils curling along the floor like ghostly fingers. A quiet breeze snakes through the room, an eerie whisper being carried with it. It shoots through the room, darkening, shadows stretching and deepening, the candles extinguishing with a soft hush. The confines of the room dissolve, leaving only the two of us in a void of darkness, smoke swirling around our ankles like serpents. Her hands drop to her side, eyes darting around the room, “What is this?” she snaps. Hushed whispers fill the air, a cacophony of chanting, the words overlapping and blending into a horrific murmur. I appear behind her, my hands gliding over her eyes like curtains blocking out the dim light, “Open your eyes,” I whisper. The fog thickens, rising like a living entity, coiling around us, higher and higher, until I too am swallowed by its depths and fall away.

Suddenly, the room flickers with a harsh, red light, pulsating in erratic bursts, casting shadows that dance wildly. She covers her head with her hands, folding into herself as she stumbles forward, trying to escape the terror. In the brief flashes of red, she catches glimpses of the Daevas— for her eyes to see only. Her scream pierces the air, raw and primal, as the true sight of the Daevas sear into her mind.

The smoke and visions vanish as a sharp crash reverberates through the room, the altar table crashing to the ground as she falls into it. Freed from their binds, the Daevas surge forward, dark forms slipping through the shadows. Scratch after scratch appears on her skin, the unseen monsters marking her flesh. She screams again, a desperate, guttural sound, as she is dragged by her ankles, her nails clawing futilely at the ground. With a final, terrifying force, she is hurled through the window, the glass exploding outward, shards glittering like deadly stars as she falls to her demise with a sickening thud. “Fuck!” I curse, running to the broken window, her body sprawled on the concrete, blood-forming beneath her. Oh god. With a distracted flick of my wrist, the ropes that held the boys come undone– the only tangible, helpful thing I could do. I messed up. I messed up. “I didn’t mean to,” I mumble, stepping away from the window, “I was just trying to show h–I didn’t me–”

“What did you show her?” Sam asks, moving past me to peer out the window. I tried to find an ounce of an accusatory tone, but there was nothing to find. “The Daevas, I wanted her to be as scared as those two people were when they died…But! I didn’t mean to kill her, I didn’t mean to, I swear.” A familiar hand touches my shoulder, but I move from his hold, I shouldn’t be touched. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we know you wouldn’t have done it on purpose,” he tries to comfort but I am not worthy of it. I want to tell him he’s wrong. I can do something like that. I just did it now, she’s dead and it’s my fault. I did too much. I shouldn’t have scared her like that, it was cruel and unnecessary and she might still be alive if I didn’t. He’s wrong. Dean’s wrong and Sam should accuse me, and they should be scared. I’m not who they think I am.

“So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam acknowledges as if nothing had happened, as if I didn’t just kill her. “Yeah, I guess not,” Dean agrees, moving over to stand by his brother at the window, viewing my crime, “Hey, Sam?”

“Hm?” he hums in response.

“Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?” Dean smiles, walking away. I hear him picking up their discarded items, the guns, the duffle, Sam joining him. I hear the click of the heavy metal door, we could use the emergency stairs, no need to be sneaking around, “You coming?” Dean asks. I run my hands down my face, glad my back is to him, I won’t be able to repent for this sin. Dad would know how I could repent, or, at least make sense of it. “Uh, yeah, yeah,” I nod.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asks as we move down the hall, forced to help carry heavy bags of weapons and other stuff. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again—better safe than sorry,” Sam explains. Dean leaves it at that as he unlocks the door, pushing it open for us. It felt wrong to talk so casually after the death of someone else, someone I killed. It didn’t matter whether I meant to or not because either way she was dead and it was all my fault. I didn’t deserve casual talk. I know things happen on hunts, you see a lot of things and do a lot of things and I've had my fair share of both, and I know you have to move on—holding on is what gets you killed. But it’s easier said than done, I can’t just forget I killed someone. My thoughts halt as do our steps at the sight of a man standing by the window, the dark cloaking him.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, his brother flicking on the lights quickly. The man turns, the new light illuminating his familiar features. “Dad?” Dean breathes the question, shock evident in the way the exhale passes his lips. Meg was right, he was in town. “Hey, boys,” he greets and like the spell of shock broke Dean and him walk towards each other. Their arms wrap around each other in a big bear hug. I may not like John Winchester, not one bit, but I’m glad he can have this moment with his Dad, where for just a moment everything’s alright.

