#[her hands are clasped together. she holds her hands to her thudding heart. she prays.]

[sorrowsaint]

its quiet. its really dark in here. my eyes are closed and i tied my sweater around my head for good measure. its so cramped. its okay. im okay.

@mirrormannequin

listen.

[softly-potter]

Meeting in the Middle

Summary: After being released from Azkaban, Draco returns home to his wife, but the afflictions casted on him during his imprisonment follow close behind.

Pairing: Astoria x Draco

Word Count: 3,376

Warning: PTSD from Azkaban

-

Astoria sighed as she leaned against the pillow behind her back, tugging the sheets up her chest. Beside her, the bed dipped as Draco turned from his stomach to his back, his hand bumping her hip. She peaked at his clothed chest; before Azkaban, he typically slept shirtless. Five weeks after his release, he had yet to remove his clothes in front of her.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to adjust her sight in the dimly lit room. His lips were moving, and she realized he was talking, so low that she couldn’t hear.

“Draco?” she asked sleepily, sitting up to grasp her wand. She flicked it, and the candles on the bedside tables lit. The dim light wafted over them, revealing his clenched knuckles, the beads of sweat that clung to his forehead and the damp center of his shirt. His knee jerked, eyebrows puckering. “Sweetheart,” she murmured softly, carefully. “It’s okay, it’s just me. You’re okay.”

His jaw clenched, eyes still shut, and Astoria nudged him softly. This was not the first nightmare he had experienced since his return home. The first time he had jolted awake in bed, his screams so loud she thought the glass of the windows would break. Another time he had sobbed until he awoke, clinging to her, begging her not to leave him.

Astoria had quickly learned that the best way to help him was ease him back into reality. From the little he told her, he dreamt of the punishments he endured while a prisoner. She tried not to ponder too much on the pain he must’ve experienced, pain so harsh he dreamt about it.

“Please, I didn’t have a choice,” he mumbled, his voice breaking. “P-please, not the pit.”

Astoria swallowed thickly, glancing at the doors and wondering if she should call Granger. She was better equipped to deal with this trauma, considering the fact that after the war she became a mind healer, Hermione Granger was, simply put, better at everything. Her friend would know what to do, how to help.

Pushing the comforter off her legs quietly, Astoria moved to Draco’s side of the bed, brushing the wet hair out of his face. Draco loved her touches, craved physical contact from her ever since they’d married. She carded her fingers through his hair, hoping it would relax him. She sat on the edge of the bed, moving her digits down his face, but his breathing remained harsh, ragged.

“Darling, please wake up,” she hummed. “You’re safe.”

Draco gritted his teeth, his head dipping to one side harshly, and a tear slid down his porcelain skin. His head shook rapidly, knuckles white against the sheets. “Stop, please,” he begged, his nightmares holding him hostage. “Please, stop.”

Astoria sighed, standing and moving towards the bathroom where she grabbed a cloth, running it under the water. She flicked the faucet of the bathtub and allowed it to slowly fill. As she straightened, she heard the springs of the mattress dip, a stomping noise echoing from their room. turning, she saw Draco standing, his back to her, his shirt sticking to his skin.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.

Draco stiffened, turning slowly until he was looking in her direction, but his eyes were glued to the floor, at her feet.

Astoria tried again, wishing her heart would stop beating so fast. “Are you alright?”

Stepping slowly, she exited the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. In an instant, Draco threw himself to the floor, his knees hitting the carpet with a sickening thud, hands clasped together as if he were praying.

“Please don’t,” he whispered through shaking breaths. “Don’t send me to the Dementors. Please, I’ll do anything you want, please.”

Astoria hoped her heartbreak wasn’t visible on her face.

Draco was awake, but not really. The horrors he had witnessed in Azkaban blurred the lines between the past and present, and now, he was stuck somewhere in the past. Somewhere dark and cold, plagued by abuse and Dementors.

Astoria knew she just had to wait, that truly was all she could do. Granger had expressed to her the dangers of startling him, telling her she just needed to wait it out, go along with it, become whoever he thought she was.

But it was breaking her heart to watch.

“You’re not going to the pit, Malfoy,” she said carefully, trying to remove emotion from her voice, trying to make herself sound like a prison guard. She held her hand up, showing her fingers, then gingerly placed them atop his clenched hands. His back stiffened, and his eyes were hollow with fear, dropping to her feet.

After a moment filled with heavy, ragged breathing, Draco lifted his head, and she met his gray eyes swarming with a panic she was unfamiliar with. He clenched his jaw, mulling over her words. “B-but Scrimgeour said that--“

“Pay Scrimgeour no mind,” Astoria interrupted. “Do you know your name?”

Draco nodded, his shoulders shaking, clasped hands now fallen to his lap. “Malfoy, Draco. Son of the traitor Malfoy, Lucius.”

Astoria nodded. She wondered why he had added the bit about his father. She bitterly realized that they must’ve made him say it to embarrass him, shame him anytime he was addressed.

She swiped at her eyes, hiding the tears that had formed. His skin was flushed, the hollow of his cheeks pink and hair damp with sweat.

“Please stand and come with me,” she requested, watching with her heart in her throat as Draco dragged himself to his feet, his legs shaking, barely able to hold him. He was a good few feet taller than her, and she had to strain to look up at him. She caught his eye, and he looked away quickly. She took a deep breath, pushing the bathroom door open wider and beckoned him to follow. Gripping the handle, she turned the water off, and beckoned to it.

“Can you tell me if that's too hot?” she asked.

Draco looked between her and the water, hesitant. Then he reached forward, dipping his hand into it. Astoria dipped her own hand in near his and he flinched horribly, causing some water to spill out and splash on her nightgown.

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry,” Draco whispered, extracting his hand and wrapping his arms around himself, sucking in a harsh breath.

Astoria had nearly forgotten the second biggest tool the guards used in Azkaban aside from fear; pain. He was afraid he’d angered her, and in turn that she’d hurt him.

“We’re going to give you a bath, alright?” she told him, waiting for his reaction. Holding up her hands again so he could see them, she then reached forward, gripping his own lightly. “Would that be okay?”

Draco said nothing, staring at her with wide eyes and she sighed internally, slipping her hand from his and stalking to the bathroom closet. She grabbed the vanilla scented bubble bath and popped the cap off before pouring a stream into the filled tub. Vanilla was her favorite scent, and in turn had become Draco's favorite, too. He had told her it reminded him of her, of home. She hoped that it could jog his memory of her and of himself.

“I’m going to step outside. You remove your clothing and get in, okay?” she instructed.

But before she could leave, Draco quickly pulled off his clothing, folding them into a pile and setting them by the tub's edge. He stood naked in front of her with a numb expression on his face, and she had to bite back a sob. He was used to this, being forced to strip for someone that was far less kind than her. Astoria couldn’t stop from hugging herself, trying to keep her breaking pieces at bay and his cheeks flushed red. They must’ve humiliated him like this, stripped him of more than just his clothing, and it enraged her.

She took a breath, calming herself, before giving him a tight smile. “Would you like to get in?” she asked, and Draco turned to face the tub.

They had spent so many hours in that tub, washing one another or kissing until kissing wasn’t enough, and soon they needed a second shower. They’d read in it together, talked about their day, and spent their anniversary in it.

Draco stepped into the tub slowly, sinking into the water and letting his arms rest on the rim. His eyes flicked rapidly between her and the water as she created a lather between her fingers, resting on the rim beside him.

“How does that feel?” she asked, then held up her soapy hands. “I'm going to wash your hair, okay?” Washing his hair was something he’d always found comforting, and she hoped repeating the action might help him find his way back.

Draco narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply, staying still as her hands worked in his hair. Cupping her fingers, she dribbled water over his head, washing the suds away, the only sound in the bathroom was the splashing of water.

“It’s okay to speak your mind here, prisoner,” Astoria whispered, hating every word that exited her mouth. “No one will hurt you here.”

Steam wafted up from the water, fogging the mirrors over the sink and warming the air. She inhaled, shutting her eyes for a moment as the vanilla entered her nose.

“Why are you washing me?”

Astoria opened her eyes, unsure of how to answer his question without popping a hole in his reality.

But he cut her off, his voice shaking. “I’ve gone months without bathing in this hell site and suddenly you want me clean? The other guards don’t care if I'm clean. They don’t even treat me like a person.”

She opened her mouth, still at a loss but hoping something will come to her. When she didn’t respond, he continued in a quick and fearful voice. “The Dementors kill me, but I'm still alive. It feels like they want to kill me, and you’re asking if I’m okay? Who are you?”

He was breathing heavily, his fingers shaking against the porcelain, and Astoria felt helpless as she stared back at him.

Draco's eyes went wide, the realization of his words hitting him, and drops his gaze to the tub rim. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, dragging his knees close to his chest. “I’ll keep quiet. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” Astoria whispered, the term of endearment exiting her mouth before she could stop it. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Draco gave her a quizzical look but said nothing, his silver blonde brows pulled together.

“I’m not going to hurt you, ever. Can you tip your head back so I can wash your hair?” She gestured to his posture. Reluctantly, Draco nodded, moving his head and Astoria dipped her hand into the water, bringing it up to his hair. She repeated the action again and again, notching as Draco's eyes fluttered closed in light relaxation. “You're safe with me, I promise.”

Her fingers trailed on his scalp, his hair slicking back as she moved. He looked so young, so different from the man she had married, and more like the Draco that she went to school with. She began to massage his head, trailing down to his neck and the tops of his shoulder.

“Relax, Draco,” she hummed, continuing the movement. “Try to relax.”

Her eyes flicked over his face, taking in his peaceful expression. It felt like it’d been years since she'd seen him like that, void of anguish.

“I have a question,” Draco whispered, snapping her back to the present, his eyes still closed. “If I may.”

Astoria swilled before answering, clearing her throat, giving him a small smile. “Of course you can.”

“Why are you so kind?” His eyes opened, staring at her with curiosity and a dash of fear. “To me, I mean. I-I don’t…deserve it.”

Her throat burned and she swallowed again, trying to keep the smile on her face even as her heart aches for him. “You don’t deserve pain, Draco,” she said, voice low. “You're a human being.”

“The Dementors would disagree with you,” he replied, eyes darting around nervously.

Astoria took a deep breath, hoping the burning ache within her chest would settle, and smiled at him once more. “I know you’re probably a little confused right now,” she said, her hands dripping more water into his hair. “And that's okay. You’ll find yourself again and work your way back, so it's okay to be a little confused at the moment.”

He looked dazed, nodding slowly, his eyelids growing heavy. She ran her hands against his scalp, scratching lightly, the way she knew he liked, and his eyes closed, the exhaustion etched into his face. Once she finished, she opened the drain, grabbing him a towel before holding it out to him. He slowly took it from her, beginning to dry himself. Astoria exited the bathroom in search of fresh linens, returning with his soft cottons, finding Draco standing rigidly in front of the mirror, staring daggers at his reflection.

“Come along,” she said, holding her hand out, feigning more confidence than she felt. “Let's get dressed.”

Draco stared at himself for a few more moments before finally turning away, his eyes on the floor, taking the clothes from Astoria and putting them on quickly. She focused her gaze on the now empty tub, hoping to give him some sort of privacy. He straightened once dressed, towering over her with a sullen expression, and she slipped her hand into his, slowly leading him back to his side of the bed. She motioned for him to lay down, and as he did, a yawn escaped his mouth.

Walking over to the opposite side, astoria slid into her side of the bed, pulling the sheets up around them but not tucking them in; she didn't want him to feel trapped. Draco sighed as she moved, watching her through sleepy eyes.

“Go to sleep, darling,” she whispered, laying on her side to look at him. Draco cocked his head so he could see her face, taking in her expression. “I’ll be here when you wake.” She reached up slowly, tracing the lines of his face with the tips of her fingers. His eyes fluttered shut, relaxing under her touch, and she repeated the action until his gentle snores filled the silence.

Astoria shifted, laying on her back, surprising herself at the tears that pooled at her eyes as she stared up into the darkness. A cry bubbled at the back of her throat and she covered her mouth with her hands, muffling the sob, brushing her tears away quickly as they came. She took a breath, letting it out slowly, before scooting closer to his sleeping form, wanting to feel his warmth. Draco shifted, his arm looping around her, tugging her to him as she listened carefully to his snores, his heartbeat thrumming easily. She let out a breath, blinking away the remaining tears as she waited for sunrise.

- Astoria felt gentle prodding across her face and arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of the pressure as she flicked her eyes open. Gray irises met hers, a gentle smile on Draco's face as he watched her. His hair was only lightly damp, the majority of it dry. The movement of his fingers massaging her arms retracted, and he tucked his hand beneath the pillow, lying on his stomach with the majority of his face hidden in the softness.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Draco hummed.

Astoria watched his feeble gaze dart from her face to her hands, to the sheets that wrapped around them. He was still scared, still slightly disoriented, but the love in his eyes told her he was back.

Astoria sat up, scooted closer and pressed a kiss to his outer shoulder, her lips soft against his skin.

“Hi, darling.” She settled back into the mattress beside him, hand reaching out and rubbing up and down his back, fingers drawing stars on his spine. “How much do you recall?”

“Just enough to know I hurt you.” He sighed, relaxing under her touch.

Astoria shook her head, wet her lips. “No,” she whispered, giving a shake of her head. “You didn’t hurt me, Draco.”

“But I scared you,” he took a deep breath, shutting his eyes in shame. “I don't know which is worse.”

“I just worry, that's all,” she replied. “I just wanted to help.”

Draco nodded, swallowing audibly. “I know…and you did. Merlin knows what I would’ve done without you.”

Astoria gave him a tender smile, but said nothing, knowing he needed to divulge more, that there was more he needed to say.

“I forgot you, Tori. B-but I knew…you wouldn’t hurt me.” Reaching for her, he grasped her fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissed them lightly. “These hands provide nothing but goodness.”

Astoria smiled once more, her hand squeezing his gently before moving forward and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. The kiss was easy, filled with so much adoration and endearment, the qualities he needed in order to carry on. She knew he was tired, the weight of the war and Voldemort and the Malfoy name becoming too heavy for him to carry alone. They melted into it, fingers curling into his hair, lips brushing over one another, nails scratching his hairline. After a few moments Draco pulled back, shifting to lay on his back and pulling her with him. She pressed contentedly into his side, her face laying against his chest. His arms were around her, fingers running quietly up and down her arm.

“I’m going to pay Granger a visit,” he said after a moment. “These night terrors…they aren’t getting better. Merlin knows how long you’ll be able to put up with it.”

Astoria craned her neck to look at him, confusion written on her face. “I’m your wife. I'm never giving up on you.”

Draco let out a low sigh, his fingers stalling on her skin. “Yes but…I forget you. That's enough to push anyone away, and rightfully so.”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Astoria glared at him in loving defiance. “Draco Malfoy, I love you more than I ever imagined loving someone. Everything you are, I love. Your past, your mistakes, every part of you. Your struggles don’t scare me, and they don’t define you.” She poked the side of his face gently. “So don’t let them.”

Gray eyes met her brown ones and he nodded slowly before Astoria leaned up and kissed his cheek. Settling against his chest once more, she wrapped an arm over his waist, tucking him to her.

“You're too good to me, Tori,” Draco whispered.

Astoria shook her head. Recovery was never an easy thing. She knew it took people years, decades. The guilt that had been injected into him since his adolescent years was something that would stick with him for a lifetime. It would take many ups and downs for him to work through it, but she didn't mind reminding him that he didn't have to do it alone.

“Do you think I'm a good thing?” Astoria asked, her arms holding him. Draco nodded, wordlessly answering. “You're allowed to have good things, Draco. Let me be good to you. You deserve some peace after everything that's happened.”

She knew that was the problem, really. No matter how many people like Granger and Potter and Nott that gave him their forgiveness, he would always lack forgiving himself. He didn't think he deserved peace, deserved her.

After a few moments, Draco took a deep breath, pressed his lips to her forehead. His skin was warm against hers, fingers holding her in place against him.

“Thank you, Tori,” he whispered into her hair. “For meeting me halfway.”

She curled against him, inhaling the scent of vanilla. “I’ll always meet you in the middle, my love,” she replied, pressing a kiss to his chest before she closed her eyes, eager to rest in his embrace.

[muffindaddystyles]

I WANT TO CHANGE MATTRESSES FOR YOU.

Somethings doesn’t not change. People doesn’t want to change them, morelike. Harry’s one of those people – he hates to stumble away from his routine, it makes him fussy and grumpy all over.

If he’s not waking up early and going out for a run – getting a nice sweat, his whole day gets ruined --- he likes things in specific order -- brekkie and dinners always with his lovie’, three kisses in the morning minus the infinite pecks, cuddles without socksies, cold showers and lavender oils are must –-- brushing their teeth together and doing their skincare at night together.

Intimacy of little things.

He’s with that with materialistic things too. Most of them holds zillion of memories from him --- others, well for others he despises the ‘getting used to them’ phase and the complains of himself that comes with it —-- so he always feels like it’s better to keep things in good condition and use it for a long time.

Just like this darn mattress they’ve fights over every night and day.

Right now when they’re standing infront of the mattress shop he doesn’t seem very convincing while Y/N looks like she just saw the miracle of the year.

Harry’s lips are downturned into grumpy expression, his brows pinched together out of annoyance and he groans at the top of his lungs when she tugs him inside with a squealish noise.

“See? You really need to get rid of that dumpster mattress.” She turns to face him, grinning when he moaned the instant they jumped atop this spongiest of mattress and he speaks through closed eyes -- as if he’s manifesting, “Don’t call my mattress garbage .....”

Y/N just pouts. He’s really that stubborn. Despite, of how much she whined and complained to him that his mattress causes her a back ache and sprains her neck —-- because the springs poke into her like damn mini dicks – he still refuses to buy a new one.

She squeals happily and almost straddles him when he announces with a dimply loopy grin, “’Kay maybe we're buying it.” She clasps her hands together on top of her chest in awe of her boyfriend and grabs his cheeks to squish them and bring him for a kiss.

Unfortunately her happiness wasn’t meant to be last when the salesman told him about the price and yet again ...... he denied to buy it.

She grunts. Jumping back on her feet and tries to convince him, “Harry c’mon don’t be s' stubborn now -- bub.” The gentleness in her voice on the verge of cracking and exposing him the terrifying wild-cat side of her.

“And mattresses are life time investment -- you know?” Her tone sugary but the involuntary tap of her foot makes Harry arch a brow sceptically at her, she’s boiling from inside, ready to blast her lid away, “I’m not spending shit loads of money on some springs and goose gunk!” He whines throwing his arms in air and she couldn’t believe if that’s her Harry or some miser in his replacement.

“Feathers.” She corrects him and he mutters a ‘whatever’ under his breath so she inhales a huge nourishing puff of oxygen to think rationally and make him understand.

The intimacy of sleep.

Y/N loves the intimacy of sleep -- their bodies just sinking into the mattress and pillows, getting swallowed by cool sheets and warm blankets -- sharing a cuppa tea or biscuits before going to bed —-- snuggling like kittens or puppies into eachother -- low murmurs of breath and feathery I love yous. Waking up in the morning and having their skins kiss eachother, pray in eachother’s presence and love on eachother to make their every day special —-- cuddling till any of them really had to pee bad and eating breakfast in the bed. Getting it stained and one of them assures the other to not to worry about it and after when they couldn’t get rid of it – walking together to laundry.

Just the innocent intimacy of sharing a bed —-- it brings them together – makes them feel eachother —-- like they’re soaked into eachother.

Harry’s not being able to catch the point.

“Harry just imagine one day I wouldn’t wake up all tired and —--,” She’s now proper frowning and he cuts her off, “That’s from my cock Sweetheart.” She shakes her head and fists her hands by her sides to hold her back from wiping that damn smirk off his gorgeous face.

So, she continues, “And I wouldn’t even have to sneak from your arms every night and sleep on the couch, then come back in the morning –- you know how much I love cuddles ........” Harry’s jaw meets the floor at her newest revelation and she stops her rant mid-way when he gasps loudly and dramatically, She slaps her forehead because shit – this was a secret between her and their cat who used to give her judgemental stares every night.

“You what?” He squints his peepers narrow at her – hands on his hips and she shrugs mousey-ly, “It’s your fault ... I mean you’re the one who’s not buying a new mattress and not even letting me buy it.” Their argument heating up a tad and y/n just wants to push him on one these beds right now and knock some senses into him.

She gives him a horrified expression when he grumps curtly and forwards his palm, making a come heather motion, “Give me my cuddles back.” She huffs folding her arms infront of her chest and glares him --– craning her neck up to look at him —- for how fucking tall he’s from her and copies him.

“Then give me my kisses back –- including the one I just gave you right now, for no reason.” She tugs his cardigan angrily. His pupils blow away comically.

They both know that they’re behaving childish and it would take them an infinite amount of time to get what they’re asking for.

“Seriously?” He groans howlishly and she nods, quipping nonchalantly, “Yes seriously.”

Harry’s just finding excuses to not to buy a new mattress. He has money. He even likes it. It’s real comfy. He just is accustomed to getting his spine poked with springs.

“It’s useless to argue with you, ‘m going – follow me or I’ll kick your ass.” She warns him. Jabbing a finger at his chest and he squeaks rubbing the stinging spot and kisses his teeth, “Fine!”

She glances him from her shoulder and shouts an equally frustrated, “Fine!” barging through sliding doors and Harry tugs at his roots and kicks the foot of bed.

Though, when she’s towing her feet in the space of her threshold and letting her shoes fly to different spots messily, -- bolting up the stairs grumpily and crashes into the bed —-- she yawps squeakily and then nuzzles herself more into the mattress —-- because fuck she might be hallucinating about it ‐-- she’s that exhausted but when Harry comes leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile and thudding heart upon the bean sized sight of his baby –-- he’s carnating into heaven.

“Oh my god –-... what ...--- how? What the hell, Harry!!” She giggles jumping on their new mattress and ushers him closer, they hold hands tightly galloping on it as high as possible – Harry’s head hitting the ceiling each time -- they do a lil dance letting the bed creak and make funny noises.

Their laughter echoing against their walls and she slinks her elbows around the nook of his neck, pushes him down and makes them fall with a bounce.

He tickles his button nose up her cheek and murmurs against her skin pecking it, “Just when y’left – made me realise an empty bed would be worse than some goose-y one.” Her breath comes shuddery at that and her lips quivers up into a wet smile -- heart quops when he sighs lovingly pushing her closer to him.

“I love you lovie' more than any mattress —,” He nibbles at the fleshy inside of his cheek and leaves it to smudge his lips against hers, “—- I want to change mattresses fo’ you if it means -- we could do it till we're grey and wrinkly.” His calloused hand comes caring up her throat and moulds into her warm cheek – staring into her glinting eyes deeply ... with utmost affection and love, and devotion as if she hung the moons of Jupiter and Saturn.

His lips wets the corners of her petal like lips first then .. tastes her cupid bow before completely surrendering himself to her and kisses her passionately sipping her sweet noises of his name and her confessions of love for him; down his belly making him feel warm and bubbly.

They separate with a smooching noise and she grins against his chin, “You really talk some sexy shit, don’t you?” He pouts then breaks into a bunny grin –-- grunting when she shoves his shoulders down and straddles up his chest –- cradles his face and dots kisses down his temple to his sweet spot, takes his earlobe in her mouth and twirls it with her tongue.

“We deserve some good fucking, let’s inaugurate our new mattress.” He moans at that, “Fuck yes.” and paws at her hips hungrily but she smacks it away with a glower.

“This’s for being a bad boy at the store.”

Harry just knows. He’s about to get tortured to no orgasm or getting railed till he’s a crying mess, none in between.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Rage Like Ice (Sihtric x Reader)

This is my first time writing Sihtric, so let me know what y’all think!

Warnings: assault, attempted strangulation, aftermath of assault (I promise the assault itself is only brief)

Words:2,100

Tag List: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​

  Thyra dabbed away the blood dripping from your split lip. You could see her wanting to say something but soon as she opened her mouth, something would flicker in her eyes and she would snap her mouth shut. 

 "Thyra… I am glad it was me. We don't need Beocca committing murder." You tried to both tease and soothe, even as you winced after you attempted to smile. 

 She smiled faintly but you could tell it was hollow. Her lips moved but her eyes remained sorrowful. "The gods were watching over us." She murmured in her gentle voice. 

 You nodded. Being the only two Dane women in Wintanceaster and both having been saved from different places by Uhtred and his men, you two had bonded. She had become the sister you never had. 

 "Sihtric may kill him though." Her fathomless eyes dropped down to the bruises forming around your throat then back up to meet your own. 

 "Shite. I need to cover it up."

 She stared, eyes trailing over your face and neck. Most likely realizing the improbability of hiding the evidence of the fight. "Let me see what I can do." She dropped the bloodied cloth onto the table next to you, then spun on her heel and walked towards the bedroom without another word. 

 Soon as she was out of sight, you dropped your head into your hands and exhaled like it would dismiss all the tension and frustration rolling around in your gut. Your throat was beginning to ache and talking made it worse, even as you tried to mask the pain. You did not need Thyra heaping anymore guilt onto herself. Especially when it was not her fault. 

 The afternoon had not gone according to plan. King Alfred had summoned Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric to talk about Dane raids. Of course, Beocca tagged along, most likely in an attempt to keep Uhtred in line. Osferth had said something about visiting the church to pray. So while the men were gone, Thyra and you planned on taking a leisurely stroll through the market, getting supplies for a special dinner and working on it together before the men returned. You knew the simple act of making a meal with female company was something she missed from her childhood with her mother, so you tried to do it every time you could. 

 Of course, fate had other plans. 

 On your walk, a Saxon man yelled 'Dane whores' at you two from his seat at a pub. When you two ignored him, arms locked together and you rolled your eyes… apparently that was the wrong action to take. He stumbled out of his seat, not quite drunk but certainly not sober, and followed like a stray cat, hissing and trying to be threatening. 

 What you did not expect was for him to sneak up from behind and shove you forcefully to the ground. It may have been the dismissive look you had given him or how you told him to 'just leave us alone, bastard', but he focused all his anger out on you. He shoved Thyra to the ground also, kicking away her basket, spilling all its content onto the ground. After hitting the ground, you rolled over, Sihtric's training forcing your body to move, to be ready. Before you could move further, the Saxon knelt over you, pinning you beneath him.

 Time blurred before your eyes, unable to vividly recall what happened next.  