They pull away from each other and his eyes finally land on his youngest son, “Hi, Sam.” They do not move to hug, not even a muscle, “Hey, Dad,” he answers softly. There’s an understanding that seems to pass through them with just that gaze, maybe they didn’t need to hug or maybe it was because John just wouldn’t. His eyes move to me next and he gives me a quick nod, an acknowledgement of my existence and I give one right back. “Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Dean rushes to say.

“It’s all right. I thought it might’ve been,” he answers, a man who was always two steps ahead and then some. “Were you there?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive,” the memory of the glass shattering and her screams getting further away flashes in my mind, “She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” both boys answer at the same time, their tones the same- just like they were taught. “Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” he informs.

“The demon has?” Sam asks.

“It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just excoriate it or send it back to hell—actually kill it,” he explains, words sharp on his tongue. “How?” Dean pushes.

John smiles, “I’m workin’ on that.”

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam insists, and I don’t miss the warning glare his brother throws him. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt,” John reasons.

“Dad, you don’t have to worry about us,” he counters.

“Of course I do. I’m your father,” John pauses, and if I were a bolder person I’d list all the times just in the last couple of months where he clearly hadn’t been worried enough to show up when his own sons were calling for help— when one of his sons was on his deathbed, “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replies.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time,” he said warmly.

“Too long,” Sam answers, and finally they embrace, arms tight around each other. When they pull away the family shares a teary eyed look, a relief to be back together.

Suddenly, John is thrown sideways, crashing into a set of cabinets as Sam is thrown back against the door. “Frick!” I curse, one hand in a fist as I hold them back once more, this time they fight harder against my hold, tugging at it. “Dean! Get them out of here,” I order. He rushes to his Dad, throwing his arm around his shoulder as Sam shuffles his way up the wall to hold himself. The Daevas tug on my hold again, like rabid dogs pulling on their leash with bared teeth. “What about you?!” Dean asks from somewhere behind me.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I answer. This seems to satisfy him enough for him to continue to leave, it’s only when I’m sure they’re gone that I light up the room with a blinding bright light. Pure light beams from my free hand, growing until it reaches every inch of the room, like the sun rising on a meadow. I squint my eyes against the bright light, not wanting to risk closing them despite the pain of the light. Their tugs immediately stop, some feeling like they were trying to pull away. I keep it up for a count of 10, there isn’t a science to this other then shadows can’t exist without darkness. I don’t know if there is a ‘right amount of time.’ But, with the light so blinding and the tugging completely gone I decide they must be gone for good.

I shut it all down, no more emitting light and no hold, before rushing out the door and down the nearest stairs. My shoes hit the asphalt hard as I head to the Impala, hidden in an alley behind the motel. Immediately I see the group of boys and hurry my steps. “They’re gone,” I inform, my chest rising and falling quickly, “They shouldn’t be coming back, that should be it.”

“All right, come on. In case it isn’t over, we should go,” Sam urges, throwing the duffle into the backseat.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait,” Dean insisted, “Dad, you can’t come with us.”

“What? What are you talkin’ about?” Sam exclaims.

“You boys…you’re beat to hell,” John points out, eyes taking in each visible wound.

“We’ll be all right,” Dean convinces.

“I’ll take care of them,” I add, it wouldn’t be the first time I healed them and it would never be the last. “You shouldn’t even be here,” John bites. I give a tight lipped smile, the best I can do to not go completely off, “Yeah, well look who saved your life.” He opens his mouth to say some other harsh thing when Sam cuts in, arguing with his brother, “Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—“

“Sam! Listen to me!” Dean yells, “We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He—he’s stronger without us around.”

Sam shakes his head, not accepting this reality, “Dad, no” he puts a hand on his father shoulder as if willing him to say Dean was wrong, “After everything—-after all the time we spent lookin’ for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son.” But Sam shakes his head. “Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John continues. The alleyway falls silent, the air thick with emotion that would not spill. Finally, Sam pats his fathers shoulder once, then let’s go. John and Dean share a look, then he walks to his truck, parked on the street just outside the alley. “Be careful, boys,” he says before getting into the old truck and driving away. Who knows when we’ll see John Winchester next.

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siriusblack-the-third · 3 months ago

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Sirius Black: Hobbies and Interests

The second part of The Sirius Black Headcanons Series! Here, I explore what he would have loved to do, and I hope you enjoy reading these!

Loves flying, and is outstanding at it. Does not play Quidditch, but he does play air polo— polo on flying horses, or brooms if horses are not available. He does not care which one as long as he gets to play the sport. He also did competitive broom racing in school, and won a lot of trophies because he was just so bloody good at it. When James' mother gifted him a muggle bike for his 18th birthday, he enchants it to fly, and goes for a ride at least thrice a week. (James tried once to get Sirius to play Quidditch, but ended up getting roped into air polo himself.)

Competitive Duelling before he graduated Hogwarts and joined the Order. He participated everywhere— open circuits, a lot of closed competitions, and invite-only events— all over Europe and the Americas. Generally he was out of Hogwarts twice a month for two to three days, and he won a lot of them. He is an excellent duellist and everyone knows it; he won the U-19 Europe Open at the age of fourteen, a tournament that had over 2000 participants.

Playing the violin. It is the one thing apart from Duelling that his mother didn't force onto him as a child— he asked for classes of his own volition after seeing his grandmother Melanie play a truly beautiful tune when putting baby Regulus to sleep. He was naturally talented, and he practiced for years and years, and even after his tutor declared his education complete, he practised for at least 20 minutes every day. He played for himself rather than performing, and especially he played to put baby Harry to sleep, so much so that Harry would refuse to sleep if Sirius was not there.

Reads everything he can get his hands on. Everything. He prefers the genres of mystery, thriller, murder, historical and political fiction and mythologies of different religions. He and James devour books like they breathe air, both of them possessing excellent memory and being able to recall everything almost perfectly after only one read. Reading is a hobby he got from his father; they used to spend a lot of time together in the Black family library, debating topics ranging from Academics to Practical Magic to Ancient Philosophy to Current Affairs.

He enjoys spellcrafting a lot. Most of the pranks the Marauders play are planned with the spells that Sirius and James create. It is a little... illegal to experiment, but honestly he does not care. There are loopholes in those laws, and he knows them— he has read his father's law books. As long as nobody is adversely affected by his experimentation, and he sticks to a few ground rules, he should be fine. Besides, all his inventions came in handy when he was messing around with his motorbike.

Pranking. Do we even need to expand on this? Sirius is a genius, and he gets bored easily. Classwork is too easy for him, so he sets his sights on something interesting; the practical aspects of magic. Pranking, for him and James, is not just about taking the piss out of someone; it is about pushing the limits of magic, about accomplishing feats in magic people tell them are extremely difficult. It is about figuring out what magic can do if the limits of imagination are pushed. For the two of them, pranking is a giant experiment on the practicality, uses and effects of magic. They research, they read theses, textbooks, dissertations, encyclopaedias, they take notes and attend the higher year classes, and then they apply their knowledge to creative magical pranking.

Do not tag w*lfst*r, do not argue with me in the notes, and if you don't agree with my HCs you can scroll past, please and thank you.

#The Sirius Black Headcanons Series #sirius black #james potter #harry potter #marauders #harry potter marauders #sirius black headcanon #sirius black headcanons #marauders headcanons #harry potter headcanons

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seobstarr · 6 months ago

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ON THE COURT— 017: YEWWW🫵

Y/n was always the type to think Logically.

Or at least she would like to think that she’s the type to think logically rather than on a whim. Hyunsuk had always taught her to follow her intuition even though he, himself, was never really like that. She had grown fond of the fact that she was always ready to agree with things she was comfortable with and she was very delighted with the way she would do and not think, even though it got her in trouble most of the time.

So why when a random girl with straight bangs came up to her and Theo, starting to make conversation with the taller; did she feel in distress. Why was she thinking this random women was a threat to her.

It had started out normal enough. Since Theo forgot about the previous events it had felt like a new start, even beginning for Y/n. They had both gotten over the volleyball incident, Theo was being more productive in the Journalism club and Y/n, even if she didn’t think so herself, was one hell of a Volleyball manager. As they had walked through the streets of the university campus Y/n had felt off, like a distant voice was telling her to be itchy with uncomfortableness.