 You remembered his hands around your throat, the weight of his body on your hips. You remembered Thyra screaming and trying to beat him off but he shoved her away again. You remembered trying to get him off, lungs shrieking, desperate for air. You remembered your mind demanding, pleading for escape. After all you had survived, after all you had endured… this could not be your end. You remembered in a last-ditch effort, grabbing the dagger you had strapped to your waist and in a Herculean attempt, stabbing him in the thigh with it. 

 Then, you escaped. 

 A crowd formed at the sight of the fight. Two men grabbed your attacker, restraining him as he snarled at you, blood dripping down his thigh. Thyra and you did not wait to see what happened next. She snagged your hand and you two raced back to her home. 

 Now, you could feel your hands shaking. You leaned back in the chair to look at them, laying in your lap. There were some droplets of blood on your skin. Either from you or him, you were not sure. 

 Your dagger was next to you on the table, cleaned off thanks to Thyra. A gift from Sihtric. When he gave it to you, he explained he hoped you never had to use it but wanted you to always have some kind of weapon on your person. Wessex was not Daneland but it still was not entirely safe. 

 This was the first time you had used it. 

 A commotion outside drew your gaze to the door just as it opened and those that you called family spilled in. Beocca led the way into his small home, grumbling and throwing glares at Uhtred and Finan, who were laughing. Osferth came next with a blush on his cheeks. Whatever they were teasing Beocca about, you doubted it was appropriate. Lastly, Sihtric walked in shaking his head. 

 Your heart thudded a rapid tattoo in your chest as your eyes met his. Those eyes that saw so much, that were clever and loyal and oh so trustworthy. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth and with that, the air left your lungs faster than when you had been knocked to the ground. Even after all this time, he still left you breathless and giddy like a young girl with her first crush. 

 Most of all though, he made you feel safe and cherished. 

 Thyra stepped back into the main room, eyes wary and jumping from the men to you and back. She gripped a scarf in her hand but it was too late. 

 When Beocca started talking, you ripped your eyes from Sihtric, dropping your head to stare at your still trembling hands in your lap. 

 "Thyra, dear. Are you alright? We heard there was a fight in the market today."

 Before she could answer Beocca, Finan spoke, throwing himself onto a chair with a cheeky smirk. "Oh aye, we 'eard some fool started a fight with some whores and got stabbed. I'd love to find out who the whores were, perhaps see what other moves they have?" He wiggled his eyebrows making Uhtred chuckle. 

 You could not help sneaking a glance at Thyra, whose own concerned gaze met yours. Was that the story being told by those who witnessed it? 

 Then what you dreaded happened next.

 The sound of footfalls came towards you. You clasped your hands in my lap, hoping to stop the trembling, wishing there was a way to magic the bruises away. It was too late though. He knew. Somehow, he always knew when you were in trouble, or hurting or just needed him. 

 Sihtric stopped, standing right in front of you. You could see his legs and boots but you refused to look up. 

 "Look at me." He said softly, yet the command rang loudly in his words. You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes. 

 With a tender touch that seemed counterintuitive to his warrior skills, he cupped your chin, lifting it gently. That intense gaze swept over your face, drawing answers without even asking you a question. His thumb touched your split lip, as if confirming what he was seeing was not an illusion. When those dark eyes moved lower, your breath caught in your throat. You witnessed the moment he saw the bruises on your throat. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, his body suddenly tense and wound up like a coil, but his touch remained soft on you.

 All the sounds of those around you vanished as he met your eyes once again. It was just him and you in this moment. 

 "Who did this to you?" 

 You flinched at the ice in his voice. Oh, this was far worse than anger. You knew of the anger that could burn through him, especially in battle. This though… the way frost practically coated his breath, the stillness that covered his body, the dead silence after his question. This was not the fire of anger so easily witnessed in others. No, this went beyond that. This was the icy depths of rage and fury. This was not something that would burn out after a quick fight. No, this lingered until the rage thawed away… only satisfied when the blood debt was paid. 

 He whispered your name, sweeping away a stray tear that escaped from your eye. "Who did this?"

 "Some drunk. It doesn't matter. We got away." You croaked out, your throat suddenly feeling swollen as if words and emotions were stuck there.

 He turned to the side, keeping his hand under your chin, baring your neck for all to see, and looked at Uhtred. "Lord… permission to hunt down this bastard and finish what he started."

 "Sihtric, no…" You whined but he ignored you. 

 Uhtred's eyes narrowed, flickering across your face and neck. "Shouldn't be that hard to hunt the bastard down. He'll be limping from a dagger to the leg."

 "Uhtred, Sihtric, no." Beocca moved to stand in front of the door. "We shall bring this matter before the king. Let him decide justice. You cannot commit murder."

 "It's not murder if I'm stopping him from attempting to kill her again!" Sihtric stated coldly, eyes narrowed, body almost vibrating in rage. "That's protection."

 "Sihtric, please, no." You clawed at him, trying to keep him with you. "Stay with me."

 Finan stood up, hands raised in an unnecessary show of surrender. "We'll find the bastard, Sihtric. We'll deal with him but not when ya eyes are seein' red, aye? Father Beocca and I can go to the king right now. Uhtred and Osferth can find that piece of shite. We won't let this happen again."

 "Please." You tried once again. At this point your voice was no more than a whisper, the dull ache transforming so it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper against your throat. The adrenaline from earlier had drained and now exhaustion replaced it. All you wanted was for Sihtric to hold you, to stay and not race away on a man hunt for that damn drunk. "Please…. just stay with me."

 The Dane stared at you for several long moments, those dark eyes trailing a heat over your exposed skin. Finally, his hard gaze shifted to look at the men across the room. He gave a single nod, draining the tension in the room. Immediately everyone started moving, either to fulfill their duties or to escape from Sihtric's cold fury. 

 "Thyra, come with me." Beocca said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and escorting her outside. Finan and Osferth slipped out quickly with them. 

 Uhtred moved closer, eyes scanning over you. "Did he harm you anywhere else?"

 "No, lord."

 "We'll take care of this. One way or another." He said, but the last part he directed to Sihtric. You could see the understanding in Uhtred's eyes. If someone put their hands on Gisela like that, he would be out for blood…. and no one would be able to stop him. 

 "Thank you, lord." 

 After Sihtric's comment, Uhtred nodded once more to the pair of you then stormed out of the small home, presumably on his way to hunt down the man that hurt you. 

 Once alone, Sihtric whipped around, his hands cupped your face. The desperate fury and fear no longer hidden away on his face. "No one touches you. No one." He hissed out, a hand lightly trailing down your neck. 

 Many times before he had teasingly told you that the only thing to ever adorn your neck should be his lips. You had even stopped wearing any form of necklace because he would complain that it got in his way. Now seeing the bruises marring his favorite place to lavish his affection on you, you knew this only fueled his blood lust. 

 "I know. You taught me to protect myself and I did." You tried to soothe, your hands gripping the front of his tunic.  

 "I should have been there."

 "No, you were doing your duty. You were with Lord Uhtred." You paused. "This is not your fault."

 His voice dropped to a strained whisper. "I can't lose you."

 "You won't. The gods brought us together, they would not tear us apart like this."

 He pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. With your head against his chest, you could feel the last of his icy rage thawed away as you sank into his embrace. 

 "I swear you're never leaving my side."

 You smiled, burrowing your head further against his chest. "I could think of worse places to be."

[insomnishnik]

pairing : obsessive! dom eren x god complex reader *wink* *wonk*

rating : smut, 18+, fluff, crack (?)

wc : 53k

cw : degradation, choking, semi public sex, art student! eren, cockwarming, pussy spanking, mention of bruises and injuries, breeding kink ish, obsessive behavior, stalking, borderline yandere 😁 also pliz I'm new so if this bad lemme know

summary : at the very end of graduation, it's time to say goodbye, college is over, now off to the real world. But before the farewell, you as the student president arrange the one last time after party as a sweet goodbye message, little do you know eren have other plan.

“DO WE HAVE TO?” you murmured as Hitch pushed your back while both of stepping inside of a coffee shop. Fragrance of coffee bean, vanilla air freshener wafted to your nose, the comforting wooden minimalist arabica design greeted your eyes for its pleasing aesthetic scenery.

"Yes, we have to i mean how bad could it be?" she grinned, pulling your arm to her clutches while both of you scoured inside, "besides, the past must stay as the past, it was just a silly president election it's not like he would hold grudges against you for getting elected," she continued, referring to the big college event far ago before the senior year. 

That one time when you and Eren Jaeger applied to be the student council president, and like how history spoke, the winner rejoiced, and nobody really care about what happens next to the loser. It was a though fight, you were quite determined to take that core position with your persona, you believed that you could bring greater goods for the community, and you DID do good, but Eren fought back passionately, and you remembered you could see fire in his eyes during his speech at the debate election, he may not smart but he's clever, maybe a little aggressive but hell does he moved so many people's heart, you remembered when he was standing tall and brave on that podium while his sea green eyes glued the room together, the intimacy that is fiery and optimistic, but as the whole world know destiny said otherwise, without your own anticipation 

you won. 

And since then your reign begun. You rule well, you made plenty achievements as student president and you never been so proud of yourself, since then you never lose your dedication for your people, and the feel of being a victor, and oh how you loved the feel of being powerful. 

You and Hitch walked upstairs to the second loft of the coffee shop after you both ordered the drinks you wanted, "I dunno Hitch, i don't think that this is a good idea," you mumbled to the girl next to you, while you scratching the back of your ear, "when Armin said not to mess with Eren i think he meant it."

Sure you were delighted with your victory, but you still couldn't help yourself to feel bad for Eren, there's this strange tingle of guilt vine your stomach when you, the possessor approached your ex rival far a month ago, he gave you this bitter dirty look as you waved him a polite good morning, then he stormed off without a single word, you felt like he was prestige to look into your eyes since then. 

"And when i said he was a wuss, and a man child for going all off emo after that election i also meant it," Hitch rolled her eyes, she pat your back as a reassurance before you two finally found the person you've been looking for, almost unrecognizable from the last time you guys bumped to each other, for a moment your eyes widened to the now Eren Jaeger.

 There he was sitting all pretty at the smoking area, his hair was pulled onto a messy bun with a few loose strands on his nape, he was far more built than the boy you used to know, his bushy eyebrows looking furrowed to a sketchbook, the charcoal pencil he's holding dances on top of it. He was styled in a thin knitted black long sleeve top that hugged his muscular body tightly, army green cargo pants, and combat boots — you know, those kind of boots you wear to a rock concert just to kick someone — his rolled sleeves, revealing his veiny arms that covered with tattoos. His long legs is stretched to the chair next to him while he is leaning against the wall. 

Hitch glanced at you, she cackled noticing you googling at Eren, she pulled you by your wrist approaching the brunet, "you'll be fine," she snickered, while you could only let out a soft sigh, here goes nothing. 

Hitch signal her presence to Eren with a light cough, a small thud hit the surface of his sketchbook after he dropped his pencil. His gaze shifts to both of you who were standing by his side, he raised his left brow when his eyes met yours, you stared back at Eren and he outstared you blankly, "Jaeger," you hesitated. 

About time you finally came to me.

"Y/N," he replied, calling you by your first name. His expression never change, they're rather cold, unimpressed, he studied both of you, then back to you, he lift his chin up as he locked his eyes on you, "you brought a friend." Intruder, he finally said after a brief silence, Eren closed his sketchbook and then cracked his knuckles, Hitch pulled you, taking a seat in front of Eren. 

"Now let's skip the chit chat, because by the way Eren, you smells musty," Hitch waved her hand in front of her face, she's not wrong though, he smells like tobacco and axe body spray. Furthermore when Hitch explained the reasons of hers and yours arrival to Eren, his gaze never really left you, sometimes he would spare Hitch small glances and nods as confirmation of himself still listening, but his attention was on you. 

And you willingly stares back, you still couldn't read his expression, they're as calm as the morning blue sky, they're just so empty it sucks you in, maybe it's the blunt hatred and envy from him for your presidential position, or maybe it was something else, you even almost think that you two are basically eye fucking each other. 

You extended him the proposal and the selected material details to him, it's almost graduation, and you're running out of time to find someone who could make an exclusive design for the jackets you are planning to make as a gift for the after party event. The other councilor members and you also haven't decide the theme yet, it has to be perfect. Your last hope is Eren, the fine arts student all the girls in school droll over, even though his charisma was slightly dimmed after his loss at the election, he still got his charm, and you really prayed to Goddess Fortuna because you don't want to risk looking for someone else to customize this specific special item and just to get disappoint by the erratic result, at least when Eren agree to take the work, someone could watch over.

"No fucking way," Eren let out a smug chortled, "the president needs my help," he added in a sneering tone. Cute. 

"So you agree or not Eren," you try to suppress your nerve, and you really try not to punch his cocky face, the way he throw his head back a little so he gave you this kind of kubrick stare, gazing into your soul as if he wants to eat you alive, and just like they said, if looks could kill, you're probably be ripped apart by now. 

"What if i say no?" he continued, tapping his boot's toe on the wooden floor. 

"You'll waste your talent," you gift a thin smile that hides a very big urge to stab him repeatedly. 

Eren chuckled, he looked away towards the window before he lean forward to you, "What happen to the other art students, L/N? Did they finally acknowledge your overly perfectionist bossy self or what?" 

"And what about it?" you argued, leaning to his face, he wanted to humiliate you, he wanted you to get on your knees and beg, but you still have your dignity. 

"Uh, what is this," Hitch hesitated, "i am highly uncomfortable with the atmosphere we created in this room," what's with the eye fucking? Hitch thought, she felt like she's interrupting a really heated make out session but instead of kissing it was exchanging pure hatred, Hitch nudged you by your elbow, giving you a look. 

You gritted your teeth and pursed your lips together, leaning closer to Eren's face, "Alright, if this is about that stupid president election we had together grow up Eren! The world doesn't evolve in your stupid drama queen head, so please since i'm asking you nicely before i could fu-" You stopped your bust as a waitress came over with the drinks you ordered earlier, you glared angrily at Eren as you caught a tug of amused smirk at the corner of his lips, it was the fact that you desperately needs his help but still play all bitchy, he found it funny. 

Sure you have your dignity, and he is willing to destroy it just because he can.

After the waitress left, you tasted your fresh latte angrily, making Eren chuckled under his husky breath, while on the other side Hitch is silently witnessing the tense between you two. 

"Fine," Eren broke the silence after a few minutes since the waitress left, "i'll take the work." he sat up, you nodded and watched as that key necklace of his dangling out from his collar, and when your eyes laid on the toned chest that peaking under his shirt, you gulped your saliva and quickly looked away, "good, thank you for your understanding."

You clasps your hands together and you could hear Hitch's faint sigh of relief, "great so now i think we have our deal, you know Professor Levi's tea shop right? tomorrow we're doing a gathering, be there before 8, and if-" 

who says that i'm finished doll? Eren tug another smirk, "but with some condition."

⊱✿⊰

"For real? No party organizer available until next January?" you groaned in frustration, frantically flipping through pages of your journal, Hitch and Armin walks by your side to the long table area.

Chaos. 

Chaos everywhere, you feel like your head is going to explode, your blood boils, and there's this uncomfortable anxiety under your skin, crippling under you and devouring you slowly. You've been overworked yourself the entire night after your meeting with Eren, you were brainstorming for your graduation speech, activity recap, and of course other ornaments for the very last project you're having in your senior year, you cried for three hours while listening to montgomery ricky then cried again over the document you accidentally deleted. 

You're exhausted.

Mentally and physically, you woke up with puffy eyes and wrecked brain, but you knew that everything must go on, and no, you won't back down, everything has to be perfect, 

It has to be perfect. 

Hitch pouted as she watches you typing on your laptop, she snakes her arms around your waist and leaned her head against your shoulder, watching you making some kind of budget recap, "sweetie you should rest and lay down." She spoke with a soft smile. 

You pursed your lips together before you leaned your head on top of hers, not leaving your eyes from your laptop, "thanks Hitch, but i'm alright, i'll just finish this and i'll take a break for a bit." You just can't really trust anything without yourself being under control or watching over, you're afraid that everything would astray far from your definition of 'perfection,' this empire you've been building, and this is your last legacy the next generation will remember, and you wanted it to be remarkable. 

"No dumbass, the last catering service was too expensive and apparently our university was filled with cheapskates." argued a voice from across the room.

"Well we have no choice???" other voice argued back, "Or we can rely on your very bad cooking skill Kirstein, just pray nobody's gonna die from food poisoning." 

You huffed at the sight of Ymir and Jean who was sitting face to face on the floor, both are on their phone scrolling on google, you looked around and found Sasha, Marco and Connie, chatting across you, and you looked over to the three people next to you, your vice president Hitch, your treasurer Armin, and your secretary Mikasa. You couldn't help yourself but smiling at your team, they works so well. 

Then you frowned as your realized something, "Have Eren-" 

A short blonde girl with a tray of drinks and snacks entered the room, "Y'all snack time!" she called out with a large grin on her face.

Ymir's face lit up as she walked up to her girlfriend, Sasha sprinted towards Historia, going feral over food as usual. 

"Ugh finally," you chuckled to Jean's mumble. Soon, half of the room crowded the blonde girl, reaching for snacks and drinks, your eyes fixated as you slowly notice the presence of the familiar sea green eyes, you watches as Eren strolls inside of the meeting room, he yawned before he took a seat on Hitch's place, your frowned slightly, "excuse you?" 

"Excuse me?" he replied, plastering that damn cocky smile, he looked to you up and down, definitely mocking you under his degrading gaze, dammit y/n did you overworked yourself?

"Well have you look at yourself, President." he snickered, suddenly a sketch design laid in front of you, you shift your eyes to Eren, before you took the papers on your hands. Soft grazes of colored pencil and ink, the art was delicate yet firm, "what is this?" you asked dumbly to the design of two bomber jackets, each of the jackets has their own scrawled side notes of the color details, embroidery, and even fabric material.

"Both jacket will be make from satin, no argument, satin," Eren spoke, he pointed his polished finger nail to the design, "the girls will have the yellow one, the boys will take the red, it'll have our Uni symbol and our number," he explained, "should be ready as soon as possible," Eren watches you closely, waiting for you to say something. Part of him.....just wants you to react, just anything, just any reaction exclusively for him. 

You blinked slowly, wow. Honestly it's beautiful, looks like it was Harajuku style inspired, you can't wait to touch the final craft, you glanced at Eren, "thank you," you spoke finally, "it's really beautiful."

I'm glad you like it. "Of course it's beautiful, i made it," he replied with a smug face, he cracked his knuckles then tapped his fingers to the wooden table, "now now, what do we have here." 

It was part of Eren's condition. One, he wanted to be fully involved in the graduation ceremony prep and the after party. Two, most importantly nobody touch his creation while he have full control of it, you reluctantly gave him the responsiblity to handle the venue decoration and the theme, most of the people in your team weren't really pleased with that decision, but like you all have time to think? But after considering it, you felt like it would be good idea to have extra hands helping. 

Anything,

To reach the absolute perfection.

⊱✿⊰

"I'm so glad, that this is almost over, because i could not bear drinking another monster and espresso or i might get caffeine intoxication," you grinned as you earned chuckles through the dinner table, it was all paid off, and the grand event was right in front of your eyes, you could already imagine yourself standing on that podium, delivering your grand speech, high and god like.

But now, celebration first. 

The admiration looks from your team and the last year student council team — who decided to join for the gig — feeds your ego, there's Zeke, Nicolo, Reiner, Pieck and her girlfriend Yelena, Porco and Bertholdt. Your friends really look up to you, from the day you earned your position, they knew they could count on you. "Thank you, thank you for all of the hard works this season, i would never ask for a better team, you guys are the best that i could ever wished for," you grinned and picked up the can of beer from the table, everybody raises their drinks, and you looked at the edge of the table, where your graduated senior, Zeke Jaeger sitting down, giving you a proud look, he was a student president before you, "this is for everyone, our community has never been this great, because you all dedicated your hearts." As you cheers together, you looked around, something is missing, you can feel it, yet you can't find any solid answer for that feeling. 

It was a simple outdoor Korean barbecue party in your house's backyard, after all done, you wanted nothing but to treat your friends, because that's what they deserved for serving you right. It was returning favor, while waiting for the meat to be cook perfectly by your senior Nicolo, you sat besides Mikasa as you both chats, while Armin was next to her, busy with his phone. In the distance, chaotic guitar strums and jams from drunk Connie and Jean cracking the air together with everyone that hyping them up. You pressed your chin against Mikasa's shoulder while both of you giggling over a twitter thread. 

"Eren said he's coming over," Armin announced to both of you, he looked down to his phone and let out a heavy sigh. 

So that was the missing piece. 

"Why's the sigh?" you asked Armin.

Armin hesitated, he looked around everywhere that isn't you, he rubbed his hand through his undercut, it feels like watching someone having a very conflicted mind war with themself, he then finally impaled you with a mixed expression, "Y/N," he started, "i don't know how to say this but....." He glanced over at Mikasa, and you followed him. 

The dark haired girl rather gave him a surprised expression, a some kind of you did not! look. You exchanged the utterly confusion to both of them, Mikasa nodded slowly, "She needs to know, Armin." 

"I need to know what?" 

"What are you guys talking about?" you turned around and sees Eren standing right in front of you, bruised up and bleeding, his knuckles was fucked in a shade of dark red and purple, strands of hair falling in front of his face, Mikasa quickly stood up, "Eren did you—"

"Yes i did," he shot her a cold glare, you could see from the corner of your eyes that Zeke started to approaching, Eren's eyes then finally found Armin, who's looking scared and nervous more than ever, "tell me, what's the interesting story Armin?" his tone was striking and icy, under his husky voice, you could track hints of slurs because of alcohol. 

Armin went quiet, he gripped his knuckles, what is this? something must happened and you didn't know, and you hated that. You hated when things was out of your reach. "It's okay Eren, you should check your wounds, they look pretty bad," Armin swallowed, his words came out more threatening than he anticipated. 

"No, no, no, i wanted to know what you gonna say to Y/N," Eren moves closer to Armin, "you are not trying to tell her anything bad about me right?" 

They looked like they're ready to throw hands, but Zeke was already slips between them, holding the both boys's chests with his flat palms, "come on now guys, let's not." he hesitated.

"No, let's." Eren insisted, he slapped his brother's hand, you quickly pulled him down by his arm, he flinched when he felt your touch, Eren glance at you, and for a split second his eyes went soft, it was that soft that you felt nothing but pure affection from his sea green eyes, then something took over his body, he suddenly pulled you by your collar, lifting you up, moving your face closer to his.

His eyes were bloodshot, you squeezed his wrists while kicking your feet on the air, "you," he growled, his warm breath smells like alcohol, you blinked slowly, scanning Eren's animalistic glare, but there is no hate in his eyes, you found yourself trying to look for it but there it none, instead there's this raging desire, he looked at you like you were his prey, "Eren-" you choked, for the first time, you feel powerless.

"I hate you," he hissed, but all you could sense was lie, his mortal fingers squeezing you so deadly but you feel the comfort of it, the bizarrely embracing lust, and his existence blurs all the noises around you, just you and Eren Jaeger. "you took everything from you," he continued, "i woke up everyday wishing you dead." 

You knitted your eyebrows, and you feel your godly ichor rushes back through your veins, a disgusted smirk appeared on your face, belittling him for lying, "liar." 

Then huge arms pulled Eren from you, tackling him to the ground, Mikasa caught you before you hit the ground, Hitch stepped in front of you, shielding you from Eren who was struggling under Zeke, "Eren what the hell!" she shouted. Mikasa helped you up and pulled you close to her chest, "Y/N are you okay?" she sounded so scared, questions and assumptions popping in your head about what happens between Mikasa, Armin, and Eren. You looked up, finding Reiner helping Zeke restraining his own brother. You knew a minute ago that guy attacked you, but seeing Eren in that position just feels so wrong, you never thought you'll get drew by a guy like Eren Jaeger, but here you are finding yourself shoving aside your pride while approaching the two blonds. You put your hand on Zeke's shoulder, squeezing them gently, "it's okay," your delicate tone shocks him, "let him go Zeke." 

You could feel everyone giving you a jaw drop, but when all eyes on you, you find yourself only looking at Eren. 

After a tense moment, Zeke and Reiner finally let go of the brunet, you pulled Eren up then you put the tip of your fingers to his chin, examining his wounds, he scoffed and avoided your eyes, dropping his eyes to the ground. "Let's get that clean up," you mumbled and dragged him by his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Leaving everyone in a ambiguous silence. 

"Why are they leaving? the wagyu is ready."

You walked upstairs to your room, no words exchange both of you before you finally entered the bathroom with Eren, you let go of his hand, your heartbeat strangely skipping inside your chest, while you were searching for the medicine kit in the cabinet, when you finally turn around, you found Eren already sitting on the toilet seat, you kneeled down in front of him and you opened the medicine kit, you pulled a towel from the drawer and stood up, wetting it in the sink, "what happen?" you finally spoke. 

Eren let out a deep chuckle, he wiped his bloody nose with his thumb then wiped it off on his jeans, gross. "Why do you care," he asserted. 

You rolled your eyes and kneeled back in front of him, with dripping wet cloth on your right hand, "please you stormed on me, lifted me up and looked at me like you wanted fuck me against the table while also wanted to burn me alive at the same time." you gave him a judging look. You took his hands, and then slowly pressed the dampen cloth on his bloody knuckles, he didn't flinch, Eren remained silence while he watches you. You could feel his smirk while you were treating his wounds. "Have i told you how hideous you look tonight?" he asked quietly. 

"No, tell me." 

Eren then moved his left hand away from you, extending them, he caressed his thumb on your cheekbone, made you froze, his hand then traveled to your ear, it tugged your hair behind them, "i cannot." He whispered softly. 

You looked up, and put the now reddish cloth on the floor, you moved closer to the burnet in front of you, you intertwined your fingers with his once again, the tense on his shoulders visibly relax while his pupils widened to the presence of you, "now would you tell me what happen?" your voice sweetened, melodic in his ear, and it seems like he's lured enough by it. 