When Theo handed her the frozen desert from the parlor that’s when she realized it. Somebody was watching them. She scanned around quickly, looking for any lingering eyes, any intense glares but nothing had come about “Y/n!” The muffled sound alerts her back, Theos hand waving slightly in front of her face “Are you alright? You seem spacey..” His questions linger through her ears “Yeah, I just—“

“Theo?” That was not Y/n’s voice. It was more higher pitched, almost forcibly made out to earth a tone that would catch the humans hearing. Y/n looks at the fast moving feet “Omg It is you!! Cora, remember?” Her face was shaped like a feline, the full bangs that laid on her forehead were somewhat stiff and the rest of her hair had been straightened, giving her a glamorous look that completed her features perfectly “No way! Cora what are you doing here, I thought you went to a different Uni?” Theo casually announced, going in for a friendly hug “Yeah, but i decided to transfer here this semester because they had a lot more courses centered around my major” Cora giggled.

Y/n was confused, awfully confused. Who was cora? How does she know Theo this well? Is she here to stay? A million thoughts had circled through her head as the ice cream in her hand melts from the warm friction of her palm “Y/n, This is Cora. She was my teams manager back in high school!” Theo explains to the very ditzy Y/n who stood there almost shell shocked “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n” Her free hand goes out to shake Coras.

“She’s actually our manager, she started a few months ago” Theo explains and Cora lights up at the Idea “That’s so cool! Hope him and Kyo aren’t giving you any trouble” She even knew Keehos nickname. The nickname that was only given to his close friends or personal family members

“You should totally come and watch us practice on wednesday…We’ll if you’re free—“

“Of course I will! Wont want to miss an opportunity to see your growth…” Cora chuckles softly, her hand going out to stretch itself on Theos shoulder. Through her smile her eyes open up, to pierce into Y/n “And to see Y/n’s coaching skills” She laughs it off, pretending it was a harmless joke but Y/N knows better.

She knows the crazed look in the taller girls eyes, the piercing fierce gaze that had shot through her own eyes like arrows on fire

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tags!: 🍰: @inthesunnn @captivq @nini-04 @hopeless-romantic-mentality @222brainrot @therealbobbyshloby @miyukisv @beommii @soobiverse @blossominghunnie @cyberpunksunwoo @sleepyxxhead @vehaez @jilxe

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keb notes: HEYYYYY! did y’all miss me?🤭 if you didn’t then….we aren’t friends igz :(. jkjk but now that i am a free women (graduated from hs) I CAN FINALLY UPDATE REGULARLY EVERYBODY SAY YIPPIEEEE!!!

AND UHHMMM I MIGHTVE EFFED UP ON THE TAGLIST BECAUSE IDK BUT I PROMISE I HAVE IT UNDER CONTROL NOW SORRY☹️

#kpop #p1harmony #p1harmony fanfic #kpop imagines #p1h fluff #p1h theo #p1harmony fluff #piwon #p1harmony intak #p1harmony jiung #p1harmony keeho #p1harmony soul #p1harmony jongseob #p1ece #p1harmony imagines #p1harmony fic #p1harmony theo

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 12

Thank you so much for the love this story has been getting. I love every comment and tag. You guys are the best!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

“They want us to record a demo?” Jeff asked for the hundredth time since the agent had talked to them.

They were in the garage they used for practice the next day. They still were on the high of suddenly having an agent. Something that they certainly wouldn’t have had without The Queen’s Crown.

“Holy shit!” Gareth said, his voice high from the excitement. “They want us to record a demo.”

“Hell yeah, they do!” Eddie said clapping a poor stunned Brian on the shoulder.

They sat in stunned silence for a couple of minutes.

“This doesn’t mean we’ve made it,” Brian said softly, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Eddie agreed. “But making a demo to shop around to all the labels is a hell of lot closer than we were two weeks ago.”

Gareth let out a shuddering breath. “I thought that song would do it for us, you know. That it would put us on the map.”

“Hey,” Jeff said. “It still might. We just have to knock the recording out of the ballpark too.”

“Think of it as a campaign,” Eddie suggested. “You found the magical item, now you just got to get to the final boss. There’ll be other adventures along the way, but we’ll get there.”

They all nodded.

Steve was set to start his painting. Eddie was strewn out on a bed of red satin, his hair a halo around his head, his body beautifully stretched. Steve yearned.

He yearned to press his lips on the indent of Eddie’s collar bone. To taste the line where hip met leg. To run his fingers through those dark locks. To bring a flush to those pale cheeks.

Steve bit down on his lip. He couldn’t fuck this up. Not like what he did last year. He had to paint the whole thing. His face, his thighs, his cock. Steve couldn’t cover anything up or place anything in the frame that cover any part of Eddie.

Everything else? Was completely up to interpretation. He could Lucifer fallen from heaven (if you wanted to torture yourself with painting wings). He could be fair Lysander asleep from Puck’s flower. He could be from any myth, legend or story.

Steve had chosen Eros asleep when Psyche comes to him the first time. Because if there was anyone who fit the god of desire and love, it was Eddie.

He got to work on sketching Eddie’s outline. Choosing the scene carefully. And then when he was home he would work on painting the bed, using an old catalogue as reference for the four poster bed he wanted.

Every time Joyce walked by when he was painting Eddie, she would nod her approval and walk on.

“Fuck, Chrissy!” Eddie cried, burying his face into the throw pillows on her sofa. “The way he looks at me makes it very hard not to get aroused. And I cannot get aroused. I’ve tried thinking of horror movies, cataloguing my band t-shirts in order of when I got them, or even Jeff in a tutu!”

She patted his head gently. “Is this beer, ice cream, or Chinese food freak out?”

Eddie raised his head thoughtfully. “Chinese food.”

Chrissy nodded and went to go make their order. She squeezed onto the sofa between his head and the armrest. She began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you think he’s doing it on purpose? Like to fuck with you?” she asked softly. “Or you think he has the hots for you so bad it’s leaking out all over the place?”

Eddie slowly sat up next to her and put his head on her shoulder. “I want to believe it’s the latter. But we really haven’t done much except grab the occasional coffee. We text and call all the time, but I don’t know what means.”

“Have you told him you’ve had a crush on him for awhile?” Chrissy asked. Her and Pearl spent most of their shifts together complaining about how their best friends were morons that kept making googly eyes at each other.

“No...” Eddie said with a sigh, dragging his hands over face. “Because of the nude thing.”

“What’s up with the nude thing that prevents you from going after what you want?” She shifted on the sofa to prop her head up on her fist, her elbow on the back of the sofa.

“It’s already hard enough keeping everything down,” he gestured vaguely below his waist, “but add actually knowing what he tastes like, knowing what his skin feels like under my hands, my lips, my tongue? It would take all of two fucking seconds of him looking at me with those bedroom eyes and I’d be harder than that god damn concrete floor.”

Chrissy giggled. “Yeah, I could see how that would be a problem. That’s the best part about being a woman, when we get aroused, it’s a lot harder to tell.”

Eddie scoffed. “Which also makes it the worst part about being a woman because then it means the other person is fucking clueless.”

“Mostly guys,” she agreed.

“Are you glad you’re a lesbian?” he teased, going into tickle her sides.

She squealed with laughter and batted him aside. “Knock that off.”

Just then the doorbell rang. “That’s our food. Saved by the bell.”

Chrissy hopped up to get the food and paid. She set their food on the coffee table and began going through the boxes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie said. “I could have at least covered the tip.”

Chrissy laughed. “Babe, you’re working part time as model and getting paid by the gig. Save your money. I get paid $15 an hour plus tips. Believe me when I say, I’ve got this.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’m glad the Queen’s Crown is working out for you, sweetie. You seem so much happier since you’ve started working there.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And Diamond is thinking of hiring a third bartender things are going so well. It used to be that they only needed the one on week days and two on Fridays and Saturdays, which is when Diamond would step in and help. But with how well Garnet and I get on, we have more people coming in on the week days and we’re getting better tips, too. So Diamond wants to bring in a third so that Garnet leaves we’ll still have two at the bar.”

“Wow,” Eddie said. “I’ve been stuck in the same place for so long...” he spread out his hands, “I forgot what freedom was. We’ve been in the studio recording the last couple of weeks working on our demo to be shopped around.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve writing every moment I can. Hell, most of my best lyrics come from me just lying there for three hours. Well...the ones that don’t have Steve in them, anyway.”

Chrissy laughed. “Oh, I’m sure the lyrics that come from those classes are way to risque for radio.”

Eddie blushed and shoved hair in front of his face. “Shit, Chris. I don’t know.”