Eren huffed a chuckle, he looked down to both of your hands, "Had a fight with Pops," he shrugged, "took the anger on the wall." You moved closer to his face, close enough to smell the liquor in his breath. Eren stared at you, he never imagine he would have the blessing to be this close with you, he was always watching you from afar. Those interrogation towards Armin regarding you, questions after questions on your personal life, forcing Armin to dug deeper and helped Eren fulfilling his needs on you, he'd followed you after school, to your favorite coffee shop, your home so he'll know your address, to where ever he could reach you, man... he'll go after you to the edge of the world if that's where you're heading. 

"Do you still hate me?" you asked, and to be honest the question kind of scares you, because after these past few weeks of spending more time with Eren Jaeger, you finally caught in his fire, his flaming intimacy you thought was long gone, and you also surprises yourself for not getting pissed off by the feeling, because it makes you feel vulnerable. 

Eren grazes his thumb on your jaw as if you were made of glass, he kneeled down to the floor with you, so you both could be equal, no high ground. "The truth is my darling, i never was," he confirmed, "after you won that election it was my last straw because from the first time i laid my eyes on you, Love.... You have bewitched me body and soul," he's been watching over you from the distance and you still as pathetic as he could remember, maybe it's the way you stole glances at him, the way you would secretly checking him out but little did you know that he notices everything, he's been reading you like an open book without having to flip through every pages, because you already spread open for him, "you have became the very thing that is out of my reach, Love. And for i have fancy you, and you'll be mine not just in my mind but fully," and he is itching to taste you. His warmth envelopes you to a sense of safety, he trails his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you melt like a candle on fire. Right above you stand an entity greater than yourself, the essence of mystery that fold itself in front of you, and with the universe speak between you, everything is a clarity. 

And you, you don't get it, you thought it was all envy to the position you have, and for the first time, you crave something other than power, "Did you just quoted Pride and Prejudice for me, Jaeger?" you snakes your arms around his neck while his growing bulge strokes on your clothed cunt, the rough material of his jeans made your arousal grow thicker, "my, my, my i used to think that you were just a pretty face with zero common sense," you teased, nuzzling your nose against him. 

His husky chuckle vibrates against your skin, without warning he pushes you up against the wall and you immediately jumped onto his waist with your legs, you gasped as your back hit the cold surface, Eren kneading your butt cheeks as he was holding you up, his chest pressed on yours, warm breath mixes together, "ouch, did you just call me dumb?" you snickered, Eren tilts his head before he smirked, "maybe we could be equally dumb after i make you babble nonsense with my cock." His mouth devouring yours feverishly. Frantic gestures rid you and him of clothes on your body, while you helped Eren unbuckling his belt, his teeth grazes yours, tongues fighting for dominance with each other, he latched his lips onto yours, hungry for more taste, you started to sucking his bottom lip while Eren savor your taste, he pushes more for a deeper kiss, his hand fondling your clothed boob, then it slipped under them, as he found your stiffened nipple, you felt his smirk between your kiss, and a moan escaped from your lips, they're already swollen and you knew you needed air soon, but without your realizing, you already breath through his air through the kiss. 

You unhooked your bra while Eren pressed you harder against the wall, his cock was already free from his jeans and boxer, his beautiful tip was coated in precum, when you finally exposed your breasts in front of him, the animalistic side possessed him back, Eren kneads your breasts greedily causing you to mewl, shivers running down your spine, and you unconsciously grinds you drenched cunt against his waist, Eren cackled. 

"What a fucking whore, you looked like a cat in heat." 

You whined when his flat palm hit your cunt, he rubs the dampen clothed surface of your clit, Eren brought his mouth to your breast and started to circling his tongue on your nipple, making your back arched and you grinding to nothingness of his waist, "whore," he spat, a string of saliva bridge between your skin and his lips, "is this what you called a student president? i don't think so." Eren grip your throat and slowly adding pressure to your air circulation with his index finger and thumb, his other hand has been stroking his own cock for awhile, he uses his precum as lube and your eyes twinkled to the beautiful sight. 

Your lips parted, he let out a throaty groan to your ear just to tease you, "what if i just jack myself and leave you like this?" the menacing grin appeared on his face, your desperate look just pleased him even more, he groaned under his breath as he feeling himself twitching, and your drooling pussy just looking tastier than ever, Eren inhaled and faked a pout, "aw, what is it? don't you want to walk around with my cum dripping from your slutty hole aren't you? that is sinful my Love, won't it gonna stain your pride, Miss President?" 

You cursed under you breath, and another slap landed on your cunt, you threw your head back as Eren squeezed you against the wall, "nu uh, bad words," he growled, "what do you want, Y/N? Use your fucking mouth if you want something, did your parents never tell you?" another hard slap on your cunt made you gasp, you cried louder, and Eren shushed you while peppering kiss on your naked shoulder, "careful darling they might hear you from downstairs." 

He pecked your nose before he finally aims his cock to your entrance, stroking his tip to your dripping cunt, "what do you want, Y/N? say it." He repeated.

"Your cock!" you whimpered, "please pound me with your cock.... please Eren.. i just want it inside.."

He slammed into you, causing you to let out a sharp noise, "Oh, like this?" Eren felt your soft warm walls hugging him so tightly, as if you guys just fit so perfectly together, he held his hand on your tummy to prevent you from grinding your greedy self, letting your cunt clenching him by itself, "fuck you're so tight my Love," he groaned subtly. 

"E-eren please move..... i'm begging you...." you sobbed so pathetically. Eren moved his face close to yours and pinned your wrists above your head, "this will need an outcome don't you think?" he tilted his head, making you wept for his cock to move even more, suddenly an idea popped in his head, "I will move," he said, "i'll shoot my loads in you and then you'll be mine, i want you to want me so badly, i'm going to imprison you, and then.... just then...it'll be just you and me, always and forever," he dug his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent so they'll stay in his head, but he knew it won't, you're his own personal drug anyways, "promise, Darling?" Eren whispered against your skin.

You shivered under him, your eyes rolls at the back of your head, your pussy is aching with lust, so needy for his cock. You quickly nodded your head, "p-promise." 

Eren kissed your neck, sucking them briefly, leaving a visible mark on your soft skin, "good girl."

He pulled his cock from you, leaving just the tip, before then he impaled, filling you up with his length, he slide so easily onto your meat, your legs shivered as he endlessly pushed deeper inside you, and you could feel his tip kissed your cervix, Eren then started to moves at a quick pace, "you like that so much hm? taking my cock like a little slut," he said velvety, turning you on even more. He buried your moan into a deep kiss, his big arm scoot your hips close to him as he ramming his cock with no mercy onto your walls, his other hand still pinning your wrists, as if you're gonna escape from him. You started to rolling your hips on him, making him move more faster, you're both skin to skin, grinding onto each other desperately, "Eren....s'big...so deep..." you moaned. He continues to pound into you.

"Fuck, that's right baby say my name."

"Eren!"

After a minute he completely stopped, you opened your eyes and your face shows confusion, before you could ask any questions, he suddenly slams all of his length into you, causing you to yelp both in pain and pleasure, the lewd sound of skin slapping made you curl your toes, he pounding into you like there's no tomorrow, you threw your head back, your tongue lolling out from your lips, he slamming all his length in and out of you repeatedly until you're a shaking panting mess, an amused look plastered on his cocky face, and his hips didn't stop dipping on you, not letting you think straight or put up any fight, "come on, fucking take it like the cumslut you are."

You choked on your breath as the knot in your stomach getting tighter, "E-ren... hugs...hugs....?" you purred to him, he finally let go of your wrists and let your head fell against his shoulder, he increases his phase that you didn't know was possible, you warped your arms around him as he did to you, and you dragged your nails through his sweaty back, Eren started to whisper sweet nothings as he felt himself twitching, he slurred curses underneath his groaned, his veins popped as he gripped you tightly, his muscles flexes at each moves.

You didn't dare to question him when he said that he'll fill you up inside, because no matter what your answer is, he'll do it anyway. The sight of his hard rock abs and v lines sent you over the edge, “Eren i’m gonna cum—“

“cum with me, Darling.” 

You tasted the bitter tint in your tongue as you started seeing stars, you vision went black as Eren rides you to your orgasm while fluid started dripping down your thighs, your body is shaking uncontrollably, Eren let out a loud groan as he riding himself to his own high using your abused cunt, he shot his warm thick load onto your womb, making sure you take all of it, you buried your face on his neck, he slowly pulls out his cock and watches the white liquid oozing from your hole. Eren lifted up your chin, he cupped your cheek and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, mixing your pants together, “mine.” he moaned to your soft plump lips.

“yours."

⊱✿⊰

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sam Holland - Don't Tell

A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.

Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.

Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?

THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?

‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’

No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.

With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.

You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’

Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.

Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.

“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.

Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.

You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.

“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.

His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.

This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.

After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.

He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.

He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.

As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.

“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”

You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.

You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.

Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.

Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.

You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.

He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.

“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”

You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?

He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.

“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.

“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”

His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.

“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”

He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.

“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.

He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.

“Sam… please.”

He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.

“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”

You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.

You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.

Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.

“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”

This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…

“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.

He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.

Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.

“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.

He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.

Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”

Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.

Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.

“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.

He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.

They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.

“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.

His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.

“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”

You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.

His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.

“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.

He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.

“Yes, Sammy…”

Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.

Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“As fucking if,” you mumble.

“You ok?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.

“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”

He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.

“y/n!”

“What!” you bellow right back at him.

He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.

“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”

A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”

Shit.

This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.

“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.

You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.

[playboysaleen]

Love Malady.

Part 2.

Part 1.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings- cursing i think, violence.

___________

Present.

February 12th, 2021.

The night Buck got sick changed everyone's life. I waited hours for my phone to ring giving me the ‘okay homeboys fine.’ but Jaime walked into my room with tear-stained cheeks telling me Buck didn't make it.

Then a couple days later after Bucks death one of the guys found Adam dead with the same symptoms. Then Pedro, then Jackson, then Shelli, and it killed off almost all of my fathers gang. The disease spread like a wildfire. From our home town to the city, the state then just did this hopscotch move and expanded around the whole world.

The first year the doctors tried to keep it a secret but it flared so fast that society called it the ‘Sinister Ash’. There was no cure when the officials realized it was airborne, literally nothing could cure anyone. Some were lucky with similarities of a stomach virus and a mild headache, and there were the less fortunate. Headaches, stomach bugs, fever and cancer like symptoms. The strong can work through it but it was permanent. The rest who had it worst? Died off just like Buck and Adam.

“Why are you not eating?” My fathers voice rang me out of my thoughts with his thick Venezuela accent, I peeked at my father shrugging my shoulders. Grumbling, he focused his attention to Jaime as they went over the next move for their ‘purloins’. I grabbed my plate walking towards the kitchen running the hot water over the greatest plate, a thud sounded in the dining room which caused my brother's name to boom out my fathers mouth. I ran towards the other side of the table to grasp my brother's shaking body, cursing under my breath. I dialed 911.

“The ambulance is on the way, go Pa.” I instructed my father watching his face fall, he sighed placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Our time has come, I love you, my child.” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my forehead making his way out the back. I cooed into Jaime’s hair as I held him in my arms praying to the man above if he could not let this disease invade my brother's body. ________________________________________ “Did you at least get the girls number?” Jaime stated in disbelief when he woke up and saw the EMT worker reeling him into the ER. I chuckled, shaking my head playfully, pushing his shoulder.

“She was pretty..” I mumbled causing Jaime to widen his eyes pushing me back-

“I TOLD YOU!” he laughed out loud when the doctor walked in with a clipboard. A man around his 50’s with a look that masked his face of light, but we all knew he was trying to survive like the rest of us.

“Good afternoon, I am Doctor Nives.” The man spoke ever so gently but his beard gave me Cap vibes. I nodded my head looking at Jaime slipping my hand into his.

“So there’s news, I do not know how you both will take it but-“ he grabs the x rays placing them onto the screen that took up half of the wall next to Jaime. I watched as the deeper detailed body of my brother's chest caged clouds of red, black, and green.

“As you can see you have stage 2 of the Ashen, the red that covers this area here-” Dr. Nives circled the red that surrounded the upper left of my brother's chest.

 “Covers your heart, but after running the test I see your red cells are fighting the virus and it knocks more time for you.” A lump formed in my throat as the last 4 words flew out his mouth.

“Wait, what do you mean more time?” His eyes soften sending me a sympathetic look, Jaime gasped softly looking down at his hands.

“Well from the lab work it shows that you had 3 months, but at how good your cells are handling the virus you have 6 months to a year.” He finished taking his gloves off and applying hand sanitizer,

“Since you ma’am we’re around him can we run some lab work for your safety?” He asked looking between Jaime and I. I looked at my brother to see him nodding my way, turning to the man I nodded as he clasp his hands together. 

“Great. We can move you right next door so you can stay close to your brother.” Reassuring the both of us, I placed a kiss against his forehead following the doctor out. I took a seat onto the bed leaning against the back of the wall holding out my arm. 

For the last 4 years I’ve noticed a big change in my appearance that it actually scares me on the inside. First year, I lost a tremendous amount of weight, the extra weight turned into bulk in the places I always wished for.. huh..

 During the first year, the acne on my face disappeared in thin air. One minute I’m trying to clean the pores with three different facial cleansers, I go to bed, then the next I wake up and my face is so clear. I was changing for the better, yet the world was changing for the worst. That first year we lost almost 2 million lives, including a lot of the people around me. 

The second year is what sparked my curiosity of my body. One night, I was cooking dinner for Jaime and I, having a heavy debate with who is better at shooting the knife slid through my palm causing Jaime to spring off the island placing his hand against the deep gash trying his best to stop the bleeding. We knew we couldn’t head to the hospital for the sake of our fathers identity and the groups, so Jaime wrapped my hand the best he could and called it a night. I didn’t like his Tostadas anyways. Next day, I woke up to change my bandage. I opened the wrap to see no gash from the night before. Eyebrows furrowing together I question my own body for the first time in my life.. I can’t be immortal, that’s only in books. Then I noticed it. From small paper cuts to bruises- my wounds healed faster than any other person. From taking days for a wound to close, a couple minutes and it’s gone. Clean. Like it was never there to begin with. 

Last year, an incident had happened; Traumatizing to say. Snuck out with an old friend of mine, talking around the den says she’s been trying to make a move on me but me being me I waved them off knowing she’s not the type. Met up with her, got a couple drinks in headed back to her place, got a couple kisses in. The kissing escalated until this small beautiful voice that I heard years back echoed in my ears, jumping back, I stopped what we had and went home. Next day I received the news that she passed away AND GET THIS- JUST like Buck. Since then, her voice echoes in my ear. It’s been quiet the last month, I miss it though. 

A pinch brought me out of my thoughts when the nurse smiled my way explaining what the blood was for and Dr.Nives will be in shortly to give me the news. I snooped around heading to my brothers room when my name was said from the doctors a couple rooms down from me. 

“That can’t be possible, it’s only been 5 minutes and she’s literally clean from head to toe.” A nurse quarreled, a couple more murmurs were heard but Dr.Nives voice caught my attention-

“Let’s do Code A.” A gasp was heard from within their circle with multiple disagreements, confusion flashed my face until a ‘yes sir’ and footsteps were heard coming my way. I sprinted towards my room taking a seat sending Jaime a small text message. 

“Heya Y/n, do you mind if I give you some antibiotics just in case you are diagnosed with the Ashen?” The nurse requested which I nodded extending my arm watching her place the small plate next to me. I squinted my eyes examining the shot that contained a weird dark substance. 

“Why is the stuff black? Isn’t medicine a clear color for safety purposes?” I blurted out, watching the nurse grab the shot striking the needle into my vein. I grunted feeling the warm liquid enter my body, I huffed lightly leaning my head against the wall. Then, it hit me. 

“Wait, what if my test comes back negative? Why do I need antibiotics?” I glanced at the nurse feeling my heartbeat raise as the room began to shrink.

“What’s… what’s happening to me?.” I whispered watching the nurse draw more blood from the previous spot. I felt like I needed to throw up, once the nurse left I wobbled towards my brothers room next door, 

“Man bro we need to get some take out when we leave this place- Y/n? Are you okay?” Jaime rambled out then his face washed with concern as I stumbled onto his bed. 

“I don’t feel so good Brother..” I breathed out looking up to lock eyes with his own. He gasped, wrapping his arms around me, rocking me back and forth. 

“Y/n…” he whispered, watching my contacts with my brown eyes slowly drain into this grey/golden color. 

“What the hell happened?” He asked turning towards the door making sure no one came in.

“They gave me the Sinister Ash.. I can feel it in my chest. We have to go.” I grunted using all my strength to push myself off my brother's bed wobbling towards the door. A cough formed in my throat falling out my mouth, my hand flew to my mouth watching the black and red substance pool into my hands. 

“Y/N?” Jaime shouted running to my side, I grabbed him for support walking out the room. I felt the fire in my chest pass when a small burp lashed out my lips. Sighing deeply I stood up straight facing Jaime. 

“I… I feel better.” I mumbled opening the doors to the emergency waiting room. My body collided with another grabbing them instantly- I gasped at how quick my reflexes were, even Jaime’s eyes widened. 

“Why thank you, I’m so sorry I- Y/m? Why are you not in your room?” Doctor Nives questioned looking between the both of us, I felt warm liquid on the side of my mouth. Quickly wiping it, a fake smile formed on my face slowly stepping back towards the exit just a couple feet from us. 

“Sorry Doctor, but I think it’s time my brother and I head home- our father must be worried sick.” I bluffed, gripping my brother's wrist, giving him the signal.

 “Y/n. We know who you both are.”

_______________

Thank you for the wait<3

taglist- @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

[ozarkthedog]

Safe Keeping: Part 4

Summary: Ransom needs you to hold onto his Pinky Ring.

Pairings: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: NonCon, Abuse of Power, Sexual Assault, Swearing, Asphyxiation, NonCon Drug Use, Ransom being an asshole. You have been warned.

Word Count: 2.9k+

Authors Note: This is the end my friends! 

I had no idea when I started this “one shot”, that it’d turn into a 4 Part fic. I am proud of myself. I hope that everyone who reads this series enjoys it as much as I did.💙

No Beta, all fucks up are my own.

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and comments are encouraged!

Safe Keeping: Part 1 // Safe Keeping: Part 2 // Safe Keeping: Part 3

Knowing you can’t be gone for too long; you splash cold water on your face. Your eyes were red and your face pale. Taking a bated breath, you made yourself leave the bathroom. Maybe there was still a way out? Your mind couldn’t come up with anything. You were at a loss.

Just as you were about to leave you remembered the ring. Bending down to pick it up, you clenched it in your fist. You’d never look at gold rings the same way again.

Upon leaving the bathroom, you found Fran in the foyer putting on her coat. “Where are you going?” you ask her. Your anxiety spiking.

She sent you a puzzled look, “Harlan has his weekly meet up at the diner. Did you forget?”

You bite your lip, heart thumping harder in your chest. You were going to have to be alone with him. That thought terrified you.

You tried to not shake from fear, you clasping your hands together. You mentioned to Fran that you could take Harlan instead. Praying she would just let you take him.

“Don’t you still have Harlan’s manuscripts to organize?” she asked, as she buttoned up her coat. You shuffled on your feet; you forgot the rest of your tasks after you saw the murderous look on Ransom’s face when you dropped his ring.

You clenched your jaw, “Oh yeah, right.”

Sending you a smile as she opened the door, “Hugh is still here…somewhere. You might have to make him dinner. We will be home in a few hours.”

The door shut, along with the hope that you’d get out of this unscathed. Swallowing down your fear, you looked around the foyer for any sign of Ransom. The house was silent. You felt eyes on you.

You decided to grab your cell phone from your coat pocket by the door. Feeling a little more comfortable with it in your grasp, you make your way to the kitchen. You also felt safer being surrounded by sharp utensils, should you need one.

Turning the corner were stopped short by a thick mass of muscle.

Ransom.

You ricocheted off of his body, tumbling backwards. Your phone and his ring slipped from your hands as you landed on your ass.

“Seems like you have a bad habit of dropping things.” He tone was deadly.

You quickly reached to get your phone but Ransom was faster and kicked it across the foyer. He picked his ring up and slid it back on his pinky.

He reached down to grab you but you scrambled away on hands and knees, the harsh floor already leaving bruises. You get your footing before he grabs you and you run as fast as you can to the kitchen.

“You’re only making this worse on yourself.” He yells out heavy on your heels.

Your body felt electrified as you dove for the draw that contained the large carving knife. Just as you get the draw open, Ransom slams against your body closing the draw.

Pain ignites in your hips as Ransom smothers your body into the marble counter top. Adrenaline surges making you fight. You throw an elbow back and up, barely clocking Ransom’s chin, but he stutters, not expecting it.

He grabs your hair in his left hand and painfully angles your head to the side. “You little bitch.” He spits out. You yelp at the sting coming from your scalp. Afraid he’s going to rip it out, you bring your heel down into his instep, trying all the ways you were taught. He wasn’t fazed by your futile attempt and spun you around to face him.

“I warned you and yet, you still couldn’t follow my simple order of keeping my ring in your cunt.” He spat out and slapped you across the face. The impact landed solid as his other hand was still wrapped in your hair. Dizziness took over, your eyes having a hard time focusing as your cheek felt on fire.

Too dazed to realize his actions, you slumped forward as he tied your wrists up behind your back with one of his expensive scarves. You shook your head, coming to when your knees collided with the kitchen floor. You heard a belt buckle clink.

Ransom fisted his already hard cock out from his pants, smacking you in the face with the appendage.

You tried to shift your weight to the side but his big legs were blocking your way, “Uh uh, you’re not going anywhere.” He crowded your kneeling frame into the wall below the counter top as you clamped your mouth shut.

He laughed out, eyes brightening at your attempts at stopping him, “You think that’s going to stop me? You’re so stupid.”

You lips quivered under the pressure you were putting them. Tears stung your eyes as he wiped his cockhead across your lips smearing pre-cum all over. He enjoyed watching you suffer.

“Ok, that’s enough” he says as he grabbed the sides of your face and slammed your head against the wall. The flash of white pain to the back of your skull made you cry out, easily allowing Ransom to thrust into your mouth.

You gag around his length as it hits the back of your throat. As if he could sense your thoughts of biting him, he stuck a thumb into your mouth. His thumb pulled your jaw down all the way, giving him more access and sufficiently keeping you in place. His finger nails dug into your skin making you weep.

Pulling out all the way he watched you suck in a broken breath. It made him all that much harder. His cock found its way back to your throat, bottoming out, feeling you heave around his aching member.

He sped up giving your throat quick harsh thrusts that made your eyes water. Your groans were muffled by his cock as he fucked your head into the wall behind you.

“Ah, fuck. I love seeing you on your knees.”

Thrust, “Right.”

Thrust, “Where.”

Thrust, “You.”

Thrust, “Belong.” He growled out the last word sending chills up your spine.

Your jaw ached at the pressure he was holding it down with, and your lips were puffy from the abuse.

He shoved his length into your mouth one more time but held it, cutting off your air with his cock. You tried to shake him but his hold on you was firm. He won’t let you go until he wants to. He feels your jaw trying to shut, but it barely moves with his hand holding it open. His face was dark and wild. Hard lines etched on his forehead.

You choke harder around his cock, throat convulsing frantically trying to gasp for air. He watches with pleasure as your face turns red, wanting so badly to breath. You pull madly at the scarf around your wrists and shake your shoulders trying to get some air.

Blood rushes to your head making the pain in your skull throb.

A deep voice cuts through the fog, “Look at me.”

Your watery eyes meet his even though they were unfocused from lack of air, “See the spots yet? That’s when the real fun beings”. If you weren’t on the verge of passing out his tone would’ve made you scream.

Drool slipped down your chin making a mess on the front of your dress. Just as the spots he was talking about started to pepper your vision he dragged his cock from your mouth.

You collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. Your lungs burned as you sucked in precious air, coughing after each breath, spit coated your throat with a thick film.

Just as you caught your breath you feel Ransom crouch over you, a warm hand rubs over your head, almost soothing. You shut your eyes and sighed out.

“Ready for Round 2?” It wasn’t a question.

Ransom grabbed at the base of your hairline and pulled you up on your feet. You wobbled a bit but his hands caught your hip and led you over to the island. Your face met the cold counter top as he bent you over it with a firm hand to your back.

Your toes barely grazed the floor as the marble dug into your hips, the bruises would last a while. He pushed your dress up over your ass and grabbed handfuls of each globe. He lifted his hand, smacking your ass then squeezed the reddened cheeks.

The abuse stopped for a beat, as he looked over your pussy. “Did you fucking clean yourself up even though I told you not to?” he bellowed out at you.

You nodded your head, ashamed that you even thought you could get away with it. He “tsked” at you, shaking his head. “What a stupid girl you are. Maybe this’ll teach you to follow my fucking orders next time.”

 Strong hands gripped your hairline, forcing your head back at an awkward angle. You cry out as your neck makes a weird popping sound under the duress. Ransom uses that moment to shove his pinky ring into your mouth.

The ring hits the back of your tongue making you gag at the unusual object. He fastens one hand over your mouth as the other smacks down suddenly on your ass.  

“When I tell you to do something, you better follow through or else I will have your ass until you manage to do your fucking job right.” He threatens you as he brings his hand down again with a harsh smack.

His large hand swatted you forcefully on the ass. Over and over. The pain made you wither in place, struggling to get away as he laid blow after blow on your ass, giving you no reprieve. The ring bounced around in your mouth, clinking against your teeth. The metal leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth.

You cried out as he bruised and blistered your ass. He stopped after 10 excruciating blows.

Grabbing at your cheeks with a hard grasp, he shoved his fingers in your mouth. His fingers tickled the back of your throat, you whined out thinking he’d make you swallow it. You gagged brutally around his digits as he played with his ring on your tongue. “Clean your whore juices off of it.” After another few ruthless thrusts, he dragged his ring from your mouth.

He draped himself over you, pushing you hard into the marble. He licked a line up the side of your neck making you cringe and whine out.

His lips brushed your ear with a hushed but evil tone, “I’m going to wreak this cunt and you’re going to thank me after.”

You cry out at his words trying to shake your arms free again. The knot was tight, cutting off your circulation. You wouldn’t be surprised if your hands turned purple by the end of this nightmare.

You stiffened when you felt his large cock head swipe through your folds. They were soaked with your unwanted slick. His head fell to your shoulder, relishing in the way your pussy rubbed against his dick. He pulls back and spits lewdly on your pussy. The act made you dry heave.

He gritted through his teeth, “Say please.”