She ate her food thoughtfully watching Eddie push his food around. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “So what’s the real problem?” He looked up at her confusion. “I know you. There is something else that’s bothering you, love. You’re wound up so tight.”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know.” He set his food down and clasped his hands together, looking down at his feet.

She bumped him again. “You just talked about the freedom to write music, to get the chance to really do something with your life. But I don’t see it in your features, babe.”

“What happens to Steve if I do get a record deal and have to start touring?” he muttered mournfully. “What happens if we’re more than friends when we leave? I just feel torn apart. Having to chose between the life I’ve always dreamed, and my man of my dreams. I don’t know if I would chose touring with the guys if it came down it.” He threw his arms around her. “I would chose Steve every time and that scares me.”

“Oh.” She set her own food on the floor and wrapped her arms him. “Oh, sweetie. That’s why you have to talk to him. Because it sounds to me like those questions have answers only he can give.”

Eddie let out a sob. “What if the answer is that he doesn’t want to try because he doesn’t want to be left behind?”

She kissed the top of his head. “How would you be leaving him behind? Just because he stays in one place while you tour, doesn’t mean you’ve left him behind. It just means you’ve given yourself a home to come back to.”

Eddie looked up at her in awe. “Oh.” He snuggled in close. “You’re the best friend an idiot could ask for.”

She poked his side until he squirmed. “You’re not an idiot, Eddie. Anymore than you were an asshole about Steve. You can only work with the knowledge you have. And yeah, maybe some of your choices were pretty fucked up, you were able to move past it and become friends.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. And then another. “I love you, Chrissy.”

“I know, sweetie,” Chrissy murmured, kissing the top of his head.

“You wanted to know who Garnet is,” Jonathan snapped. “So that’s why we’re here.”

Nancy sighed. “Doesn’t this go against the bar’s rules or whatever?”

Jonathan threw his arms in the air. “I don’t care at this point. They all know who I am and I know who they are. Because shit happens outside of work sometimes and it gets revealed.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’ll just go to the bar tonight like Onyx suggested.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “No. Absolutely not. Because if you do, you’ll get upset and if you get upset, you’ll make a scene and if you make a scene Diamond will ban you.”

It was Nancy’s turn to throw her arms in the air. “Can’t you just tell me who it is?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe him,” a warm, gentle voice said behind her.

She whirled around and gasped. “Steve!”

Steve smiled sadly. “Hey, Nance.”

She looked back and forth between Jonathan and Steve in shock. “He’s Garnet?”

Both men nodded.

“Pure coincidence,” Jonathan said. “I had been working at the bar for a year when we needed a new bartender. Steve came in with Robin and they were both hired.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “Robin works there too?”

“Yup!” Steve said with a smile. The smile slowly slid from his face. “Look. I know me turning out to be gay was hard on you. Especially with how it all came out. But just remember, I didn’t come out because I wanted to, it was because I forced to.”

Nancy buried her head in her hands, she looked up at him, anger sparking in her eyes. “If you hadn’t tried to be a hero...”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that it would have been better for a girl to be raped and not realize I’m gay over what I did,” Steve snarled.

She opened her mouth to refute him but no sound would come out.

“I’m sorry it ruined your life, Nancy,” Steve said. “But it wasn’t just your life that was ruined. Do you know long it took for me me to walk down the street without people whispering behind their fingers? How long it took to be able to look at myself in the mirror because of the scars around my neck? I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t trust Jonathan, but fucking hell Nancy, you aren’t as big as the victim you are making yourself out to be.”

Jonathan touched her elbow. “I didn’t know you felt this way. You need to talk to someone, Nance. That was some pretty messed up shit I just heard.”

Her lip began to quiver. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t. Because you’re right, that was so mess up.” She let out a shuddering breath. “The newspaper has someone...I’ll give him a call.”

Steve reached out and held open his arms to her. Nancy wavered a moment, looking to Jonathan. He nodded and she ran for Steve’s arms. He wrapped her up in a fierce hug.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she whispered. “I’ve just been so angry for so long.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got a good boyfriend there, Nance. Take advantage of that, okay?”

Nancy nodded. “Okay.”

He gave her a brief squeeze and let her go. “I’ve got to get to class. But you take care of yourself, you hear?”

She smiled and let Jonathan lead her away.

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Epilogue

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