Shaking your head, you cry out in frustration. “Come on, be a good whore and say it.” He accents his statement with a sharp smack to your ass.

You yelp and let your forehead fall to the marble, whimpering out in submission, “Please.”

“Please. What?”

You swallow before spitting out, “Please, Hugh.”

He smiles into your neck before shoving his legs between yours, lining up and shoving his cock deep inside your pussy. He hits your cervix on the first thrust, filling you up completely. You scream out in pain at the stretch and the intrusion.

He drags his cock out and pushes back into your tight hole with a firm thrust. He groans out at your tightness. Your hot cunt swirls around his cock, making him rut into you with fervor. Another deep thrust hits your cervix making you cry out.

Ransom stands up, allowing your crushed frame to finally take a full breath. He grabs your hips and pulls you to meet his thrusts. Your slick trickles down your thighs and makes lewd sounds as he takes you from behind.

You cry out at every thrust; the pain never ceases until Ransom snakes his hand under you finding your clit. You tense up at the feeling, not wanting to cum from the abuse he forces on your body.

His fingers glide around your clit, flicking and pulling on it as your cries turn to mewls. Shaking your head, you will yourself to not cum for him.  

“Don’t hold back from me, bitch. I know you want to come.” You cry out as he smacks your clit hard. The pain shocks you making your pussy convulse around him. He hits your clit again and again forcing you to cum on his cock.

His thrusts quicken as he feels you tense up. Your body going rigged with pleasure as he lands another smack to your swollen clit making you hit your peak. Your body tingles and spasms around his cock as you cum with a shout.

“There you go. Good Girl.” He grunts out chasing his own orgasm.

Ransom pounds into you hard. Groaning with every pull of his cock, his balls slap against your clit as he feels your pussy slicken up more from your orgasm. He drapes his body over yours pushing the air out of your lungs, making it hard to breath again as he fucks into you deeper and deeper.

He bites at your earlobe before gritting though his teeth, “I’m gunna cum.”

Your eyes go wide. All the blood rushes from your face. He can’t.

Trying to get him to stop, you shout, “Hugh, please, no! I’m not on birth control!”

He growls out, hips starting to stutter, “You think I fucking care.” With that he shoves the side of your face against the counter with one hand. His palm is sweaty on your face, crush you down on the marble.

You cry out as you feel him come inside you with a loud groan. His grip on your hip and face tightens as his body goes rigged. His seed floods your pussy, coating every inch. Coming down from his high, he moves his hips in and out watching as he fucks his seed into your cunt.

“Damn, what a sight.” He say as he pulls his cock out of you and steps back. Some of his seed oozes out of you dripping down your legs. He unties your wrists and slides you off the counter top.

Your back to kneeling on the floor, completely wreaked. Every part of you is sore and aching. You sniffle as Ransom stands over you, “Do you job. Clean me up.”

You despise him.

He can sense your hatred and smirks down at you, “I’m waiting.”

Taking him in your mouth, you lick him clean. The mixture of your fluids hits your tongue, making you cringe. Sour, salty and musky. You swallow it down in a hurry trying not to vomit.

Ransom tucks himself back into his pants and stands there waiting for you to get up.

You push your dress down to cover yourself, not that it matters.

He gets a glass of water and hands it to you. You take it in confusion, sending him a look as he takes a pill out of his pocket. “Take this.”

“What is it?” You ask, not trusting him as you look the pill over in your hand.

The look he shoots you is deadly. “Do what I say.”, His tone heavy with command.

You put the glass down and shove the pill back in his hand, “No. I don’t know what it is. I’m not taking it.”

He shakes his head, “You fucking stupid bitch.”

He lunges at you, taking you in a headlock. He pried your mouth open and dropped the pill in. Clamping your mouth shut with his hand. His threat is simple, “Swallow the god damn pill.”

You try to shake him off again, but it was pointless. You whimper as you swallow the pill, horrified at what you just did.

He lets you go with a shove. Turning to face him you see the irritation painted on his face. “Why can’t you just follow simple directions?” He sighs out at you, “It was a Plan B pill. I certainly don’t want to knock you up.”

You slump to the floor feeling lightheaded. What had you done to incur his wrath?

Standing over you with hands on his hips, full of arrogance, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

You wrack your brain, other than “fuck you” or couldn’t imagine what he wanted you to-

You remembered now. Your face full of anger. “Ah ah, say it nicely.” As he raises his hand up in warning.

Huffing out, you take a deep breath calming yourself down, “Thank you, Hugh.”

Smiling at your submission, “You’re welcome.”

He points with disdain to your pitiful form on the floor and says “Clean this place up, it’s a mess.”

As he walks out of the room, he reminds you, “Remember, you still have to organize Harlan’s manuscripts.”

You watch him leave with a spring in his step. Not sure if this was a one time thing, or if this was the start to a whole new life working for The Thrombeys.

[carrotycake]

the world put you in front of me (and we aligned)

A chance encounter at an Ishgardian dance, and Ysayle finds herself falling in love all over again.

4.1k words | Rated M | FFXIV | Estinien/Ysayle pairing | AO3

*

It’s funny, Ysayle thinks. She has spent so much of her life fighting and despising everything the nation of Ishgard stood for, that to be standing here, on the balcony of one of Ishgard’s largest manors, feels a tad hypocritical. For the first time, she appreciates the beauty of the land stretching out in front of her, the late-night sunset (which is as close to a summer as Coerthas gets) casting orange and pink hues across the grey pointed spires of the city itself. She rests her arms on the balustrade, observing the chatter of guests down below. It is oddly peaceful, despite her protestations at being invited in the first place. And still bitterly cold, of course, despite it being summer. Ysayle, shivering, rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm herself up; she had left her coat inside and the thin fabric of her gown was not nearly enough to ward off the freezing night air.

She sighs, her breath exhaling into a cloud of mist in front of her. Had she not gone by the name ‘Iceheart’ for years, revered by her heretic followers? She had survived many harsh Coerthas winters, only for her to shiver now at the merest hint of a breeze. Admittedly, she had found the warmth of the ballroom inside to be a little much, packed as it was with nobles, commoners, and politicians alike. The fresh air, cold as it was, was extremely welcome.

It was Aymeric, of course, that was behind the ball, and her invite to it – the Warrior of Light’s dear friend, and perhaps the most influential man in the city. Endlessly charming, he had persuaded her that it was an olive branch, of sorts, to mend the rifts between heretics and men. And – well, she had wanted to make amends. Lead those who walked after, and all that.

“Out here enjoying the festivities, I see?”

A familiar voice drags her from her thoughts, and she turns to see the tall, lithe body of Estinien crouching carefully on the gables above the double doors leading back into the ballroom. She frowns, irritated that he had caught her unawares in a moment of introspection.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugs, getting to his feet and gracefully hopping onto the ground beside her; ever the dragoon, she notes. He’s not in the armour he wore the last time they had seen each other, before Azys Lla. Like Ysayle, he is dressed in an approximation of Ishgardian formal wear, his long white hair tied in a loose half-ponytail. He’s handsome, her mind helpfully supplies, and she wills the thought away before it becomes trouble.

“Long enough,” he replies, leaning on the railing a fulm or two away from her, his gaze distant. He frowns. “Formal…balls aren’t really my thing. I needed some air. And – a break from drunk nobles trying to get me to dance with their offspring.”

Ysayle chuckles, despite herself. “I must admit, I did not recognise you at first. You clean up well, when you’re not head to toe in dragon blood.”

He bows his head. If Ysayle is not mistaken, she sees the hint of a blush colour his pale cheeks.

“Well,” he mutters, “You are the opposite, Iceheart. I believe there was not a soul in that room that did not notice you upon entering.”

She raises an eyebrow. “In a good way, or a bad way? Pray, do elaborate.”

Estinien splutters for a second. “Well, I – It is a nice dress. That is all I meant. No doubt the haberdashers will be inundated with requests for similar styles by tomorrow morning.”

A slightly backhanded compliment, but a compliment, nonetheless. “Damned by faint praise, I see.”

She turns to look back towards the sunset. “It is actually one of Tataru’s creations, so they’ll have a hard time prying the pattern from her little hands.”

Tataru had taken over creative control of this project, because formal dances were certainly not Ysayle’s area of expertise, and the Lalafell had been only too happy to help out. The light, drapey cerulean fabric of the dress belied the traditional Ishgardian style, but Ysayle had never cared much for tradition anyway. It was pinned and tucked beautifully, with embroidered details on the neckline and hem. It even – scandalously – showed off a little cleavage, something Ysayle wasn’t necessarily unhappy with.

They stand like that together, a little distance apart, for a few minutes; enjoying the last rays of the sun in what appears to be a companionable silence. How many times had they done this, a mere few months ago? Accompanied by Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, of course, but together nonetheless. Sunsets always seemed even more spectacular when seen on islands beyond the clouds. Ysayle had never thought to see such beauty again in her lifetime; she had expected to die on Azys Lla, one last act of service as Shiva.

The gods, as it happened, must have had other plans, as she’d fallen from that great height and landed in the middle of a Vanu Vanu outpost; the last remnants of Shiva’s protection shielding her from further harm in the fall. Word had gotten back to Camp Cloudtop of her survival, and she had eventually woken in the infirmary in the centre of Ishgard. Mere days after her own discharge, and Estinien was staying there under the very same care as she had.

She had avoided visiting, though, despite Alphinaud’s almost-insistence that she do so. She had never thought this far ahead in life; now there was peace, real peace, and her old role was no longer needed. Lord Aymeric, introduced through the Warrior of Light, had requested her help in rehabilitating the remaining heretics and repairing the city in exchange for a pardon for her crimes, and she was not about to turn down such an offer. The Scions had allies, and she herself was still blessed with Hydaelyn’s gift, so she might as well make herself useful.

In quieter moments, however, her mind always drifted back to Estinien. She admitted to being a little disappointed when he disappeared from Ishgard without a trace after his recuperation; the small, naïve girl within her longed to believe that they could have been…something, more than just acquaintances passing in the night.

“You are deep in thought, my lady,” he says, a statement more than a question. Ever with the formalities, even when they were at each other’s throats with opposite ideals.

She shakes her head. “Just reminiscing. My life has taken on a trajectory I could not have anticipated before I had met you and your allies. I have much to be grateful for.”

“I admit, I was – glad to hear you had lived. My own fortunes were, you could say, not so lucky after our victory on Azys Lla. I did not hear about – you – until after I had awoken in the infirmary.” Estinien looked – embarrassed, perhaps? Ysayle could not tell, in the dim light of the evening.

“I-” He falters, swallowing. “I wanted to apologise. For things I have said. Knowing now the full truth of the war betwixt man and dragon, I – I said some unkind things. ‘Twas not your fault that I was ignorant.”

Ysayle takes a moment to think on his words. They were not the people they once were, after all. The truth, she thinks, has changed them both. She looks at him, then – he does not shy away from her eye contact – and nods.

“Apology accepted. For what it’s worth, I have a great deal to apologise for as well. My conscience is not clear, by any means.”

Estinien cracks a small smile. (She tries not to think that a smile suits him. It really does.)

“Aye, that is true.”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted by a change of music from the ballroom – a slightly faster tune, reminiscent of folk tunes Ysayle heard as a child at communal dances in Falcon’s Nest. It was clearly designed to bring more couples onto the dance floor, and was so far having the intended effect. Ysayle could see the Warrior of Light, dressed in finery (another of Tataru’s creations), swinging Alphinaud a little too fast round in circles on the dancefloor. Aymeric could be seen, too, dancing politely with Hilda; commoners and nobles alike danced merrily to the band’s music. If this was their new republic, Ysayle thinks, then she quite likes it.

It is this train of thought that compels Ysayle with more bravado than she has; not thinking about where it might lead, she turns to her brooding companion.

“Well, when all is said and done-” She holds out a hand to Estinien, “Care for a dance?”

His brow furrows. “I’ve never- I mean. Forgive me, Ysayle. I’m not much of a dancer.”

She smiles lightly. “Neither am I. But we are alone, for the time being. Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” he frowns, still a tad reluctant, but he takes her outstretched hand regardless and pulls her close and Ysayle thinks, oh.

Oh no.

It has been a long time since she has been this close, physically, with anyone, and she wonders if Estinien can feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest. They stumble at first, taking a few attempts to figure out the rhythm of the song versus the clumsiness of their feet, but eventually settle into a gentle waltz.

Ysayle is acutely aware of the position of Estinien’s hand on the small of her back; its warmth – and he is so warm – practically burning through her dress. They are closer than they need to be, exactly, for the formality of ballroom dance, but Ysayle finds that she does not mind. He is avoiding her eyes now (deliberately, she thinks), so she instead concentrates on the position of her hand on his shoulder, her other hand clasped tightly in his as they circle aimlessly together across the balcony.

“So,” he begins, uncertainly, once they’d found their rhythm, “Where did you learn to dance, then? You seem to have more of a head for it than I.”

Ysayle smiles. “A little, as a child. And we had plenty of impromptu dances when I was-” When I was with the heretics¸ she would have said. Another time, in another life. Estinien, evidently noticing her hesitation, raises an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I simply cannot imagine a band of heretics indulging in such trivial things as dances whilst plotting the fall of Ishgard.”

“You are a fool, then, if you believe that we did nothing but sit around and curse the Holy See whilst getting drunk on dragon’s blood,” Ysayle scowls, swinging Estinien round a little more forcibly than she had intended. He stumbles, a little, before righting himself.

“I did not give much thought to the heretics unless they were forcibly attacking the city,” Estinien says, his tone serious, but the quiet glint in his eyes relaying a certain kind of humour. Ysayle rolls her eyes. He always knew exactly how to push her buttons to get her riled up when they were travelling together, and it seems not much has changed.

“I’ll have you know,” she huffs, “Lord Aymeric himself requested my assistance in restoring the city-”

“To avoid a jail sentence, yes,” Estinien has an eyebrow raised, smirking. He positions his arms just so, allowing her to dip backwards as part of the dance. His arms are secure, holding her in place perfectly before swooping her back up. They continue their circles together, Estinien chuckling at Ysayle’s irritation.

“For someone of little skill, you have picked up this dance remarkably fast,” she comments, her face flushed – from the exertion of the dance, or from Estinien’s attention, she was yet unsure.

“I’m a fast learner,” he says, and was it her imagination or was he a little closer to her than before? He stares resolutely ahead, his expression faintly jovial, and Ysayle tries not think about how good his arms felt holding her up.

The upbeat song currently playing comes to a close and, after a brief interlude, a new one starts up, slower than the previous one. Adjusting their pace accordingly, she thinks back a few months to their expedition together. Gods, she had not cared for the dragoon upon first meeting him. He was narrow-minded, and brash, and had been all-too willing to fight and kill the very creatures they were trying to make their allies without a second thought.

And yet – she had grown to like him, over those many days travelling. At first, the attraction had been purely physical. He was handsome, after all, and Ysayle had caught a peek of him removing his armour to see chiselled muscles and a wiry frame; something inside of her had fluttered, momentarily, when he had removed his helmet in front of her for the first time, revealing uncharacteristically soft, fair hair and deep-set blue eyes.

“Don’t get used to this,” he’d muttered, noticing her looking at him. “I can’t eat your soup with a helmet on.”

She’d blushed, then, almost as much as she was surely blushing now.

Even with Estinien’s growing connection to the Eye of Nidhogg – she’d felt it, creeping, growing, gnawing at him even as they travelled together – and his insistence that killing the wyrm was the best solution, she had caught glimpses of a kinder man underneath his harsh determination. Alphinaud had seen it too, as had the Warrior of Light. It endeared him to her, whether she wanted it to or not. And in the long weeks that had followed her miraculous survival, there had been much time for her to dwell on these thoughts.

Halone’s tits, she was in it now, wasn’t she?

It occurs to Ysayle, just then, that the slow pace of the current song meant that their little, secluded waltz had become less of a dance and more just – swaying gently, endlessly circling, not really paying attention to any kind of rhythm. The whole world, for a second, felt like it was just the two of them, the stars aligning to bring them together in a single moment.

“Your hands are cold,” Estinien murmurs, and she forgets for a moment that she still had one of his hands in hers. Usually a woman of great eloquence, she suddenly finds she is tongue-tied, she cannot speak-

“Y-yes, well. Perhaps it is you that is warm,” she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat as he brings her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. He almost seems surprised at his own boldness, his eyes crinkling in a rare bit of humour at her response.

“Mayhap,” he replies. The night is almost completely upon them now, the only light illuminating their faces being the candlelight from the outside lanterns and the ballroom itself. Their eyes meet, Estinien’s expression unusually soft.

Ysayle is not sure who makes the first move but suddenly his lips are on hers, her arms snaking around his neck, his hands on her hips, guiding them in a new kind of dance. In the end, it does not matter, because she is kissing him, and it is suddenly all she can think about. How long had she thought of this moment? How long had she imagined what Estinien’s kiss would feel like? It was, in truth, longer than she would care to admit.

He kisses with the air of someone who does not have a huge amount of practice, but makes up for whatever experience he lacks with strong, guiding hands; Ysayle soon finds herself pressed up against the iron railings of the balcony, the coldness of the metal on her back in sharp contrast to Estinien’s warm embrace. She feels goosebumps on Estinien’s neck where she is touching him; – yes, her hands are always cold, so cold – she moves a hand round to his lapel, using it to anchor herself to him and pull him closer, ever closer.

They break apart to catch their breath, and she looks up at his face, flushed as red as she’d ever seen it, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you, perchance, have a residence in Ishgard, Ysayle?” he breathes, still so close to her. Ysayle knows where this is going, knows where this might end up. And she wants it, Halone knows she does.

“That depends,” she says, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. Estinien exhales, almost impatient.

“On?”

Ysayle pulls away, just enough to see his face fully. “Is this…something you want? Truly?” Am I someone you want? She doesn’t say it, but the words settle between them anyway.

He frowns, a trademark scowl, and grasps the hand currently playing with his hair.

“It is. I am not one to deliver undue suffering to a soul such as yourself. And-” He looks flustered, struggling to articulate, “-this is something I have thought about often. In times of difficulty. The possibility of…something more.”

Oh.

“Well then,” she murmurs, his answer more than satisfactory, “In that case, I have a small apartment in the lower wards of the city.”

“I would very much like to get out of here,” Estinien replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek, another along her jawline. She lets her nails scratch the back of his head, just a little, privately enjoying the effect it seems to have on him.

“If you would permit me, my lady-” He breaks away suddenly, a spark of mischief in his eyes, and scoops her up bridal-style. She splutters, wriggling.

“What are you doing?!”

He peers over the edge of the balcony cautiously. “Avoiding any odd stares we might receive from my good friend’s guests. Now, hold still.”

Before Ysayle has any chance to protest, Estinien bends his knees and leaps, and Ysayle’s heart is rushing, the wind howling in her ears momentarily, and it is not far off what a dragon in flight feels like-

He lands, gracefully, some distance away from the mansion, and places her back on her feet with an uncharacteristic amount of care.

Hand in hand, she leads him through the lamp-lit streets, following well-worn paths to the lower area of Ishgard. More than once he catches her against a wall in a bruising kiss, so the walk takes considerably longer than it normally might on one’s own, but Ysayle is too busy wrapped up in Estinien’s arms to care.

The night is fully upon them now, so upon reaching Ysayle’s apartment there is a small amount of stumbling in the dark until she manages to find a lantern. Estinien, helpful as ever, is predictably distracting as she reaches for a pack of matches, hindered by his hands on her waist as he caresses her from behind.

“You know a lantern isn’t really necessary,” he growls, apparently eager. She rolls her eyes – realises too late that it was a gesture he could not see – and bats him away, momentarily.

“I don’t know about you,” she retorts, “But I like to see my lovers when I’m in bed with them.” She manages to strike a small flame into the lantern, illuminating them both in dim, soft candlelight.

Estinien raises an eyebrow, tailing after her as she leads him to the bedroom. “And has the Lady Iceheart had many lovers, in the past?”

She places the lantern down on the chest of drawers with a thunk. “A few. Borne out of convenience, mostly. Some out of love. All enjoyable, for the most part.”

It might have been a cold way of looking at it, but her time leading the heretics had come with its perks, namely that there was no shortage of people interested in her and her powers. She would never have dared manipulate anyone into sex or abuse her power in any way, but she had not been without company, had she so wanted it.  

“And what about the famed Azure Dragoon?” she says, her tone a little more defensive than she had intended, “I’m sure the position comes with its own amount of attention.”

“Some,” he concedes, “But for the most part, I preferred to spend my free time training. A few dalliances, here and there. Nothing serious.”

Ysayle nods. Fair enough, she thinks. You’d have to be out of your mind if you actually wanted to sleep with that grouchy, stubborn arse of a dragoon anyway. Yet here she was.

“Well then,” she says, instead, “I still wish for your company tonight, if you’ll have me.”

Estinien is already against her, capturing her mouth in his and lifting her – a little roughly, not that she minds – onto the bed. “I was hoping we would get to that eventually,” he grins, wickedly.

“You’re an arse,” she replies, but there is no heart in the insult, not really. There’s not much time for thinking, after that, and she is happy to lose herself in Estinien’s arms for the time being.

Ysayle wakes from what might have been the most restful night’s sleep she’s had in some time. She casts a sleepy glance over her small apartment; the curtains had been left half-drawn the night previously, and the morning light was casting a bright glare across her bed, and the sleeping souls that lay within.

Ah, right.

Estinien is still sound asleep next to her; they must have moved apart in slumber during the night, but she distinctly remembers falling asleep in his arms. For the first time, she sees him and all of his scars in full daylight, and fights the urge to trace them gently with her fingertips. She settles for brushing his bangs out of his eyes; he is so peaceful in sleep, she thinks, his usual furrowed brow replaced with one of general content.

There are bruises too, newer ones, scattering across his neck and chest. Ysayle blushes, a little, because she knows that she is the one who put them there, and that there are similar marks on her own body. They will be covered with clothes, eventually, but for now they sit as a reminder of newfound passions and a lover she can’t quite forget.

His eyes flutter open, and an immediate scowl crosses his face as he adjusts to the bright light streaming in.

“Gods, do you always wake this early? To this kind of racket?” His voice is raspy with sleep, his long hair a little dishevelled.

She throws him a mock-frown. “Usually I remember to shut the curtains. I might have been…a little distracted last night.” She runs a finger along his jaw, lifting his chin so that she could lean and kiss him. He leans into her touch, a different kind of reverence.

“Ah,” he says, softly, when she pulls away, “Yes, that would make sense.”

Their clothes, haphazardly rumpled on a nearby chair would also suggest a measure of distraction. They had only paused long enough last night for Estinien to peel off Ysayle’s dress and his own clothes and place them somewhere off of the ground before continuing his ministrations.

“I don’t have anywhere to be today,” she says, by way of invitation, unsure as to how her overture would be received now that it was morning. Morning, bringing with it clarity, and the uncertain light of day. Estinien may not want anything more than whatever the previous night had been.

To his credit, though, Estinien reaches for her and brushes a few strands of silver hair behind her ear.

“Me neither,” he says, and Ysayle’s heart thuds in relief, “What activities have you planned? Lunch out, mayhap?”

This elicits a laugh from her, despite herself.

“Mm,” she smiles, “Maybe later. For now, I want you all to myself.”

Estinien responds in kind, using his advantage of strength and centre of balance to hold her firmly by the waist and flip her over, laying on her back.

“That can be arranged.”

His eyes are dark with want, and Ysayle finds that it pleases her greatly to be able to obtain this kind of reaction from him. She wants – well, she wants Estinien. All of him. Now. Obviously.

What she really wants, though, is Estinien for longer. Knowing that they might have something to come back to, a home found in each other’s hearts – the thought terrifies her, as it wasn’t something easily articulated to her stoic lover. Still, she thinks, perhaps in time.

For now, she has the man she wants in her bed, and that is enough.

[yououui]

haunted

KuroFai Week Day 4 - haunting

He’s back in that place. The pit at the base of the tower. Not knowing what else to do, Fai climbs.

His fingernails get ripped away against cold, unrelenting stone, his blood staining it in streaks as he tries desperately to hold on as he falls. There’s something in the back of his mind as he begins to climb again that tells him that this can’t be—he’s an adult, not a child, wearing his Celesian clothes. He shouldn’t be here, so how—?

Fai pays the voice no attention and instead tries to climb again. It’s the only choice he has.

He falls so hard the wind is knocked out of his lungs and he’s left dazed for a few moments. When he finally can catch a full breath, he rolls onto his side to stand up, but his hand brushing against a cold cheek stops him. Had that body always been there? The one with auburn hair and emerald eyes that have gone dull, the face with round cheeks and skin ashy from death?

Fai yanks back hard enough that he falls again. It’s Sakura lying in front of him, stabbed through the middle and still bleeding. His breath coming in trembling gasps, he reaches out for her again. She can’t be here, what sin could she have committed to warrant such a fate? Who would have killed—?

But then he sees his hands and now they’re coated in hot and fresh blood that is not his own. Beside him lies Syaoran’s sword, the blade stained.

“No…” He whispers, and though he is an adult, he once again feels like a child. “Sakura, I didn’t mean—”

Something above distracts him. Someone else has just been thrown into the pit and their body is falling the long way to the ground. He shuts his eyes when it lands; he should be used to the wet thud a body makes when it hits, but it still rattles him. After a moment, he opens his eyes and peers over at the new body.

With morbid curiosity, Fai inches closer to get a look at who has joined him. He stops when the winter sun gleams on a long, silver blade, his eyes traveling up to a large hand holding the hilt, up the arm and to—

It’s Kurogane lying before him, blood spreading slowly from under his cracked skull. Fai falls beside the man, his lungs full of ice and his heart stopped, and reaches out to him with a trembling hand. He touches Kurogane’s cheek—it’s cold, but that’s not right, Kurogane should be warm, he’s always been so warm. The cold doesn’t suit him.

Fai turns Kurogane’s head gently towards him, expects those eyes to open and that low voice to grumble at him as he fearfully whispers, “Kuro… sama…?”

And then, he wakes. He wakes with a gasp and cold sweat along his hairline and sits up to look around frantically. He’s not in the pit—he’s in Infinity, waiting for the sun to rise so they can leave this world and travel to Celes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he couldn’t even remember lying down. With all that happened before, he didn’t think he could sleep.

Before Fai’s hazy mind can process anything else, the door opens and silhouetted by the light from the hall is Kurogane. Fai sighs when he sees him, though he isn’t sure if it’s from annoyance at the intrusion during such a vulnerable moment or relief that the man is not dead.

“...What?” Fai asks after remembering how things are supposed to be. The usual bitter edge is missing from his tone, though.

Kurogane shifts his weight to one foot, his hand still on the doorknob. “Sorry,” He says gruffly, looking away. “Just thought I heard…”

Fai swallows. He isn’t one to talk in his sleep—he buried his face in his pillow to ensure no noises were heard, but had he…?

Kuro-sama…?

Fai stands. “You should get some rest, Kurogane,” He says, making sure to put emphasis on Kurogane’s name. He looks out the window at the moon hung in the sky, illuminating the room. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“You too,” Kurogane nods at him. Then, after a moment, continues, “You need to drink.”

Fai doesn’t respond. He doesn’t fight back and he doesn’t accept. He simply looks at the moon. 

Maybe that was odder than his usual behavior, or maybe the night’s ordeal has everyone acting strangely, because then Kurogane asks, “...You okay?”

Finally, Fai moves his gaze back to Kurogane. No, he thinks as he slowly drags his feet across the carpet to close the distance between them. He has no intention of sharing the ghosts that haunt him, even if soon Kurogane will be one of them. Because this will all end tomorrow when he returns to Celes. He only hopes that it will be the end for himself, because Kurogane truly does not deserve death by his dirty hands. He prays, though it feels futile, that Kurogane will fight as the warrior he is to stop the threat against him, even if it is Fai.

And, he thinks as he stops to stand just in front of Kurogane, if it will all be over soon then he has nothing more to lose.

Kurogane stands still as Fai leans in close, his lips hovering over Kurogane’s neck. He can feel the other man’s pulse without touching his skin. “Then… how about here?” He asks quietly. Just as he can feel the heat from Kurogane’s skin, he knows that Kurogane can feel the warmth of his breath. 

Kurogane appears unaffected, but he and Fai have a special connection, don’t they? Fai can hear the quickening of Kurogane’s pulse as if it were his own heartbeat. He feels guilty for that. “Do whatever you want,” Kurogane responds. “I don’t care.”

As long as you drink something, goes unspoken but heard between the two of them.

Fai knows i’s a lie that Kurogane doesn’t care, but he’s the last person that should call out such behavior. So, keeping silent, he leans in closer. One hand clasps around the back of Kurogane’s neck and, instinctively or not, Kurogane tilts his head. Fai’s lips are just barely brushing against Kurogae’s skin, the subtle touch more electric than the magic crackling beneath Fai’s skin, and like this, their chests are pressed together. Fai wonders if Kurogane can feel his heartbeat, too.

Fai’s least favorite thing about the demon within him is his inability to control it. Like this, despite Kurogane’s skin being unbroken, Fai can still smell his blood and his fangs grow against his will. And, truth be told, he loves the taste of it. Smokey and rich, better than any wine he’s ever tried, Fai wants to give in to the monster’s wishes but he restrains himself.

And, instead, he kisses Kurogane’s neck, right over his fluttering pulse.

Kurogane stiffens. Fai wonders if he’s expecting something else to happen, but Fai pulls away immediately after. He squeezes between Kurogane and the door to leave the room, but he only gets a few steps when Kurogane, finally coming back to his senses, turns and grabs his wrist to stop him. Fai stills, but he doesn’t turn back to look at Kurogane.

“What are you playing at?” Kurogane asks him.

If Fai had the energy, he’d tease Kurogane. No, not tease, that’s too friendly. He’d cut Kurogane with words alone—he’d say he’s surprised that Kurogane didn’t push him away, ask if there’s anything Kurogane would like to tell him. But it’s taking all of his power to not allow himself to be pulled in by the hand holding him.

“Nothing at all,” Fai says quietly as he turns finally to look at Kurogane. It feels like the first honest thing he’s said his entire life. “I’m not thirsty.”

Fai isn’t sure what goes through Kurogane’s mind in that moment, but suddenly, Kurogane releases him. Maybe he’s simply shocked that Fai isn’t being cruel. Maybe he’s as exhausted as Fai is.

Either way, Fai doesn’t question it. Instead, he nods once, then turns his back on Kurogane to walk into the other room. Kurogane doesn’t follow after him.

Alone, Fai nurses a bottle of liquor for the rest of the night to keep himself from falling back into another one of those haunting dreams. He doesn’t move until the sun rises, the light signaling the beginning of the end.

[cuttingthe-painter]

I went from being scared of the monster under my bed to sleeping on blankets on the ground so they'd come and cuddle me... 🐍

Okayyyyy this idea took my heart hostage. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it!! Made it a little bit angsty and a lil bit fluffy, enjoy! 

***feel free to reblog***

monster under the bed (sfw)

gender neutral monster x  gender neutral human

word count: 1386

~~~

The first time you saw them was your first night sleeping with the hallway light off. You had begged and pleaded with your mom to leave it on, insisting there was just no way the outlet nightlight could keep any monsters at bay.  You had hoped tears would earn you an advantage. Instead, your mom just sighed, pulled your bedroom door closed, and left you in nothing but the dark room illuminated by street lights and the tiny dollar store night light.

Your nervous eyes panned the room, every flicker of the shadows on the wall twisting your stomach tighter with fear. Pulling the duvet up to your chin, you sunk into the pillows behind you, sheltering all sides of yourself away from the dark room. Just as your eyes fluttered closed, a slow creak filled the room.

Your eyes flew open, frantically searching the room, landing on your now-open closet door. A shriek tore from your throat when you found yellow eyes staring back at you from the crack. Your screams fell silent and you wanted to run. But you couldn't. Terror took ahold of you, locking up your body and pinning you to your bed.  

Light flooded into your room and your dad rushed to your bed, scooping you into his arms. You sobbed into his chest, curling into him and begging for him to look in the closet, to scare away the monster watching you. 

There was nothing there.

Years passed without seeing them again. There had been occasional bumps in the night, a growl from your closet and scratching under your bed, but nothing as bold as yellow eyes peering out at you. You learned to tune the sounds out, already too distracted by your parents shouts downstairs or too busy curling up in bed and crying over the school day when the thumps would sound from across the room.

They always seemed louder on your bad days, almost as if whatever was making them was trying to distract you.  You weren't scared anymore; they were a lullaby comforting you through difficult nights. A soft rumble from the closet a gentle reminder that someone still chose to be with you when the world was falling apart. That someone wanted to be with you and care for you.

Clink. Rocks pelted against your window on one particularly rough night, invading the quiet of your room, demanding your attention.

Clink. Silent tears slid down your cheeks, pooling onto the pillow, your sadness staining the fabric.

Clink. You forced out slow, shaky breaths and ignored the nuisance as best as you could, praying for someone to make it stop.

The clinking of rocks turned into the banging of a fist. The glass rattled angrily, threatening to shatter onto the floor. You pulled the blanket over your head and tried to focus on the sound of your own breathing to calm yourself, to ignore the shouts from Connor at your window.

"Come on, babe, just let me explain. Open up the window and talk to me!" You stayed still, hoping he would take your silence as an answer and just leave. He didn't. He banged on the window harder and you hoped he wouldn't wake your parents. You didn’t want them to know what happened. To know what a fool you were for believing someone like Connor could be with someone like you.

"Allison is just a friend, babe. She doesn't mean anything to me. I love you and only you, just let me in!" Your chest tightened at the mention of her. Of Allison. You squeezed your eyes shut and images of Allison in Connor's lap flashed through your mind. Her fingers in his hair, his hands on her ass. Sobs bubbled past your lips and you clasped your hands over your mouth, strangling them before any sound could fill the room.

A familiar, measured creak filled the room and you felt your body tense in response, a memory of yellow eyes replaying in your head. Claws scraped across the floor, the gritting sound growing louder and louder. You weren't scared, though; the long drag of the claws filled you with a sense of comfort.

"What the fuck?" you heard Connor say uncertainly. The pounding at the window stopped, replaced by a growl so loud that the walls of your room shook. "What the fuck!" Connor dropped from the window, the sound of crunching leaves signaling his fearful escape.

You pulled the blanket from your face, sitting up just in time to spot the retreating form of your protector slinking into the closet. Their yellow eyes met yours but this time you felt nothing but warmth for them. Warmth and appreciation and love. You wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks, drying your hands on the duvet. Yellow eyes blink, tracking the movements of your hands. You lay back down, careful not to look away, fearing they would disappear if you even blinked.

"Thank you," you whisper to them, pulling the duvet over you and curling your knees up to your chest. A soft purr rumbled from the closet, lulling you into a peaceful sleep and washing away the nightmares of the day.

When you rented your first apartment and moved out of your childhood home, you cried. Not because you would miss your parents, but because you would miss them. The one being that was always there for you, that made you feel safe and loved when no one else did. You laid in bed that first night sobbing, wishing you could go back to your parents’ house and curl up in the dark closet. When you finally fell asleep, you dreamt of claws dragging along the carpet of the apartment.

You moved through the next day on autopilot, feeling empty and alone. You unpacked boxes in a silent apartment, hoping to hear bumps and scratches from the other room. After hours of silence, you finally turned on a playlist and let yourself cry more while hanging clothes in your closet. 

After such a long day, you expected to fall asleep as soon as you hit the mattress, but loneliness crept into bed with you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping the faux hug would keep it at bay. The sounds from your closet would sing you to sleep every night growing up, and sleeping without them felt impossible. Listening to the silence had anger brewing in your stomach, heating your entire body.

You threw yourself out of bed, stalking to the closet door and ripping it open. Hangers rattled from the sudden gust of wind and you focused on the dark floor, feeling yourself deflate at its emptiness. A pitiful whine escaped from your throat; you swallow it down, pushing away the lingering pain. 

You didn't believe your eyes when you turned back to the bed. You had barely caught the shining yellow eyes before they closed, blending into the darkness under the bed. But they were here. Tears filled your eyes again, a common occurrence through the last two days, and scrubbed them away, biting back the hope filling your chest. They were here, but they were hiding from you.

If they weren't going to come to you, then you would go to them. You walked to the bed, throwing pillows onto the floor. Grabbing the duvet cover, your stretch out onto the makeshift mattress and cover yourself up, facing away from the bed. You hold your breath, counting the seconds before a long, leathery arm snakes around your torso. They pull you flush against them, spooning themself around you, and nuzzling into your neck.

"Why were you hiding?" you whisper sadly, lacing your fingers through theirs. You pressed their hand firmly against your stomach, feeling their claws press against the skin through the fabric of your shirt, a reminder of what they are.  

"I thought you left to rid yourself of me," they reply. Their voice was gentler than you had imagined, velvety and smooth.   "But I couldn't stay there without you. You're all I know." Your head falls back onto their shoulder, thudding against the hard muscle. Basking in the warmth of the embrace, you both lay together in silence. You let your eyes close, knowing they'll be there tomorrow and the next day and every single day after

~~~

Thanks for reading!

-painter

[serensama]

To Release #1

To Release #1

Yoosung needs to let MC go.

Years ago, i had asked the amazing @promiscuous-jalapeno to write a HC for me when I was too scared to write my own and she did an amazing job- tore me right up it did. I asked her shortly thereafter if she minded if I tried to do it and she was kind enough to encourage me. Nearly 4 years and I’ve finally done it. 

Trigger warnings: Character death, mentions of cancer.

This is for my friend, my sister- Susana. I don’t know how to let you go. But one day I will. And one day I will see you again. Rest well until then dear one.

This is for my baby, my puppy Meiko- run free my little one. I know you’ll be waiting for me too. Keep Susana company and keep her safe until we catch up, okay? Good Boy.

-       Yoosung wasn’t an idiot, he knew she thought he was blind to what was happening- but you had to be completely void of brain activity to not notice it.

-       At first there were small differences.

-       The way she wore different clothes, or the way she wore her hair or even her makeup had changed.

-       She was ‘tired’ all the time and stayed late at work.

-       She even had mystery calls she would take away from him in another room, her voice fading in hushed tones as she made sure he would never hear a word she spoke.

-       But it was too late, he already knew.

-       All the signals were there and they were screaming at him even when she had never uttered a word to him.

-       In the extra care she put in her appearance, in the way she would avoid his touch and affection and in the guilt she bore in her eyes as she would look his way whenever she thought he didn’t notice.

-       He did notice. He always did.

-       Yoosung was hurt that after all they had been through, that she would treat him that way- omission was a type of lie, a type of betrayal and he thought they had promised never to lie to each other… even over something like this.

-       And yet… yet he was happy.

-       Though he had to be secretive about it; he wasn’t an idiot after all. This was something he had wanted to happen for the longest time. He had never admitted it to MC, but he had wanted this since she walked down the aisle all those years ago.  

-       He wanted nothing more than for MC to pregnant.

-       Yoosung chuckled to himself as he pretended not to hear his wife struggling in the bathroom with another bout of morning sickness. She had been trying so hard to make sure he never heard her, even going to the lengths of turning on the shower to mask any noise.

-       Readjusting himself on the couch with his morning newspaper, he waited patiently for MC to eventually patter out. He couldn’t believe himself, right at the start of all things where he was half convinced that she was cheating on him. Who could blame him for thinking about it, even for a second? MC had this power of drawing people to her and making everyone feel special- how could he even blame this possible other person for falling in love with her? Hadn’t he? Hell, he was sure almost everyone in the RFA was at some point in love with her.

He had even spoken to Saeyoung about it and was rewarded with nothing but snorts and an index finger pointed at him in derision.

“As if she would e-hahahaa, s-sorry sorry, ever cheat on you man. For someone so clever you really are dumb,” he said to him through peals of laughter. “MC would rather die than do something like that you. Why would you even think that? Why would you be talking to me rather than her? Dude, use your head it’s something else.”

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I don’t know anything like that. All I do know is that MC is my best friend- don’t look at me like that, you’re my best friend too- and she is not a cheater. She’s probably just trying something different. Shaking things up y’know? I dunno maybe she’s feeling like she wants to change her style, maybe someone was mean to her at work and she wants to put them in her place with her makeup or hair? Maybe she’s working late because there are new deadlines she has to do and she comes home exhausted because she is in fact, exhausted. Or who knows, maybe she’s pregnant!”

-       He knew his friend had thrown that in for laughs or absurdity but it was anything but that for Yoosung. Maybe… maybe she was. All the signs were there. Wearing new clothes that were just that little bit bigger to hide her stomach, she looked amazing with her shorter hair and immaculate makeup, she didn’t want him to touch her that much and definitely not her stomach…of course.

-       Of course she was pregnant.

-       Cheating indeed. Maybe he was an idiot. MC would never do that to him.

-       Yoosung heard the sound of a flush and MC washing her hands as she attempted to clear her throat as inconspicuously as she could. She came out looking a bit pale but nonetheless as beautiful as she had ever been, her eyes lighting up when they found him on sofa.

-       “Morning honey,” she started, her voice raspy with the strain her throat was recently put under. He smiled up to her, silently praying today would be the day she would end this months’ long charade. “Did you already have breakfast? I can make something up for you if you’d like?”

“Won’t you be joining me?” he replied, folding his paper up and setting it aside, large blue eyes observing her every minute movement and expression. He watched as MC paused for a moment, her mind visibly racing for a quick reason to give him for her loss of appetite. “I mean- isn’t breakfast the most important meal of the day?”

“O-of course! I’m not really hungry though so maybe I’ll make myself some toast or maybe have a cup of coffee-”

“Is that really going to be enough?”

“What do you mean? I just told you I wasn’t very hungry-”

“Is that enough for the both of you?”

-       MC’s already pale face drained of all colour.

-       “What… Yoosung you’re not making sense.”

-       He stood up and walked towards his frozen wife and massaged his hands up and down her arms in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s okay MC, you don’t need to keep this up. I know. I know what you’ve been keeping from me.”

-       MC took a step back and took in a shuddering breath, her hand reaching of a nearby dining chair to steady her. Yoosung held onto her as her eyes widened and her whole body trembled, before completely slumping down onto the ground. He panicked as he quickly fell to his knees and quickly looked over his wife to see if she had injured herself, asking her if she was alright, if she was in any pain, what was happening-

“How did you find out?” she asked, her eyes looking forward, still and steadfast. Her hands clasped around the chair’s leg, knuckles white and flesh still shaking.

-       Yoosung let his palm glide over her silken hair and smiled kindly at her, waiting patiently for her to shift her attention to him. Slowly her eyes turned to him, round and glassy, irises almost pinpricks. “I’m not blind love.”

-       And then she cried.

-       Tears welled up along the rims of her eyes, sweeping down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Soon her silence turned to a quiet weeping, Yoosung’s concern rising with her cries. Her haggard breathing turned to wails and in a blink of an eye her fingers were in the front of her t-shirt, twisted and pulling away from her chest- a wild look of desperation etched across her face. She began to rock back and forth ever so slightly as she too took rough and heaving breaths, MC could not hear a thing he was saying to her. Screaming at her. Pleading with her.

-       “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so.. I’m so so so sorry,” she chanted in between sobs, her hands finding purchase upon his forearms, nails biting crescent shaped lines into his skin. He let her leave the marks upon him as he did his best to calm her down from her frantic state. “It’s okay, MC it’s okay. Don’t work yourself up over this. Really it’s fine, I’m just glad that I know now- we can do this together right?” he asked in the most reassuring manner that he could. He hadn’t meant to guilt her into telling him or make her feel bad at all- he just wanted to be a part of it. MC shook her head and fisted her hands in his hair almost painfully as she peered up at him, his heart constricting tighter than he expected at her expression. This was meant to be a happy time, he wanted to be laughing and hugging not… not this… “I’m so sorry I didn’t… I didn’t tell you. I had wanted to do this on my own, until I was 100% sure-”

“We can go to the doctor and do the test-” “I’ve already done all the tests, I’m know already-” “Then you just wanted to pass the three month mark?”

“The what?” she asked, confusion crossing over her features for a second as she digested what he had just said. “The what? The three month what?”

“The first trimester. I know a lot of women don’t want to say anything until it passes in fear of the worst but… why are you looking at me like that?” he paused, staring back at his wife.

-       She had stopped crying. Stopped panicking. Stopped breathing. The strength in her digits all lost as her hands fell away to a dull thud on their carpeted floor beside them. “Yoosung. I’m not pregnant.” He sat back on his haunches and took a breath, just a moment to collect himself and his wayward thoughts. So if she wasn’t pregnant… “Then what, you’re cheating on me?” “W-what?” “If you’re not pregnant and you’re waiting for test results, what for? An STD test? Answer me. What the hell is happening here that you’re not telling me? I deserve to know!”

“I-”

“Tell me MC!” he begged, lunging forward and holding her against him, arms wrapped tightly around her smaller frame to comfort her and release whatever she was withholding from him. He wasn’t lying, he wanted to be in it together with her, whatever it was.

-       “I’m sick, Yoosung.”

-       He felt the air seep from his lungs as those three words echoed throughout the room and within the chambers of his heart.

-       “What do you mean? Like the flu?” he offered after what felt like an eternity of silence between them. Nothing. “MC Please tell me.” “… Cancer.”

-       He was sure the way his arms constricted around her was enough to break her bones but not a sound came from her and he just wanted to hold onto her as tightly as he could, maybe if he held her long enough and hard enough- none of what she said would be true. “But.. but the secrecy… the clothes and hair and… staying late a work… the secret calls? I just… I’m sorry I just don’t understand and-”

-       A small hand cupped the side of his face, her thumb tracing the softness of his cheek. MC lightly pressed on his jaw to tilt his face down to her and she offered the meekest of smiles, not an ounce of mirth to be found in the quirk of her mouth. “I wasn’t feeling well for a while so I went to the doctor a few months ago. After a few tests they found it…” she replied, her fingertips playing at the hair about his ears. “They told me that it was a good prognosis. That with some meds I would be fine, we caught it early enough. The meds left me tired and made me put on weight around my middle- I didn’t want you to touch me and ask me about it because I didn’t want you to worry. I’ve been wearing looser clothes to hide it, wearing more makeup because I’ve looked like shit… my hair started to thin so I cut it so it looked fuller so you couldn’t notice… all those times I stayed late at work I was seeing my oncologist and those phone calls was him… and I… I’m so so sorry Yoosung.”

-       Oncologist. It was real. Everything she was saying was real and she wasn’t pregnant. She wasn’t cheating. She was fighting for her life and she was doing it all alone and she was apologising to him. Of all the ludicrous things to do.

-       “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice tinged with pain as he tried his best not to cry, he wouldn’t cry, not yet.  MC shifted in his arms and sat back forcing herself to look him in the eye now that everything was out in the open. “Because I didn’t want to scare you, I thought I was strong enough to get through this without worrying you. They told me it was okay,” she responded pathetically with a shrug of her shoulders. “I thought it was okay. I thought I was going to be okay,” she whispered into her chest, her eyes fluttering closed as she took in another shaky breath.

-       This was too much. Everything she had said up to that point was teetering on the edge of ‘okay’… not that though.

“What do you mean… was?” “MC.” “What do you… answer me, don’t hold back now, why is it was?”

He looked on as she squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose to will the tears to not come back. Her hand was still shaking. “He called again last night. I… it’s not good. It’s spread. It’s… I’m… there’s nothing they can-”

“No.”

“Yoosung-” “No.” “Please-” “No! NO! You do not get to finish that sentence. You will not finish that sentence. There is always something, we will find something. Saeyoung might be able to help research… maybe Jumin has a client with some experimental drugs or… don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” “Like you’re okay with this!” he yelled as he stood up and started pacing the room. Suddenly he had too much energy, too many thoughts and he could scarcely keep up.

“I’m not okay with this Yoosung,” she said, eyes sad, body shrinking into herself, blocking him again. “That’s why I was fighting this so hard.”

“Stop saying that.”

“What?”

“Was. Stop saying was. We’re not done yet. You’re not gone. Stop saying it.”

-       MC opened her mouth to response but thought better of it. It wasn’t fair of her to ask him to accept it all at once not when he had to find out that way, so late… near the end of all things. “Okay. I’ll stop saying it.”

-       Yoosung nodded and sat back down, scooping her back into his arms and rested his cheek against the top of her head and just breathed in her scent. They sat there for hours as she recounted everything, letting her finally cry as she let him back in, together once more and trying to make a plan of what was to come; even when Yoosung could tell she was just agreeing to whatever he said to keep him from breaking down… he just held her tighter.

-       She had fallen asleep sitting on his lap, face buried in the side of his neck with his fingers running through her hair. Yoosung bit on his lip to silence his grunts of discomfort as he moved them both off the floor and onto the bed. She murmured in her sleep, dreaming soundly as she always did but he found no rest, no comfort. He counted each breath she took in and tried to find solace in every rise of her chest.

-       “Keep your pants on, I’m coming,” Saeyoung said with a long yawn. He dawdled towards his camera monitors to see if it was Saeran pounding at the front door because he had forgotten his keys for the third time that week, but after seeing a familiar brush of blonde hair instead bracing himself against his front door frame, he picked up his pace. Yoosung was always one to call before popping in and for him to come there with no prior warning and so late in the night, he knew something wasn’t right. He opened the door and was about to crack some smart ass comment when the sounds of a pained groan made him pause. Arms were thrown around him as the younger male threw himself at him, his smaller form convulsing, racked with deep gut wrenching gasps. He didn’t even need to ask. It was about MC, it always was. “She’s- she’s… I can’t lose her Hyung, not yet. I can’t.”

-       When MC woke her husband had a tray of food in his hands and what looked like a freshly picked vase of flowers to accompany her meal. He wasn’t ready for what was thrown his way yesterday but some greater power allowed him to have another day with her and he was going to make sure each second meant something; to either give her the strength to fight for more moments or gift her with memories she could have to depart with a smile on her face. He would give her this. He would give them this.

-       Yoosung rapidly understood why she had not told him in the past, why she had shouldered this all on her own. Sitting in the doctor’s office was jarring; it was cold and sterile no matter how many personal touches he had added to the room, it was still felt like a chamber of death. Dramatic? Maybe, but with the words that fell from his thin, pale lips he may as well have been carrying a scythe and hourglass. “I’m so sorry, I wish there was more we could do but at this stage the prognosis is the same. You may only have the next 6-8 months to live.”

-       The drive home was a blur, how he managed to get them back was a miracle as he didn’t even remember starting the car. All thought left him the second her fingers intertwined with his and she gave him a smile.

-       He lay in the bed that night, MC quietly snoring, her limbs thrown haphazardly onto him- her lips moving as if she spoke to someone in her dream. She gave a quick snort and another smile spread across her face.

-       How many more of these smiles will I have. How many more until it’s her last?

-       She grew weaker, quickly, frighteningly so. Her symptoms so severe he would find her clinging to the toilet for support, tears flowing from her eyes and hair plastered to her sweat slicked forehead. Eating was a struggle. She even muttered that blinking hurt in her sleep.

-       Still, she smiled, she smiled for him.

-       Her resilience, her heart, her ability to still shield him from the worst- he couldn’t believe her fortitude and mental strength, her absolute undying love for him.

-       So he did what he could for her, he would always smile back.

-       Even if it broke him.

-       Seven months and 8 days since they sat in the doctor’s office together, he came back from the market with all her favourite foods. It was so hard to get her to eat lately, only the most enticing of food would get her to open up her mouth for a bite or two. He would never complain though, he loved to make her food even if almost all of it couldn’t be eaten. He was happy just to be able to take care of her. How many more meals were left to share?

-       He had moved towards their bedroom when he heard MC’s voice, still sweet as ever but softer and coloured with such fragility that sometimes even her saying good morning to him was enough for him to have to turn away from her for a second to recollect himself for her.

-       Yoosung stopped, his hand on the door handle, not wanting to intrude if MC was on a call. She had been on quite a few recently- she hadn’t wanted to see her friends anymore, she hadn’t the energy to even try. He strained his ears to listen in to see who she was speaking to; she spoke a lot of Saeyoung of course but Jaehee had called more often and even Jumin would call her late at night when he knew she was up because she was in so much pain she couldn’t sleep. However there was no voice replying to her, only hers. Perhaps she was dreaming?

-       Yoosung slowly eased the door open and peered through the slight crack to find his wife sitting up on the bed with her phone on a tripod in front of her. She was recording herself- “- and I can never thank you enough for everything Yoosung.”

Recording herself for him. Recording her goodbye.

“I am still trying to forgive myself for not telling you sooner and I hope one day you will understand why I did what I did, as misguided as it was. I wanted to spare you the pain if I could. The worry. Maybe I was just scared and if I told you it would make it real. Pills and feeling sick didn’t make it real. Your fear and your tears… that… that made it real. I’m sorry. I know you’ll be looked after, everyone in the RFA has promised me they would. Jaehee said she’d come and look after the plants. Zen said he’d make sure that you’d stay healthy. Saeyoung and Saeran promised that you’d have some fun once in a while and Jumin and V would help you with the clinic and anything else you need. You are not alone my love, even if I’m… when I’m gone… you are not alone.”

She paused as she had lost her breath and her body shook with fatigue as she tried her best to regain herself. “I will always be with you and I want you to be happy you got that? I always want you to be happy. Let me leave this life knowing that I left you happy.”

-       He opened the door fully and MC whipped her head towards her husband, shock fading away as she flashed him a soft smile that reached her eyes, twinkling with unshed tears.

-       One more meal. Twenty three more smiles. And one more from him.

-       And she left.

-       With one last smile he could not return.

-       In time he knew he would be able to watch that video. In time he knew that he could smile again, but for now, he held her tighter and let himself finally, truly, cry.

[somenewsarah]

Born to Wed

Summary: The Malfoys find a suitable wife for their son, Draco, and they experience Hogwarts together.

Words: 10.5K

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Requested: LOL I don’t get requests

Warnings: None

From the day you were born, your fate was decided. You, a Nott, were to be married to another Pureblood. You were to follow in your parents’ footsteps, study their sacrifices to the Dark Lord and learn from them. From the very day you were born, your life was planned for you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

 A mere six weeks before your grand arrival, the Malfoy family was blessed with their own miracle. A boy, Draco Malfoy, who only weighed a whopping 7lbs and 7oz. He arrived with a thin layer of white-blond hair and the greyest eyes that his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had ever laid her own brown eyes on.

 At the announcement of your arrival, Lucius Malfoy had appeared at your father’s doorstep and the deal was done. You, only two hours old, were to marry the six-week-old Draco Malfoy when you were both of age.

~

 Year One

 During your first year of Hogwarts, you and Draco had played the part well. You pretended not to really know each other, though of course you were both sorted into the Slytherin house before the hat could even touch your head. You’d made sure to keep space between the two of you, not condoning his constant bullying of Harry Potter and the Weasley family.

 At Christmas, the two of you again played the part well. As your two families joined together as they had for the past eleven years for dinner, Draco squeezed himself into the seat next to you, having just slicked back his hair.

 “We don’t have to be friends at school, but we have to be friends here,” he murmurs to you. You nod, giving him a small smile.

 “I know, Draco. Don’t worry. We won’t disappoint them.”

 He gives you a curt nod, and the conversation is cut short by your parents entering the dining room. Narcissa’s smile is pleasant as she studies the two of you, seemingly caught in a private conversation. If only they knew.

 You made it through dinner with no casualties. Your father and Mr. Malfoy excused themselves to the parlor, where they were to drink firewhiskey and talk business, while your mother and Mrs. Malfoy cleared the table for the house elves to keep themselves busy. The two women shooed you and Draco upstairs.

 Once making it to your room, you closed the door and sighed.

 “I didn’t think that went too horrid,” Draco comments.

 “It didn’t,” you agree. You flop onto your bed, scooting back to sit against the headboard. You motion for Draco to sit on the end of the bed.

 “I suppose if I have to marry you in the coming years, it wouldn’t hurt for us to be friends.”

 “Don’t be daft,” you comment quietly. “You’re foul. I hear the way you treat that Potter boy. There is no way I’d be friends with you.”

 “This is the way Father expects me to be, Y/N. So, it is the way I am,” he huffs. You only shrug in response. How could your parents expect you to ever be happy with someone as foul as Draco Malfoy?

 ~

 It’d been a long year. You had served your fair share of detentions for trying to keep Draco out of trouble, only landing yourself in bigger trouble. You avoided him at all costs, but he was really giving himself a reputation as a foul troublemaker that no one wanted to associate with, well, other than Crabbe and Goyle.

 Year Two

 The summer had done marvelous things for you, such as finding a new love for Charms and creatures of the Forbidden Forest. You’d spent the summer reading, avoiding your parents as much as possible, though it didn’t save you from the weekly dinners with the Malfoys. They seemed to shove you and Draco together as much as possible. It was almost like they were testing you, seeing if they could get you two to fall in love so they wouldn’t feel so bad about planning each of your lives around the other. No matter how hard they tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything other than foul about Draco Malfoy.

 Still, here you sat next to him in the Great Hall, watching Pansy Parkinson fawn all over him as if he were the next ‘Great Coming.’ An unwelcomed pang of jealousy rolls in your stomach, but you swallow it, choosing to ignore it instead.

 He slowly pulled his arms from Pansy’s grasps, pushing her away slightly.

 “Troll! There’s a troll in the dungeons!” Professor Quirrell announces. He stops running for a moment in the middle of the Great Hall and faints, landing on the floor with a thud. Screams erupt from the Hall as students panic from the troll.

 “Y/N, come on,” Draco says. He grabs your hand, pulling you, his future wife, with him to the corridor. His fingers grasp yours as he runs, you in tow.

 “Draco, slow down,” you beg.

 “I can’t, we have to get to the Common Room!”

 And so, you run with him, huffing as you turn almost every corner you could think to turn. When you finally reach the Common Room, you are the first ones there. He utters the password and pulls you inside.

 ~

 Draco was slowly becoming your best friend. And you resented that with every fiber of your being. He was crude and cold, yet when you were alone with him, he was very attentive, maybe even caring. At this moment, you sat cross-legged on his bed in his dormitory, watching his eyes scan a letter that was addressed to the both of you.

 “What does it say?” You ask, trying to get a small peak at it.

 “Hold on,” he mumbles, his eyes glued to the letter.

 “Draco, let me see,” you whine.

 “I said hold on!”

 You pout, but cross your arms, resting your elbows on your knees.

 “It’s your mum, Y/N,” Draco says, slowly looking up at you. Your head twists to the side as you watch him, trying to decipher what exactly he was saying. “She’s really ill. She’s at St. Mungo’s right now, and the healers are doing everything they can. Father says he’ll let us know more when they know.”

 “What?” You ask, your heart falling to your stomach. You snatch the letter from his hands, your eyes scanning it quickly, reading about your mother’s supposed fate. “Draco, what… what does that mean?”

 Draco sighs. He scoots next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You rest your head against his chest as you wrap your arms around your legs.

 “Is she going to die?” You whisper, your eyes trained on the flames that burned in the hearth across from his bed.

 “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

 ~

 Christmas was dismal, to say the least. There was no change to your mother. She wasn’t the same, either. Not when you went to visit to her, and certainly not when you left. The healers worked diligently, day and night, trying to find exactly what was wrong with her, but to no avail.

 “Y/N, Christmas won’t be the same this year. I’m sorry,” your father drawls. He takes another drunken sip of his firewhiskey and leans back in his recliner, his breathing heavy and his eyes glazed.

 Instead of staying home, you use the Floo Network to the Malfoy’s. It was Christmas morning, but from all your previous experiences, you knew they would be awake and in full swing. Draco always demanded the best of the best, and he wouldn’t rest until he got it.

 You weren’t wrong. Draco sat on the floor, his black pajamas a drastic contrast to his light hair and pale skin, the Christmas tree illuminating his skin. Lucius and Narcissa sat perched on the couch, their backs straight and stiff as boards.

 “Y/N, hello,” Narcissa smiles. Draco smiles, too, but Lucius does not. “Happy Christmas. You have some presents under the tree as well, of course.”

 “Happy Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Draco,” you smile. You place yourself on the floor next to Draco, giving him your warmest smile.

 “How is your mother, pray tell?” Lucius asks, his voice cold and hard as always.

 “Not well, Sir. No change.” You clasp your hands together in your lap and stare at your fingers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

 “We’ll make sure to drop by and visit,” Narcissa promises.

 The Malfoys, well, Draco, may not have been who you ever envisioned you’d one day end up marrying, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 Year Three

 It was on the train ride back to Hogwarts that the Hufflepuff boy first noticed you. You’d bumped into him as you were searching for an empty compartment, completely oblivious to the other students rushing towards you.

 “Sorry,” you murmured, your mind jumbled with thoughts of your mum and what the year would hold and all the news about Sirius Black.

 “No, no, please don’t apologize. It was my mistake,” he says, staring down at you. “I’m Cedric.”

 Your heart clenched at his bright eyes and that smile with his head tilted to the side. You look between his outstretched hand and his eyes.

 “Y/N,” you smile.

 The moment your hand connects with his, the lights on the train flicker out. An audible gasp escapes your lips as Cedric grasps your shoulders and pushes you into an empty compartment. He pokes his head out, watching as the windows frost in the compartment across from yours.

 “What’s happening?” You whisper. He shakes his head, about as dumbfounded as you. You keep quiet, trying to peak around his shoulder. The compartment doors suddenly become chillier and chillier, and Cedric quickly slams the door shut.

 “Dementors,” he whispers.

 ~

 That year, the castle was guarded by dementors from Azkaban. You studied hard, making it your mission to be the top in your class at Potions and Charms, and you succeeded well, thanks to Cedric and his tutoring. You kept your distance from Draco, as he didn’t like the idea of you fancying a Hufflepuff boy. You two had many arguments throughout the first term, and you weren’t looking forward to Christmas.

 At this very moment, Draco stands in front of you in his room at Malfoy Manor, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze cold and hard.

 “Draco, all I need is for you to cover for me. Please.”

 “Why would I protect you? You chose the Diggory boy,” he spits.

 “I really like him, Draco. I thought at least you’d understand,” you sigh. “I know this would worry Father and mum isn’t getting any better. I wanted to tell her first and then tell everyone else. Why are you so against it?”

 He bows his head, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “Y/N, our parents made the Unbreakable Vow on our behalf. We are to be married after Hogwarts. How am I supposed to marry you if you’re off fancying another lad?” Draco says, exasperated. He crosses his arms, marching up and down his bedroom, stroking his chin. His eyes dart, his lips pursed in a way that made your stomach roll.

 “Dray,” you sigh, clambering to your knees. You reach out, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. His gaze meets yours and he lets out a breath you weren’t aware he was holding in. “I didn’t choose Cedric. He chose me.”

~

At the end of Christmas break, you return to Hogwarts. The air has shifted and all feels right for once. Draco agreed to cover for you with your parents, but with your mother’s worsening condition, you were beginning to wonder if he would even need to. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

 You spent every moment you could with Cedric. What started as innocent smiles and playful shoves turned into desperate hands and wandering lips; neck kisses that left bruises and heavy breathing in broom closets. Cedric was your buoy in a stormy sea and there was nothing you would not do for the Hufflepuff boy, and nothing he would not do for you.

 Year Four

 Your eyes are glazed over as you tune out Dumbledore’s droning on and on about the Triwizard Tournament. It meant nothing to you. There was no way you could ever experience eternal fame and glory- your fate was decided the moment you took your first breath.

 Your chin rests flimsily in your hand, your head lolling onto Draco’s shoulder. The nights were growing longer by the day as the Dark Lord was sure to make his arrival known soon, though you and Draco were too young to be Death Eaters. You’d surely heard the hushed whispers at Malfoy Manor and witnessed some strange beings crawling about the house at all hours.

 “This doesn’t matter,” you whisper to Draco as the two new houses began to introduce themselves.

 But oh, did it. One minute everything feels okay, and the next, you’re standing in Cedric’s dorm, begging him to change his mind about the tournament.

 “Cedric, you don’t need eternal fame or glory! Please, it’s too dangerous,” you beg, your eyes watering and your lip quivering as you tried to hold in all of your fear about the upcoming challenges.

 “My love, everything will be fine,” he says, his eyes searching yours. His hands fall on your hips as he envelops you. “I promise, everything will be fine.”

 ~

 Everything wasn’t fine. Cedric was chosen to participate in the tournament. You stood, cheering for him as any supportive girlfriend would when his name was announced, but deep down, you were holding back bile.

 “He’ll be fine, right?” You ask Draco.

 “Possibly,” he retorts, his face already bored of the tournament.

You sit down once more, your eyes darting between the room Cedric disappeared into and Draco.

 ~

 “What?” You ask, your eyes scanning the letter your father had sent. Most of it was nonsense, gibberish, drunkenly written in such a way that you likely had to be drunk to understand it. “Draco, what does this say?”

 You pulled his duvet around your small frame as he takes the letter from your hands. His eyebrows scrunch as he reads it, but his face falls.

 “Y/N… It’s your mum. She’s passed.”

 Your breathing hitches in your throat, and you wrap the duvet tighter around you, taking comfort in the smell of your future husband’s cologne. You bury your face in the fabric, the cotton kissing your skin like a homely hug. How could she really be gone? Did she stop fighting? Impossible. Your mum was the hardest fighter you knew.

 Suddenly, Draco was beside you, scooping you into his arms and holding you in his lap. You laid your head on his shoulder as silent tears fell from your eyes. You knew she couldn’t fight forever; it’d only been a matter of time before she died. And that time had come.

 ~

 The first task came quickly, and you paced nervously outside the tent Cedric was being held in. When he finally walked out, you wrapped him in the tightest hug you’d ever held him in.

 “My love, what’s wrong?” He asked, pulling back to study your face. He knew all about your mum, but right now you were worried for him.

 “Nothing. Just… do great, okay?”

 He smiles at you, leaning down to leave a chaste but loving kiss on your mouth.

 “Y/N?” He asks, gazing down at you. You quirk an eyebrow at him, a small grin forming on your lips. “I love you. Don’t worry about me.”

 And just like that, the Hufflepuff boy had knocked the wind out of you once again. An ear-splitting grin fell on your lips and jumped into his arms once again.

 “I love you, too, Ced. Please be careful.”

 “Always, love,” he smiles. He sets you down. “Go find a seat with Draco, I’ll see you afterwards.”

 You oblige, running off with the biggest grin on your face. You dodge Draco’s questioning glances and settle into your seat, waiting on the tournament to officially begin.

 ~

 The celebrations after the first task were unmatched. It seemed everyone wanted a word with Cedric regarding his clever use of magic to not only defeat the dragon, but to obtain the golden egg as well.

 He holds the egg over his head, cheering in the Hufflepuff common room as his fellow housemates cheer for and with him. He gives you his biggest grin and your heart melts. You’d never been prouder of someone.

 “You were amazing,” you gush for the millionth time. Cedric kisses you soft and slowly, one arm wrapped around you, the other wrapped around the golden egg. The Hufflepuffs cheer as they watch, not one person interrupting.

 “I love you so much,” he says again. You don’t think you could ever get tired of hearing it.

 ~

 Draco stares at the lake, then at the empty seat next to him, then at Cedric, then back to the lake. You are supposed to be here already, sitting with him, ready to watch the second task, but you aren’t.

 The news from the previous night was news he wasn’t sure if he would share with you or not. The Dark Lord is going to return on the night of the third task, and Draco knew he would make a show of it. With Cedric being in the tournament, he thought it best not to tell you. Surely Cedric wouldn’t be harmed, right?

 Cedric readies himself, then dives into the lake. He can’t shake off the hurt that you aren’t there, cheering him on from the stands. It’s rather selfish of him to be upset though, since you have been dealing with the death of your mother. He knows you put on a brave face for him, but he knows.

 He listens for the mermaids, using their voices as a guiding beacon of hope, though for what he doesn’t know. He swims deeper, weaving his way through the long kelp and fish that obstruct his view. And then he sees you.

 Draco sighs heavily, almost ready to get up and leave. He’s grown bored of the tournament, as there always seems to be bigger things to worry about. Just as he’s standing to leave, a loud cheer erupts from the crowd. Cedric has surfaced, Y/N in tow. Before Draco knows it, he’s breathing again, and is halfway jogging to you. He watches as a towel is handed to you.

 Cedric wraps you up in a hug, kissing the top of your head. Your heart swims. You’ll love this boy forever.

 ~

 The third task comes, and Cedric and Harry Potter are tied for first place. Your nerves eat at you as you watch him out on the Quidditch Pitch, about to enter the maze. Draco seems just as nervous as you, but says nothing.

 “What’s wrong?” You ask, looking over at him.

 “Nothing,” he says. He doesn’t meet your gaze, and you know it’s something bad.

 “Draco, please don’t keep it from me. You know you can tell me whatever is bothering you,” you push.

 “He’s back,” Draco whispers. Your heart stops. “And he’s here. Tonight.”

 “Cedric,” you whisper. You stand, but Draco pulls you back down. “No. What is he planning? Do you know? Draco, why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve told me so Cedric could’ve blown the competition, Draco please…”

 “I don’t know anything,” he says hurriedly. “I just know he’s back and he’s making a show of it tonight.”

 For the next half hour, your leg bounces. You gnaw at your lip. Your mind is in shambles, your heart torn. Draco squeezes your hand tightly between both of his, bringing it to your lips to kiss it softly. He was your husband-to-be, after all.

 Murmurs break out amongst the crowd. You stand, sighing as Fleur is escorted out of the maze, followed by Viktor. Still no sign of your Hufflepuff boy.

 “Draco,” you whisper. “Is he going to be okay?”

 “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “I didn’t want to scare you,” he says, looking over at you. You nod- you can understand his reasoning, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. “No matter what, I’m here, alright?”

 “I know,” you say once, louder than before. “He’ll be fine. It’s Ced. He’ll be perfectly fine.”

 Suddenly, Harry Potter emerges from the maze, the Goblet in his hand. Cheers break out among the crowd as the Gryffindor House claims their victory. You try to cheer along, but your eyes narrow as Harry falls to his knees. You see the streak of yellow, and your heart stops.

 “Cedric,” you whisper again. “Cedric… no, no no. No. Not Cedric, please not Cedric!”

 The people around you stare, but you don’t care. You push past them, dropping Draco’s hand as you make your way down the stairs of the tower and onto the pitch.

 “That’s my son!” Amos Diggory cries out, trying to break through the crowd. You beat him to Cedric’s body and before you know it, you fling yourself onto him, holding his head against your chest.

 “I tried to save him, I tried,” Harry cries, a handful of Cedric’s jersey between his fingers.

 The tears fall from your cheeks and onto Cedric’s. You lean down, kissing his forehead repeatedly as you close his eyes. Hugging him close, the world around you seems to stop. He was supposed to be with you forever.

 “I love you so much… Please come back to me, Cedric,” you whisper in his ear through your own sobs. Your breathing catches in your throat and you hiccup.

 Arms are around you and you’re lifted off his body. You know who it is before you even turn.

 “Draco, please no,” you sob, reaching for Cedric. Dumbledore drapes a Hufflepuff blanket over his lifeless body, and all your strength leaves you. Your knees give out and you slide down Draco’s body, hitting your knees, your heart hurting more than it ever had. “Draco, please,” you beg, but you aren’t sure what you’re begging for.

 You watch from the ground as Harry is escorted off the field, and Cedric is carried away.

 Draco picks you up, cradling you to his chest, shielding you from the grieving students and parents who begin to mourn Cedric. First your mother, now the first boy you had ever truly loved.

 ~

 It’s been three days since Cedric died. You wear his Quidditch jersey every night for bed, and sometimes his tshirts under your robes. You didn’t care that people thought you were mental, or delusional. It made you feel closer to him.

 “Come on, love,” Draco says, lifting you from his bed at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa insists that you stay with them throughout the summer. Your father’s mental state had progressively worsened since the passing of your mother, and he’s become the worst version of himself.

 You wrap your arms around Draco’s neck as he carries you into his bathroom. The water is already running, and bubbles are foaming.

 “I’ll give you some privacy. Call if you need me,” he says. He kisses your head once after he sets you down, and you give yourself a minute to breathe before slowly peeling your clothes off and sitting in the warm water.

 Year Five

 Meetings. Every single day. Just meetings. Secret meetings. Hushed meetings. Malfoy Manor booms in a way you never thought possible. Death Eaters in and out, your own father in and out, all with one common goal. It’d been a long summer, and though Cedric stayed on your mind, the healing process began and you were learning to move on.

 Draco keeps you away from the chaos as best he can. Today in particular, the two of you enjoy a picnic in a field of sun-facing sunflowers, just before the peak of dawn. He’d gone all out, packing strawberries and biscuits, an assortment of your favorite teas, some pumpkin pasties that you love.

 “You didn’t have to do all of this,” you smile, flopping back on the picnic blanket.

 “I did,” he chuckles. “Another ridiculous meeting, another ridiculous group of people sitting in the parlor.”

 “Still,” you shrug. You take a strawberry from the basket and take a bite. Draco watches your mouth, his heart jumping in a way it never had before. He looks away from you, instead lying next to you, his head just inches from yours.

 “Could I ask you a question?” he asks. You tilt your head, looking over at him.

 “Of course you can, Dray.”

 “You loved Cedric, right?”

 “Yeah. I did,” you sigh, your heart aching. You gaze at the sky, taking in the clouds that seem to form so quickly.

 “What did that feel like?”

 “Why do you ask?” You ask, leaning up on your elbow. You gaze down at him, studying the curves and shadows of his face.

 “No reason. Just curious,” he says, shrugging.

 “I don’t know,” you sigh, laying back down. “I suppose it’s something like an infatuation. I was at my happiest when I was with him. I could talk with him about the things on my mind, and he did the same for me. I suppose it felt like being with my best friend.”

 “I thought I was your best friend?” Draco jokes.

 “Don’t flatter yourself,” you snort. You both grow quiet. “I guess you are.”

 “Does that mean being Mrs. Malfoy won’t be terrible?”

 “We’ll have to wait and see,” you giggle. You turn on your side, your eyes traveling over Draco’s features. Your breath hitches in your throat for the first time since seeing your Hufflepuff boy on the Hogwarts Express, and your heart races in a way that’s unfamiliar.

 Draco looks over to you, his eyes locking with yours. No words are spoken; you just gaze at each other. You notice the way the blue in his eyes streaks between the clouds of grey, and he notices the gold flecks in yours. For the first time since you’d met Draco, you finally felt the spark your parents had been pushing you to have.

 ~

 “Y/N, we should join,” Draco insists, holding the Inquisitorial Squad flyer out in front of the both of you.

 “Why would we do that? Seems daft,” you dismiss him, turning your eyes back to your Potions book.

 “Because, it’d be a way to get insight into the Ministry for Father. I’m joining. Are you with me?”

 You set your book down, your eyes narrowing to slits as you stare over at Draco. You sigh, then nod. “Alright, alright. If it makes you happy.”

 Draco smiles his broad smile- the one he saves for you- and gives you a light kiss on your cheek. Your returning grin is unmatched as you fight to regain focus on your book, trying to knock some homework out before the end of the night, but your heart skips a beat the way it does when Draco is around, and you give up.

 “Thank you,” he says in his small voice, resting his elbows on either side of your hips, pinning you to the plush chair in the Common Room.

 “Yeah, yeah,” you laugh. You make a show of pushing him off you.

 “Get a room,” Pansy sneers. “The Common Room is supposed to be a comfortable place, not one that makes me gag.”

 Your eyes roll farther in your head than ever before, and you give Draco the ‘look.’ The look that says: ‘Say something or I will.’

 “Bugger off, Pansy,” Draco says. He waves her away with his hand, turning his attention back to you. You raise an eyebrow at him. “What?”

 “Nothing,” you say, picking your book up and placing it in your bag. “I’m going to the library to study. Sign us up for that Squad, or whatever.”

 “Inquisitorial Squad,” he corrects. He stands, watching as you leave.

 ~

 A badge is pinned to your robes by that grubby Umbridge woman.

 “Now, the Inquisitorial Squad is upon one of the highest honors a student at Hogwarts can achieve. As we all know, it is impossible for myself and Mr. Filch to be everywhere at once, so we’re counting on you to report back to me with wrongdoings of other students,” she chirps. She hands each student a notebook. The front page of the notebook breaks down the demerit system. The following pages are specialized to match the crime, the student’s name, and their house. “Wrongdoings should be recorded properly each day, and at the end of the night watches, we will reconvene and punishments will be made. Does everybody understand?”

 “Yes Professor,” you drone. You inwardly roll your eyes. What has Draco gotten you into?

 ~

 The first night of the Inquisitorial Squad rotation comes, and you’re roaming the halls with Draco past bedtime, looking for any students out of bed.

 “Why don’t we patrol through the Gryffindor Tower? Potter and his friends are always roaming about the castle at night,” Draco spits.

 “Or we could go towards the kitchen? Most Hufflepuffs sneak out past bedtime to stock their rooms with snacks,” you shrug.

 “How do you know that?” Draco asks, looking over at you.

 Your heart stops for a minute, and that familiar pain is fleeting as you feel the pang before he goes. “Something Cedric told me.”

 Draco looks at you apologetically. He grabs your hand in his own, squeezing your fingers gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- sometimes I forget that Ced- I- I’m sorry.”

 “It’s fine, Dray. Really,” you say, keeping your eyes cast downwards. “It comes and goes, but I think for the most part I’m okay. Cedric was the first boy I ever loved, and his death was cruel and unfair. No one even believes that he’s back, not even the Ministry- the people who are supposed to be protecting us. He died for nothing.”

 Draco stops the two of you, and he turns you towards him, holding onto your shoulders.

 “Cedric didn’t die for nothing, Y/N. We’ll make sure of that.”

 “But how? We’re working for a woman who believes that the Minister is right and Harry is wrong when you know he’s right, Draco. There’s no way for us to prove it.”

 “Do you trust me?”

 “What?” You tilt your head, confused. “Why would you ask me that?”

 “Y/N, do you trust me?” He asks again, his eyes boring into yours.

 “Draco- I… Yes.”

 “Alright, that’s all I needed to know,” he says. He strides forward, pulling you with him.

 ~

 “Keep watch,” Draco insists. His obsession with Harry Potter is officially out of hand, but you huff and do as asked, peaking your head out from the corridor.

 “This is ridiculous,” you say.

 “Shh,” he snaps. He places his hand on your lower back, anchoring you to the wall in front of him. “You know Potter and his gang are in there, it’s just a matter of time before we catch them. We need to do this, Y/N.”

 “Fine,” you sigh. Chills run down your spine as you feel his warm breath on your neck. You didn’t know why he needed to be so close to you- you were standing in a wide-open corridor that no one ever used. Well, no one except Harry Potter, apparently.

Draco eyes the skin on your neck, the silver locket placed around it glimmers in the dull light, enticing him. He feels your shallow breathing against his hand on your back, but he doesn’t act upon his urges.

 You turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder when you realize just how close his face is to yours. Your eyes dart to his lips, then back to his stormy eyes, his doing the same. Your heart races in your chest, and your breathing is shallow and stuck in your throat. Just as he’s leaning in, the door at the end of the corridor appears, and Harry Potter himself exits.

 His eyes are wide as he takes in the scene of you and Draco- not that he should be shocked. Everyone knew of your situation.

 “Potter,” Draco spits. He adjusts the sleeves of his button-down shirt and stalks towards him, and although he looks rather unaffected by the moment between the two of you, his cheeks are tinted pink.

 “Malfoy,” Harry spits back. “Nott.”

 “Harry,” you say quietly, joining Draco. “We’re here to warn you.”

 “Warn me about what?”

 “The Inquisitorial Squad,” Draco says, sounding rather bored. “They know you and your lot have been having secret meetings.”

 “I suppose you’re the one who told them, yeah?” Harry bites.

 “Harry,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you and Draco have your differences, but listen to me. They’re onto you, and they’re coming to bust you. They know you’ve been meeting here, they’ve been watching you for weeks now. I don’t know what’s going on, but you haven’t made it too difficult to figure it out, and they think they have. Tomorrow afternoon, at your two o’clock meeting, they’re going to try and stop it.”

 “Why are you telling me this?”

 Draco looks over at you. “I won’t let Cedric die in vain. And if that means going against what everyone expects of me, I’ll do it.”

 “Joining the good side, are you, Malfoy?” Harry mocks. You roll your eyes.

 “Seriously? Can you both just stop it for five minutes?”

 “I don’t believe you,” Harry says. He stalks past you, leaving you both dumbfounded. You look up at Draco, him down at you.

“I don’t know what else we can do, then,” he shrugs. You sigh, but you understand.

 “Maybe after tomorrow he’ll believe us.”

 ~

 Harry believed you, alright. Right after the Inquisitorial Squad, minus you and Draco, busted Dumbledore’s Army, Hermione Granger somehow got rid of Umbridge in the most ladylike way imaginable.

 “That was something,” you say that night, sitting in the Great Hall.

 “Can’t say we didn’t warn him,” Draco laughs, his snotty bite coming back into his voice. He picks at the badge on his robes, picking yours off as well. “Next time I try to help, just tell me to stop.”

 “Don’t worry, I will.”

 Year Six

 The Malfoy Manor was darker and gloomier than ever. Voldemort was back, and was back with a vengeance.

 “Draco?” You ask, rolling over on your back to look at him. The sunflowers had long since died, but you two still came to the field to get away from the overbearing looks of expectance from his parents, from your father, and all the death eaters around you.

 “Yes?”

 “How do you think this is going to end?”

 Draco looks over at you. He rests his cheek in his palm, supporting himself on his elbows. “I honestly don’t know. Why?”

 “I don’t feel safe,” you confess, watching the grey clouds as they take over the sky. You finally meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, his eyebrows pulled together. He reaches out and tucks a wild strand of your hair behind your ear.

 “I’ll always keep you safe,” he whispers. He wraps his arm around your head and pulls you close to him. You breathe him in, your forehead resting in the crook of his neck as he holds you. You feel his fingertips trail the length of your arm, and you sigh.

 “How can you be so sure?”

 “Don’t you see, Y/N? You’re everything to me,” he whispers. He leans down, kissing your forehead so softly you wonder if he even did it. Your heart does flips inside your chest, and you bite your lip as you look up at him.

 “This is going to be a hard year, isn’t it?”

 Draco nods sadly, looking down at you. His nose brushes against your cheek as he rests his forehead atop yours.

 With all your strength, you caress his cheek. You lean up, and for the first time, his lips meet your own. Your world stops spinning at the feeling of his gentle lips. His left hand moves from your neck to tangle in your hair, his right holding you by your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

 Draco rolls you onto your back, his lips locked with your own. You tug at the ends of his hair, your body arching into his.

 At last, your body began to protest, and you both pull away.

 “Y/N,” he whispers, trailing his fingers through the stray hairs on your forehead. You gaze up at him, studying the shadows his nose makes on his chiseled face, and the way his blond hair makes your heart jump when it’s flipped in his forehead the way it is right now.

 “Hm?”

 “Do you think you could ever love me the way you loved Cedric?” His voice is so small, you’re sure you misunderstood him. Your heart aches in a different way, and you avert your gaze, his own becoming too intense for you to stare into for much longer.

 “Draco,” you start, but he rolls off you and onto his back, covering his eyes with his arms, shielding them from a sun that isn’t there.

 “It’s okay. I understand,” he says flatly.

 “No, that’s not what I- “

 “I get it. It’s alright.”

 “Draco,” you demand, finally sitting up fully and demanding his attention. You rip his arms from his face so he must look at you. “That’s not what I was going to say. Are you going to let me explain, or are you going to continue to be a prat?”

 Draco’s jaw clenches, but he mutters an “if you must.”

 “I must,” you say sweetly. You take a deep breath, your fingers wringing together. “I loved Cedric in a way that I never really understood until lately. It was more than just puppy love, but it was less than an unconditional love, if that makes sense. Cedric taught me a lot about love, yes. He showed me how to express myself, and that it’s okay to make mistakes. His loyalty never faltered from me- he showed me what I deserve. Cedric made my heart race, he made my palms sweaty. He made me feel giddy,” you say, keeping your eyes low.

 “Go on,” Draco encourages, now sitting up fully as well, watching you unfold before him.

 “But you… Draco, you make me feel safe. You make me feel like I could jump from the Astronomy Tower and you’d still be there to catch me. You make me laugh, you challenge me in ways I’ve never been challenged before. And even though sometimes you’re absolutely foul and loathsome, you still look out for me. I’ll never be able to repay you for last year, when you warned Harry with me about the Inquisitorial Squad.”

 “I did that for you, not for Potter,” he says quickly.

 “I know. And it’s one of the thousands of reasons that I am in love with you,” you say. Your eyes finally meet his. They’re wide and grey and beautiful and looking at you like you are the most precious thing in the world. “I don’t love you the same way that I loved Cedric, and I probably never will. But I love you in a way that is our own, in an unconditional way that cannot falter. I’m in love with you, Draco Malfoy, because before my mother died, she told me to watch for the man that made me feel exactly the way you make me feel, the same way my father made her feel.”

 “Y/N,” Draco starts, reaching out to you.

 “I’m not finished,” you say, pulling back from him. “It wasn’t both of our parents that made the Unbreakable Vow. It was our mothers. The vow was broken when my mother died. Draco, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t be. It’s our choice now, whether we are to marry or not. And if you don’t want to marry me, well, I guess I could understand that. But I still choose you, and I will always choose you, for the way that you’ve always chosen me.”

 “May I?” he asks, reaching for your hand. You nod once.

 “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you for I don’t know how long. I realized it the day of the second task. When Cedric pulled you from the water, I could breathe again, and I didn’t even know you were down there. You never need to worry about me not choosing you. You are my only choice. My only one,” he says, looking through you it felt like.

 You sigh, moving into his arms once again. You rest your head against his chest, and his arms hold you tightly. He kisses your hair softly, resting his cheek in your locks.

 ~

 Dinner wasn’t what you expected it to be. Narcissa was quieter than she usually was, Lucius was ghostly white. Even your father hadn’t touched his own drink all night. Something was going on.

 “Draco, Y/N, a word,” Lucius says quietly. He rises from the table, excusing himself into the parlor, where all meetings were had. You and Draco share a look before you stand. He grabs your hand as you walk into the parlor.

 “Father, what is it?”

 “Sit,” he commands. You and Draco both sink into the couch, and Draco’s hands cover your own, trying to stop their trembling. “The Dark Lord has requested you both be at the next meeting. He has an assignment for the both of you.”

 “I thought we weren’t to be tied up in this?” Draco asks, now leaning forward a bit.

 “We were promised immunity for the both of you if we remained loyal. We have, but the Dark Lord has thought otherwise. You are to both be at the meeting, no questions asked.”

 You nod, staring down at your fingers as you finally understand what this means. Loyalty to Voldemort. The dark mark. Death eaters.

 ~

 That night, you stay at the Malfoy Manor in favor of returning home with your passively drunk father. You toss and turn in the guest room where you usually stay, finding the bed to be less than comfortable, less than warm. When you’ve finally had enough, you kick your feet from under the covers and pad to the door, stepping into the hallway quietly.

 You weave your way through the manor until you come to the familiar brown door. You knock once, but there’s no answer. You push it open quietly and enter, closing it behind you. Draco’s light snores fill the room. His head is shoved into the pillow, his blond hair flopping into his eyes. You smile to yourself, memorizing the moment in your head.

 A cool gust of wind blows through his open window, and you shiver once. It’s the only push you need to crawl into the bed with Draco, just like you’d done hundreds of times before. This time felt different, though. His bed not only brought comfort, but you finally felt at home. Safe and warm and home. You wrap the covers around your body and lay on your side, facing the door you’d walked through.

 Draco stirs once, but doesn’t wake up. He turns, wrapping his arm around your body, his lips nipping at your shoulder. He settles again, snoring quieter this time. You sigh and snuggle deeper into his arms, finding solace in his warmth.

~

 Everything about the room was just a little duller than usual. The lighting was a little bit dimmer, the stone walls were a bit darker, the room was a bit colder. You sit at the table, Draco on your right, your father on your left. Draco’s fingers are warm around your own hand, despite his shivering. He fights to keep still in his black tux, which you thought he’d look very handsome in on any normal day.

 “Welcome,” Voldemort says in his gravelly voice. The meeting kicks off, the first one with the two new people. It’s mildly uneventful, and he mostly goes over business and plans. Finally, he dismisses everyone except you and Draco. Your breathing is hollow, and you cling to Draco.

 “Ah, the young couple,” Voldemort says. “I have a special task just for you. You see, with you two still being students at Hogwarts, you’re able to get closer to some powerful wizards than I,” he gestures to a werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, standing by the door. “My dear friend Greyback will take you to Borgin and Burkes tomorrow, and you will begin your task. I want Dumbledore dead. And I want Death Eaters spreading our message all over Hogwarts, and it’s your job to get them there.”

 Your heart drops to your stomach, and you look over at Draco, who looks cold and white as marble.

 ~

 “Here you go, dear,” Narcissa says. She places a small cup of tea in front of you, then sits next to you, rubbing your back softly. “I know this is difficult, and I’m sorry we couldn’t keep you and Draco from this.”

 You sip your tea gratefully. “I know. It’s not your fault, though.”

 “I don’t know how long we’ll be paying for my husband’s mistakes.”

 “We’ll do what we have to do,” you say, offering her a small smile.

 “Can you do me a favor?”

 “Of course,” you say, setting your teacup down.

 “Draco will do anything to keep you safe. Anything. I see the way he looks at you. Like you’re his most prized possession. Almost like you’re so delicate that you’ll disintegrate if he isn’t there to hold onto you,” she says, half of a smile on her lips.

 “What would you like me to do?”

 “Show him how strong you are. Show him how brave you are. I think knowing that you can handle yourself if needed will give him some peace of mind. But please be careful doing it. I can’t imagine what losing you would do to Draco.” Narcissa looks at you, a fond smile on her face. “He loves you more than I could’ve ever imagined. And I’m so glad that it’s you.”

 You can’t help your returning grin. “I will, I promise. I love him, too.”

 “I know you do. You’re already family. We’ll protect you just as much as we protect him.”

 ~

 You take Narcissa’s words to heart. That year, you spend the entire first half learning to hide your dark mark with a new wardrobe, and you spend all your free time with Draco in the Room of Requirement, trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet.

 “I’m working with Flitwick on some charms that are a bit more advanced for repairing than this, but it’ll take some time,” you say, flopping down on the dust-covered floor.

 “How are you getting him to teach you such advanced magic?”

 “I told him I’m trying to fix some of my mum’s things. I brought one of her old mirrors to practice on. We’ve been trying to repair it, but Narcissa placed an irreparable charm on it. When she thinks I’m ready, she’ll remove the charm.”

 Draco smiles softly at you, holding your chin in his palm. “You are so incredibly smart, my love. And talented.” You watch the tears fill his eyes.

 “Draco, we can do this. I know we can,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

 “I know we can. But I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be forever known as the guy who killed Albus Dumbledore,” he says, his voice cracking. He wipes at his eyes once, and you try your hardest to hold it together for him.

 “If it comes down to it, I’ll use your wand to do it. No one will ever have to know, alright?”

 “I wouldn’t let you do that, Y/N.”

 “Draco, do you trust me?”

 “Yes.”

 “Alright. That’s all I needed to hear.”

 ~

 You walk out of Dumbledore’s office feeling hopeful. You’d told him everything, from trying to curse him with the necklace that accidentally cursed Katie Bell, to the rum. To your surprise, he’d known everything. All of it. He’d known all along that you and Draco were tasked to do this. And he had a plan that he wouldn’t disclose with you, because the less you knew the better.

 You walk towards the Great Hall, your stomach grumbling for the first time since you’d gotten the task, when you heard a strangled cry. You stop in front of the boys’ lavatories and look down, noticing that you were standing in a puddle of water.

 Quickly, you walk inside, and suddenly, Cedric’s death flashes behind your eyes for the millionth time. Except this time, it feels much more real, and much, much worse. Harry Potter was standing over Draco, blood spewing from his white shirt. Draco’s breathing is shallow and almost nonexistent.

 “I’m sorry! I- I didn’t know and-” Before Harry could finish, you had him pinned to the wall, your wand at his throat.

 “Harry Potter, WHAT did you do to him?”

 The door swings open and Professor Snape glides in, eyeing the situation. He kneels next to Draco, muttering silently as a quiet rage emanates from him. The blood rushes from the floor and back into Draco’s body. Snape stands, and instantly, you let go of Harry and rush to Draco’s side as he coughs and wheezes.

 “Hey,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Hey, you’re alright. You’re gonna be fine.”

 “Miss Nott, get Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. I’ll deal with Mr. Potter.”

 You nod, pulling Draco off the floor. He limps next to you all the way to Madam Pomfrey. You quickly replay the situation, and she goes to work; serums and potions and herbal remedies are shoved into Draco one by one. The color slowly returns to his cheeks, and soon, he’s no longer spluttering and coughing. He reaches for you and you move next to him, collapsing in his arms at once.

 “I was so worried,” you sob, clinging to him. “I thought… I- “

 “Shh,” he whispers. “I’m going to be alright. I’m okay.”

 ~

 Second term comes and faster than you would’ve liked, you finished the Vanishing Cabinet. Now, as the sky changes from a gloomy grey to an orange, and finally to a muggy black, you stand before the cabinet, almost admiring your handiwork and use of charms and more advanced magic than you would’ve liked to believe you knew.

 “Is everything in place?” Draco asks, stalking into the Room of Requirement.

 “Yeah, everything is ready. We have until the hour is up to prepare ourselves, though,” you whisper, reaching your hand out to him. He takes it gingerly, running his thumb over your knuckles.

 “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise,” he says. “If I can’t do it, we run. Alright?”

 “We won’t make it very far,” you say, watching him carefully. “Draco, please remember what I said. I can handle this. If you can’t, then I will. I’ve already spoken to Dumbledore and-“

 “You did what?” He asks, dropping your hand. He’s angry. Almost too angry for your liking.

 “I spoke to Dumbledore,” you repeat, keeping your cool. “He knows tonight is the night. He knows what is going to happen to him. He knows you- you’re going to kill him. But he says he has a plan. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“Of course he wouldn’t tell you what his plan is, Y/N!” Draco explodes. He paces the room, gnawing on the fingernail of his thumb. “Do you know what happens if the Dark Lord finds out about this? About you sneaking off and revealing the plan to Dumbledore?”

 You move in front of Draco, stopping his pacing by placing your hands on his forearms. “Draco, he already knew. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know. He knew for months that the Dark Lord was going to assign us this task. He already knew, Draco, because someone had already told him!”

 Draco’s gaze meets your own, but he doesn’t have time to formulate a response. The door to the vanishing cabinet opens, and Fenrir Greyback is the first to jump out of it.

 “Good work, young’uns,” he snarls. “Good work indeed.”

 ~

 Wand poised, head up, the fear of the moment striking you in ways you didn’t think possible. The summer breeze blew your hair back, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you consider those sparkling blue eyes.

 “Miss Nott,” Dumbledore says, eyeing you. “How very brave of you, to take Mr. Malfoy’s place. Though I didn’t think you the type.”

You don’t respond, choosing to keep your mouth shut- if you spoke, surely your voice would crack and you wouldn’t be able to do it. Draco steps next to you, holding his wand in front of him.

 “Don’t you understand?” He says through his teeth. His voice is a whimper, and your heart breaks for him. “We have to do this. I have to kill you. Or he’s gonna kill me… Or worse, her.”

 Footsteps ring through the Astronomy Tower, and you know the others will be joining to see if the job is finished.

 “Draco,” you whisper, nudging him, but his eyes stay narrowed and focused on Dumbledore. Bellatrix is the first up the stairs. She takes in the scene before her.

 “Well, look what we have here,” she breathes. She moves between Draco and you, placing herself right behind him. “Well done, Draco.”

 Draco can’t seem to hide his disgust as she moves around him, standing at the frontlines. You look over to him, trying to gauge how bad the aftermath will be when this is over. He looks like the shell of the boy you’ve come to love. You reach over as discreetly as you can and slip your hand into his. He falters only for a moment, but straightens his shoulders out as he squeezes your hand.

 “Good evening, Bellatrix,” Dumbledore says. “I think introductions are in order, don’t you?”

 “Love to, Albus, but I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a tight schedule.” She turns to Draco. “Do it.”

 Draco doesn’t move, and your heart races faster than you thought humanly possible.

 “He doesn’t have the stomach,” Greyback sneers. “Just like his father. Let me finish him in my own way.”

 “No!” Bellatrix exclaims. “The Dark Lord was clear the boy is to do it. This is your moment, Draco. Do it.”

 Draco hesitates, his eyes darting between you, Bellatrix, and Dumbledore. You could see the tears forming in his eyes, and how he blinked them away just as quickly as they’d come.

 “Go on, Draco,” Bellatrix encourages again. “Do it, now!”

 Another set of footsteps emerges from the stairwell.

 “No,” Professor Snape drawls as he steps into view. Draco breathes a small sigh of relief, and you breathe one for him. You thought you were going to have to step up to kill Dumbledore.

 “Severus,” Dumbledore starts. The room is silent as everyone looks at each other, then focuses on Snape and Dumbledore. “Please.”

 “Avada Kedavra,” Snape says calmly, twisting his wand towards Dumbledore.

 Draco grabs you, tucking your face against his chest to hide you from the scene, but it was too late. You saw how lifeless Dumbledore had looked, and you saw the way he fell from the top of the tower. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know that Albus Dumbledore was dead, and Lord Voldemort was now in full control.

 ~

 “Y/N,” Narcissa whispers as you enter the kitchen later that night. You rush into her arms, not wanting anyone else to see you like this, weeping for the loss of one of your favorite Professors, the loss of your mother, the loss of your freedom, and the loss of your innocence. “Shh… You’re safe, it’s alright.”

 The deed had been done, and although you nor Draco had uttered that killing curse, you still knew of the plan, you’d still been there, and you were still Death Eaters. You’d done your best to hold it together for Draco, but now you were just trying to hold on a little longer for yourself.

 “I’m so sorry,” you whisper through your sobs. “I tried to show him I could handle it… But- but I- I didn’t do it.”

 “You were perfect, my sweet girl. Everything is alright now… Your task is complete,” Narcissa says, stroking your hair.

 You stay there a few minutes longer, your body shaking with quiet sobs as you hold onto Draco’s mother, well, the only mother you’d known since your fourth year at Hogwarts, when your own mother had passed away.

 “Mum? Y/N?” Draco asks, entering the kitchen. You quickly wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry this way. “Is everything alright?”

 “As alright as it can be,” Narcissa says, still holding you tightly against her. “Why don’t you take Y/N up to bed. I will pretend to not notice that the guest bed will not have been slept in, okay?”

 Draco nods and reaches his hand out to you, and you gingerly take it. He pulls you to him and wraps you in a tight hug, and you break down again. Draco is quick as he bends down and picks you up, wrapping one arm around your back and the other behind your knees, keeping you cradled to him.

 The night is sleepless and filled with nightmares of Dumbledore’s ashen face, and although you are tucked between Draco’s arm and chest, you still feel as lifeless as Dumbledore.

Year Seven

 Hogwarts will never be the same. The Carrows have taken over at the request of Headmaster Snape. Gryffindors are tortured, Hufflepuffs are belittled, and Ravenclaws are tested daily, but Slytherins are untouched.

 Classes now revolve around the Dark Lord and dark arts, and at one point, you were sure you’d been poisoning textbooks in your “potions” class.

 “This is ridiculous,” you say, tossing one of your textbooks on the floor of the common room.

 “What if we ran away?” Draco says suddenly. He’s standing by the window, looking into the murky water of the black lake. “What if we just left? No one would even notice we were missing.”

 “Draco,” you start. “Everyone would know we were missing. What about your mother and father? We can’t put them through that.”

 “Why not? If they don’t know, it can’t hurt them. Let’s just go. We can go to Italy, maybe? Hide out for a bit, I know of a wizarding community there. We can just go be together and not have to worry about all of this for a while.”

 “Draco, I don’t know… It sounds too risky. What if they come after us?”

 Draco kneels in front of you, holding your hands between his own.

 “I won’t let them hurt you anymore. I promise. Let’s get out of here, let’s just go.”

 He gazes up at you, his eyes fierce and grey and beautiful, and you are completely entranced. The way he looks at you tells you that he’s been thinking about this for a while, and although it’s against your better judgement, you nod.

 “Okay. Let’s go.”

 ~

 Italy was amazing, to say the least. Though you kept track of what was going on back at Hogwarts, it was like the loom of the Dark Lord was almost absent here. Nobody seemed to care that there was a dark and powerful wizard on the rise, and nobody was rushing around as they were back home. It was sunny and beautiful most days, and Draco took you to so many tourist attractions that it felt like a genuine vacation.

 But it was over sooner than you would’ve liked. Soon enough, you were back in the Malfoy Manor, six months behind you like they never happened.

“It’s happened,” Lucius says gravely. “He’s taking over Hogwarts. We invade tomorrow. He’s going to kill Harry Potter.”

 ~

 The battle is fierce and scary and it only took one curse at Hermione Granger for you to understand which side you wanted to fight for. All it took was a look and Draco was on the same side as you.

 So, you fought Death Eaters tooth and nail together, side by side, protecting each other at all costs. You throw curses you didn’t even know you really knew, and scream counter-curses over your shoulder when Draco freezes up.

 Through everything, Draco never leaves your side. Even now, when you stand in the courtyard among your fellow students, the Dark Lord in front of you, you aren’t afraid.

 “I killed Harry Potter!” Voldemort shouts gleefully. His smile is in slits, and he looks more menacing than ever.

 There was a flurry of activity from Hagrid’s arms where Harry Potter lay, and suddenly, Harry was on his feet and the fighting began again.

 ~

 Voldemort is gone for good. There’s no way he can hurt you or Draco now. Snape is dead. Lucius is in Azkaban, and you and Draco? You stand together, hand in hand, in the sunflower field you once lay in, grinning at each other as some of your closest friends surround you.

 “Draco Lucius Malfoy, do you take Y/N Y/M/N Nott to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

 Draco smiles at you, and it is a smile that could bring anything back to life. “My love, I’ve chosen you since the beginning, and here I stand choosing you now. I do.”

 “I do, too,” you say, before the pastor can even get his own words out. You don’t wait for him to announce you as man and wife before you throw yourself into his arms, kissing him hard in front of everyone, though in that moment it was only the two of you.

 The following years were spent together in your cottage in Italy. It was quaint, but a nice change of pace from the manor that you’d both been so used to. Narcissa visits often, always bringing goodies from the Manor and sometimes even staying weekends. Draco vowed to only be a force of good, and had become a Healer at a St. Mungo’s location in Venice. You, however, were particularly gifted in charms, and helped apparated to London often to visit and help him develop new protective spells.

 It wasn’t long before you and Draco started your own little Malfoy family. First a little boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, followed two years later by a little girl, Cecelia Rose Malfoy. It wasn’t long before you moved back to London, wanting your own children to go to Hogwarts as you both did.

 Draco was happier than you’d ever seen him. You often danced together in the kitchen, and read your two children books together. He’d turned into the man you needed and loved, and he cherished you as if you were his most prized possession. Because in his eyes, you were. He would never stop choosing you, and you him.

[rosesareviolentlyread]

BTHB: Forced to Beg

GUESS WHAT it’s more fae bb, she just refuses to stop coming up with ideas, so for now I’m using her for most of this BHTB card! I’ve already got quite a few planned out, but if you have a request for a square with another of my characters or just a scenario you’ve always wanted written, go ahead and send it in! 

If you want to read more, this is part of my Fae BB series, a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively (idk when I’ll stop plugging them and their series’ because I LOVE IT) I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. . On my blog page I have a summary and masterlist up now.

Follows sometime after Water

Thanks to @whumpywhumper​ @bleedingandfeverish​ and @straight-to-the-pain​ for beta reading and @quirkykayleetam​ for the idea!

CW: Intimate whumper, religious whump, captivity, toxic religion, creepy whumper, eye gore, SERIOUS eye gore, body horror

“What is this?” Pastor John holds a thick stack of papers in his hand. They’re covered more in handwritten colorful ink than the original black and white printed texts, notes squished into every available space in a rainbow of information. Careful, precise handwriting on crisp paper, that crumples and gives under the punishingly tight grip of the man, veins popping in his hands.

Sitting back on her heels, on her knees, Faith keeps her hands still, gently clenched on top of her thighs. She tries to keep her voice even,“I-I was researching, about the Fae. About myself. It is where I failed in my path, in my work. ‘First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother’s eye.’ “ 

A deep sigh comes in reply, an echo of disappointment lingering in the air. “Luke 6:42, very good. Yes, I know, we discussed this. I agreed to give you back your research, so you could look at it with new eyes, to see the wickedness you were born into. But these—” He squats in front of her, sharply pressed slacks crumpling on top of old leather loafers in her downcast vision. The papers flub-blub-flub in his hands as he shakes them, a curious sound that would make her giggle if not for the severity of the clipped tone. “These, Fae, look an awful lot like notes on magic. Spells. And ways to perform them.” 

“T-They are, Pastor. But only for understanding how it works. The nature of my sin.” 

It’s a weak excuse, a bad excuse, a stupid excuse. God above, how stupid was she, to think she could lie and get away with this?

Silence weighs down upon her thickly, the world of lies she’s been living in pressing in on all corners. Lies that have weighed on her since before she knew them. But that weight is no longer intangible, now he can see it, she can feel it. The burden of her sin has fallen on her shoulders, and she’s chosen to carry it. 

But after all, God isn’t supposed to tempt you beyond your ability. That there would be escape with the temptation. The problem was, what was the temptation, and what was the escape? 

Somehow, she’d thought that maybe if she had been born magic, been born to all those things supernaturals believed in, something in that magic could be the thing to save her. Could be the sign she’d been looking for. 

Because when the fire in the water, the attempt of iron baptism to burn her sin, had met her soul, it hadn’t just burned away the edges of faith concealing who she really was. It had ignited something within her, some temptation she’d always known, which had followed to this point. Had followed, to her folly, again thinking it was the escape God intended for her.  

God had no mercy for Eve, and he would have none for guilty Fae who have chosen the apple over the garden. 

A hand tilts her chin until she’s looking at his eyes. His eyes that are slightly red, tears budding at the edges that she hopes are flowers of forgiveness, the forgiveness he preaches to her, the forgiveness that is the only thing she prays for now. From her supernatural friends, for not listening. From her parents, for lying. From her brother, for everything.

“Why would you lie?” His voice breaks, leather tones cracking like a brittle piece left to dry in the sun. With it, a tear falls, bright against the irritated blotchiness of his skin, a wet sound to his breath. “After all we’ve done, Fae, all our— why would you lie rather than ask for forgiveness?” A hand so soft and gentle cups her face, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. Her own tears smear with it across her cheek as she leans into the touch. 

“I’m sorry.” 

No, that’s a lie too, if she’s honest. She’s not sorry for trying to escape this hellway to heaven. But the fact is she put herself here. Let herself fall back into sin again and again.  Forgot how to be truthful, how to be honest and think of anything but herself. Had she ever really? Had she ever meant it? 

Was she Eve, tempted into sin, or a devil in disguise here to tempt the faithful?

“I don’t see it. Show me, show me you are sorry” She watches with pleading eyes as he gets up, figure blurred to her tearful regret. He moves away, the gentleness gone. Arms are clasped in front of him, waiting, a stone statue gazing down on her, leaving her to make her own contrition.

“Please, please. I am sorry, I am. I lied. I was- was tempted by it. Again. I should’ve known” 

Silence meets her, unmoving, unwavering, unsatisfied. 

So she tries again. 

“C-corinthians 10:13 says,  God will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, so I was tempted, tempted to see what magic could do but God, my love for him, would never let me be tempted to do magic. The knowledge, that was- was my escape from temptation. To know, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do. Please Pastor I recognize it was wrong, I know, I knew and I did. Please by the Lord’s mercy forgive me” 

It’s absolutely a lie, now. Because she’d tried to use those tiny tendrils she felt in her body, a whisper of a voice of a song she didn’t know, couldn’t know.  But as those eyes bore into her, her body starts shaking, using all the movement he should be. But he’s just standing there, silent, as more words pour out of her mouth, as she mistakes proverbs and words in her stumbles to try and explain, to try and reconcile her actions.

The silence leaves her with nothing to do but try not to drown in her repeated mistakes, drops in a bucket turned tub turned ocean of her own making. Why was she so incapable of doing the right thing? Of doing what he said and leaving? Why did she insist on making herself take two steps back for every step forward, putting her foot in her mouth even now. 

Her penitential deluge is interrupted by a sigh, stopped dead in its tracks.  After what feels like an eternity of stoned silence, the Pastor turns swiftly, leaving her with nothing but the thud of his steps before there’s a return to silence. 

Her brain tries to comprehend what it means, tries to dissect every minuscule facial movement imagined or not seen in the shadows of the dark. Did he forgive her? Did he believe her? What had she even said? The memories of her own words slip through her fingers like water, as ‘should’ve’s’ and better words come to mind. 

Her panicked race of thoughts is interrupted by the creak of stairs coming back down. Distinctive by now as they evoke the hope of mercy and the fear of discovery, the duality of her new existence, her limited choices. 

This time, she prays it’s hope she feels. 

When she opens her eyes to see John holding a box filled with things, it is instead a rabbit-hearted dread.

“Pastor?” 

His breath hitches through his nose, voice almost cracking. “I prayed, I did, that we could prevent this. But I see, now, that we may have to take a push forward to prevent a backslide.” He sets the box down, but she doesn’t dare look, doesn’t dare look away from the kindness in his eyes, the gentleness of his hands that is all she can cling to down here. 

And gently, those hands lay her down, one rubbing circles into the back of her head while the other presses on her sternum in an unspoken command that makes her fold like paper. It feels like a dream almost, something unreal, something that’s happening to someone far away as hands are pulled above her head, fastened together and to a wooden beam tightly, so tight it’s tingling in her fingertips like tiny fireworks as blood struggles to meet them. 

The box scrapes against the ground, and she feels a heavy weight settle on her pelvis, her eyes refusing to look away as John pulls on a pair of purple gloves. 

“Matthew 18:9,” is what he says as a latex finger goes to flick a tear that’s leaked out of her eye harshly, the material dulling the warmth of his skin, an alien touch that suddenly makes him feel less human, but more real. 

Matthew 18:9. Matthew 18:9. What is Matthew 18:9? 

The hand goes to squeeze her shoulder muscle, sending a lance of pain up her numbing arms, eyes shooting open wider. 

“Fae. What is Matthew 18:9?” The voice becomes rigid. Severe. Bitter. Like the time where she was struggling to breathe as iron-laced water flooded her lungs. When she failed to be purified by it, burning in a pooled hell. 

As the pressure increases, feeling like it’ll crush her muscle, her brain finally scrambles to find the words, fallen from her mouth practically unbidden

“And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the hell of fire.”

The shock of realization makes her twist, thrash under the weight that sinks down on her torso, preventing movement alongside the ropes that cut into her skin with friction, barely allowing any flow of blood and turning her arms into numb weights.

“No, please, please no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Pastor, please forgive” she scrambles for a plea, a phrase, something she hasn’t used yet. “J-James 2:13! Mercy triumphs over judgement.” But the hands ignore her, shuffling through supplies, wiping something cold and stinging all around her right eye.

 “Pleasedon’tdothis, 1 John 1:9 ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness’. PleasepleasepleasePLEASE!” Her voice is high and airy in her throat as she struggles to pull in air between the real weight of John on her chest, and the weight of her own panic allowing only the shallowest sips to reach her lungs. 

The hands stop and sigh, directing her gaze to his face. Her breath stops at meeting the cold gravestone slate of his eyes, frozen by his touch. 

“Proverbs 19:8 ‘Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.’ I have shown you mercy. I cannot abide your crying anymore without punishment Fae.”

The tears start to flow as the stinging returns to her eyes, pleas now just helpless sobs as he sets objects beyond her eyesight. There’s the distinct smell now of antiseptic, overpowering. She watches him take a swig of clear liquid from a bottle next to her before he pours it over his hands, rubbing them together. 

“I wish there was another way. Your eyes, they see such awful words, they read such terrible things and give you ideas. I forgive you, but He will not Fae. I’m sorry.” 

His tone is resolute even as it fades into a gruff apology, body adjusting to squash the last of her apologies, breath escaping her flesh even as she wishes she could follow it. 

The hand readjusts to pry open the lids of her right eye, thick fingers too strong for the weak muscle. The liquid burns but she can’t close them against it, eyes watering until he’s a blur in her forced vision. The wetness of her tears coats the latex, and a second hand comes to touch her eye itself. Fae’s back attempts to arch under the strain, body screaming with a not supposed to be there don’t touch thatnotsupposedtoTOUCH!

It’s a sharp pressure that builds quickly overwhelming her senses. Sobs turn to screams, wailing on every exhale, short between breaths. It could be minutes. It could be seconds. But the pain feels like an eternity as every piece of her screams against the intrusion to the softest, most vulnerable, most exposed of her organs. The world goes white, pain turned into high pitched noise in her ears as her heart struggles to keep up, a rhythm of thumpthutmpthutmpthump that speeds impossibly fast in her chest. 

And then there’s a pop. Sickening, slimy, a noise that reminds her in a delirious amount of pain like the sound of a sucker out of someone’s mouth. Quiet, slightly slurpy as it’s crushed and pulled, leaking not just tears but now blood and fluid. It’s disquieting to hear it. 

It’s most disquieting to see it freed, for a moment. The world drifting in a nauseating set of two distances, warping to her brain as he doesn’t stop. No. He pulls. 

As the cord snaps, she remembers hearing about the dangers of taut ropes. Of how, when they snap, they whiplash back, causing severe injury. The physics teacher had demonstrated on a rubber band, and she remembers the small snap on her hand that day as she tried it with a lab partner. The feeling like her skin had torn open. 

She has no idea if the nerves react like a rubber band, but her brain tells her that they have. That her entire right side has been whiplashed, shattered bone, ripped skin, blood pouring in heated rivulets until all she can taste is copper and pain. Her face is gone, skull crushed by agony as it booms within in an explosion like a firework set off far too close. A haphazard celebration. 

And it’s his smile of celebration holding a piece of her that she sees as the other half of her world goes dark.

Tags:@bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump  @whumpywhumper​ @greatandquestionablecontent​ (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

[ao3bronte]

🐞Little Lady Paws🐾

1 | 2 | 3

Ladybug gets into a “hairy” predicament when an akuma capture goes wrong.

A collaboration between @ao3bronte​ and @yamina20-blog​ 💕

Carefully clinging to Chat’s wrist with all her strength, Chat flies passed the buildings and rooftops of the 4ème arrondissement on his way over to Master Fu’s. Ladybug tries her best to stay focused on the skyline but she soon gives up and just closes her eyes in an attempt to keep herself from getting sick to her stomach. How did Chat get around the city like this? The jarring ups and downs of his baton on the concrete below made her head spin!

Finally, Chat slows his momentum and lands in a crouch. Feeling safe enough to open her eyes, Ladybug watches from behind his thumb as Chat crawls through Master Fu’s kitchen window and somersaults over a small pile of dishes.

“Back for more tips in Mandarin, Chat Noir?”

“Not exactly,” Chat replies, setting his baton in its holster as Master Fu walks through the threshold of the room, “We have a problem.”

“I can see that,” Master Fu says, peering outside the window at the menagerie of animals blocking traffic on the streets, “I presume Ladybug has found herself in a hairy situation?”

Chat snickers, unfurling his fingers, “She's a hamster.”

“Oh deer,” Master Fu responds with a wry smile of his own, stroking his beard, “There's not much we can do about this, to be perfectly honest.”

Nothing we can do?!

Master Fu glances down at Ladybug and offers up his palm, “I'm afraid not, although we should all be very lucky you didn't turn into an actual Ladybug. That would have been much worse.”

Ladybug pads over to Master Fu’s palm and sits gingerly, her little shoulders slumping forwards. How is she going to cure the damage done by the akuma if she couldn’t be changed back? How is she going to save Paris when she’s stuck like this?

Chat nods in agreement and follows Master Fu into the main parlour, “Is there any way I can cure the damage? There’s got to be something I could do.”

“The Black Cat Miraculous is capable of many things, but Ladybug’s Cure isn’t one of them,” Master Fu sits down on the bamboo mat and invites Chat to follow suit, “The fact that her yoyo let you capture the akuma is a miracle unto itself. It goes to show that you trust each other enough to allow each other to use your weapons intrinsically, which isn’t always the case with each pairing. However, I’m afraid that’s where the sharing ends.”

“So I can’t purify the city?”

“No, and neither can she,” Master Fu sets Ladybug down onto the mat and waits for her to situate herself, “She’s far too small to hold the crowbar herself. If she had been turned into an ape maybe, or a tiger…”

Chat grimaces, “So we need to find a way to make her bigger?”

“I don’t think that’s even possible,” Master Fu says with a sigh, glancing down at Ladybug’s frowning eyes. “Your best bet is to keep her close and hope that Le Papillon creates another akuma that can help you in some way.”

“I can’t say that we’ve ever found an akuma helpful,” he shrugs, drawing a claw across the bamboo mat, “But I guess we don't have a choice.”

“No, we don't,” Master Fu reaches out and lightly rubs the pad of his finger between Ladybug’s little ears. It's a strange sensation, but not a bad one, and she leans into his touch, “These things have a way of solving themselves sometimes. This is hardly the first time a Ladybug has found herself in a bind.”

Ladybug chirps, drawing his attention to her paws as she rolls them in a circle, “You want to hear more?”

Ladybug nods eagerly and Master Fu smiles, “Before my time, I heard of a Ladybug who was turned into a stone statue. It took the entire team to find a solution, but they did in the end. The Peacock Miraculous is particularly good at bringing a person's needs to light if they’re in a tough situation and using her feathers, she and the other Miraculous that were active at the time brought her back to life.”

“It’s nice to know that the Peacock wasn’t always used for evil,” Chat says with a frown, fiddling idly with the cuffs of his boots, “But I guess we don’t have that luxury now. Are you sure you don’t have a potion or something that could help us?”

Master Fu shakes his head, “I’m sorry to the both of you. As I said, you simply have to be patient and hope Le Papillon takes advantage of all of the strife taking place in the city.”

Ladybug sighs and it comes out as a squeak. How am I going to tell my parents?

Master Fu gives her another scritch between the ears, “We’re going to have to find a way to communicate with you. Any ideas Chat Noir?”

“A mobile phone or an iPad?” he suggests as Ladybug turns to face him. She glances down at her paws and nods, “Alright. I’ll find you one to talk on once we get you somewhere safe.”

“You won’t be able to go back to your parent’s home looking like this,” Master Fu says, pointing to the red and black earrings still adorning her ears, “It’s a risk letting anyone see you with your Miraculous still active.”

Chat Noir continues to fidget, “Will she detransform at some point?”

“I doubt it, but you never know,” he responds, “Which is why we need to keep her someplace where she can stay out of harm’s way.”

Chat looks just as puzzled as she feels, “跟我一起吗?” [Gēn wǒ yī qǐ ma? - With me?]

Rubbing her ears, Ladybug spins around and glances between the two of them with wide eyes. Did she just lose the ability to understand French all of the sudden? Or did they just…

“我 觉 那 最好.” [Wǒ jué nà zuì hǎo - I think that would be best.]

HEY! She stomps her foot and chirps up at the two of them, heedless to their guilty expressions. Speak in a language I can understand!

“Chat Noir is going to bring you to a trustworthy friend of his for safekeeping,” Master Fu explains, clasping his hands together, “You’ll be safe with him and Chat Noir will retrieve you when the time is right.”

Ladybug cheeps indignantly, What about school? And I don’t want to stay with Chat Noir’s friend! I want to go home!

“I’m sorry Ladybug, I really am,” Chat Noir’s lips twist into a grimace, “But I promise, my friend is really nice. You’ll be safe there, I know it.”

Facing no other feasible option, Ladybug slumps onto her haunches. How long would she be stuck like this? And why did this have to happen to her?

“Keep in touch,” Master Fu says to Chat Noir over her head and Ladybug has never felt so small, “I will be keeping an eye on things in the meantime. If you need any help, do not hesitate to call.”

“Yes Master,” Chat Noir climbs back onto his feet and scoops her up into his palms once again, “See you soon.”

They’re back out under the setting Parisian sun before she knows it and she clings desperately to him, drawing on all of her rodent strength as he zips through alleys and cantilevers over rooftops. He senses her distress after a minute or two and deposits her onto his shoulder, “Would it be easier for you to hold onto my collar?”

Ladybug hopes her newly acquired fur covers her blush of embarrassment as she settles against the warmth of his neck, blinking as she gets her bearings. She digs into his mardarin collar with her paws and maneuvers herself until she’s more or less straddling his zipper, her haunches resting on the top of his bell.

“Comfy?” he laughs nervously and Ladybug shivers as his voice rumbles through his chest and Adam’s apple, the sound tickling her fur. She squeaks a reluctant affirmative and he's off once again, at a slightly less breakneck pace, much to her relief.

His untamed hair grazes her own from time to time and Ladybug finds it easier to just bury her face in the notch between his collarbones and hold on for dear life. She'd be thoroughly embarrassed at the closeness of her position but she's already so out of her element that she just can't handle another blow to her ego and simply prays that Chat Noir's friend is a nice enough person and will treat her kindly while she's forced to stay with him.

"We're almost there," Chat Noir cradles her for a moment and Ladybug peeks out from behind his collar, spotting a familiar mansion on the horizon.

Where are we going?

"See that big home to the left, Ladybug? That's where my friend lives."

WHAT?!

"He's a really big animal lover," Chat Noir chuckles, hovering on the cusp on his baton so she can get a better view, "But his father would never let him get a pet so I think he'll be really happy to see you."

BUT THAT'S—

"You already know who he is, you've saved him a hundred times from akumas. And he's a really big fan of yours too so you'll have lots of things to talk about."

CHAT NOIR , I DEMAND YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!

"I promise you're going to have a great time. Adrien Agreste has wanted a hamster ever since he was little."

They land with a gentle thud on a familiar eave beside a wall of floor to ceiling windows and Ladybug feels the breath leave her lungs.

"He's not home right now, but I'm going to leave you here anyway. When I find him, I'm going to explain everything that happened so you won't have to worry! And I promise that I'll come by to visit everyday to let you know what's going on."

Slipping in through an open window, Chat somersaults inside and walks towards the bed at the far end of the room. Ladybug's heart begins to patter in earnest, the realisation on whose bed she's about to be dropped on dawning before her eyes.

"And here you are. This will be home for the next couple of days...I'm sure it won't take any longer than that for Le Papillon to make the next move," Chat looks around for a moment before bending down to her level, his elbows making little divots on the mattress before her, "Take it easy on Adrien, okay? I know you're not happy, but like Master Fu said, it could have been worse!"

He smiles and it's so genuine that Ladybug's indignance melts, if only a little.

"I better get going," Chat straightens and waves at her one last time, "Adrien will be back before you know it! À plus!"

Chat Noir disappears and suddenly Ladybug finds herself alone.

In Adrien's bed.

As a hamster.

ಠ_ಠ

[qhostqizmo]

Run to her before she’s gone

Don’t let her go

- - - - - - - - - -

Her fingers entwined with his; palm clasped to palm, was a familiarity Amon knew would never grow old. It was an exhilaration that tingled nerves, burned bone, and made his legs feel gelatinous. He had come to know her hands. He could tell a stranger how she was feeling almost by touch alone; how the limpness was for bad days, how they were clammy and sweaty when she was nervous, or how she squeezed when she was especially giddy. There were moments when her thumb stroked the soft spot by his own; moments that felt like concealed magic between the pair of them. He could describe the softness of her touch like a painter; which corresponded with her heart, but would not spill her secrets unwisely.

What he would tell any soul that would listen however was that as tender as such hands were, it was their strength he admired the most. Essätha was resolute when she held on to something. He was the perfect example. He had been reluctant to be held; sharp and barbed as his retorts, but she had held on nevertheless. She held him together when he felt he had nothing else, and he would never have enough words of gratitude to tell her how much her kindness meant to him.

The warmth in her eyes that usually lifted him and left him soaring was fading before him though, following the waning smile of sadness. He wanted to cling to to the feeling of her hands though, that said a different story than her face. Her gaze said heartbroken where her fingertips said hope.

“You will write me back, won’t you?” Essie probed, an unexplained quietness to her tone.

The nobleman still felt numb. All he could think about was her hands, and how they fit against his own so nicely. What was he supposed to do when hers were no longer there to grasp? What was he to do with his fingers, if not to hold hers?

She waited patiently, and with a growing sorrow in her eyes. His tongue felt too heavy to speak; his throat too tightly constricted to produce words. How could he answer such a question? With glee? With ushered affirmation? How was he supposed to say a word when his voice felt lost?

Those digits he adored fidgeted nervously against his own. She plucked her fingers free of his, but not without effort. Not with how he still tried so desperately to hold on.

Don’t go.

The words just wouldn’t come out. Was this not the peak of love? To let the dove fly where she wanted? To not let her go if only to pray she came back?

I have so much I still want to say to you, just don’t go.

Essätha let out a shaky exhale, a quiet murmur escaping her as she pat his frozen-hands, “Take care of yourself, my lord Amon.”

She leaned in close. Her presence left Amon even more breathless; her beauty, the air around her somehow gentler, kinder, too real and soft. The fragrance of orchid and pomegranate on her skin was alluring; a sacred sin you just wanted to sink your teeth into. She had the most enchanting of eyes; that golden-brown glow that just made the world fall silent. He could hear his own heartbeat. He thought he could hear hers, too.

Her lips grazed his cheek delicately, and she pulled away.

It was at that moment he realized he didn’t know how to say goodbye. He didn’t want to let go.

A marble statue turned to life, he reached out for her hand, but it was too late. She had turned away. He went unnoticed.

His lungs were so cold. The air around him was suddenly frigid and less vibrant.

What happens next? The mechanics in his brain caught; the gears and wires fried. Watching her walk away, standing on the side of the road, afraid and hurting. Is this what was supposed to happen? Was he the Eurydice in this story, bound to call her back and damn both of their souls? Was he doing the right thing, letting her go?

Amon inhaled sharply for the first time, and his chest heaved. The world ahead looked like a tunnel he remembered from before. Lonely, broken, the walls falling down upon him. Where was the exit? What was he supposed to do now? Who was he going to be? He could turn back and go home to his comforts, and take back the mantle that was his place but it felt so unfulfilling. Lifeless. What came after all was lost? How did you find yourself again after everything he’d lost before, and now this.

What did the blind man do when he could finally see the first time in his life? Go back to the shadows? Accept that the colors were too bright, and make no attempt to extend a hand to greet them?

He could not see Essie anymore. It was not just from the liquid swimming unshed in his eyes, either. She was too far from him now. His heart was free. Maybe this is how his story was meant to end. To go back to the beginning of it all.

Turning his glazed over gaze down to his fingers, he stared at their empty spaces. He could still hear her whispers against his calluses. He could still feel her breath making his pulse race; the promises they’d make together, the way she reminded him that he knew how to be delicate. He could still feel the ghost of her touch where her fingers laced against his own.

Was it really over? If he never said the words, not even once, was it ever truly over? Would he ever be able to let go of the regret?

Licking his lips, Amon took a step forward. Then another; aware of how unsteady his limbs felt. He took another. Gravity pulled him forward, as though he was bound to collapse if he did not keep the momentum. A jagged toddle turned into a brisk walk, into a jog, into a full out sprint as he charged down the street. Head down, his boots charged before him, pounding the dirt so fast it was almost like he was flying.

People turned to stare at him as he bolted by, baffled. A younger man he clipped nearly stumbled and fell, letting out a string of curses as his billowing cloak whipped behind him. Amon’s ears were ringing though; the air whistling. He had to tell her. If nothing else, his heart could truly be at peace. The earth could swallow what remained of him then and he would know he’d done enough, because he’d done what he could. He could learn to die slowly, and solitary, but he needed to lay it all out to her first and be sure. He had to be sure.

There she was, standing beside a horse-drawn dray waiting to consult for passage out of his territory and out of his life. There she was, with her hand wrapped around the strap of her bag and the nervously twirling a lock of soft ebony between her fingers anxiously.

Gasping for oxygen, Amon nearly collided with a woman and child stepping out of a nearby building before him. He swerved; his entire body jolted, and he fumbled to skip around the pair. The lady, wide-eyed, clutched her toddler close in alarm as broke out into a run once more as he passed them, panting.

Essie dropped her bag on the back of the cart, and placed a foot up on a metal bar near the bottom to climb in.

“WAIT!”

She was part of the way hoisted up when her spine grew rigid, and she froze. Dropping her foot back to the ground, she turned to look back at him.

Oh Pelor, he could breathe.

Dragging in every bit of air he could, he pushed his burning legs harder; faster, hurling himself in what felt like the final mile of a long-drawn race. Essätha dropped her other foot from the bar to the ground and grew tense, as though expecting him to collide with her.

He did.

Unable to stop or slow his speed he skidded on his boots, stumbled, and grabbed her with arms out. There was only just enough seconds in his trip-and-tumble footing for him to turn, falling back into the wagon with a thud that made the horses jump and prance uneasily. Pain flared up in his hip where it struck the sturdy wood, but it was nothing compared to the agony in letting her just walk away.

Gasping raggedly, the nobleman embraced her tightly, wheezing, “Don’t go!”

Essätha sharply exhaled against his collarbone. “M’lord-”

“Please!”

“Amon-”

“Essätha I love you,” he groaned, squeezing her tightly to his chest. He felt whole. He felt whole.

Her stunned silence caused a creeping anxiety to crawl under his skin. The nobleman fought against its talons, scrapping at his vocal chords. He held her tightly a little longer to get his barrings; to let the sun melt away the ice on his soul, before he could let her go.

With shaky hands, he cupped her face. She was looking down at him, mouth agape.

“If you must leave; if my love is not enough or not what you wanted, I-” he swallowed down the lump in his throat- “I will understand. But I am begging you, if you feel anything for me; if only small, if uncertain but there, please. Please give me a chance, Essie, I swear I will do everything in my power to make you happy, to love you the right way if you will let me. If you’ll have me. Please.”

“I will give you everything I have,” he continued on, hastily, “Everything.”

The sorceress’ mouth still hung open. Her cheeks were warm beneath his palms; holding a dusky pink glow.

Amon pulled her face nearer, and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly.

Something wet struck him on the cheek, trickling down his face.

When he pulled away, he could see the tears spilling over her features. His heartstrings felt pulled in every which way; tangled as he hastily; gingerly began to wipe the moisture from beneath her eyes.

“I thought…” her voice wobbled and breath hitched, “I- I’m sorry-”

A fissure appeared; sucking his heart into a void.

“- I d-didn’t think you wanted me. N-Not like… this.”

Clinging to faith, he asked with breathless confusion, “Like what?”

Essie’s lower lip wobbled. She reached for him; those sweet hands trembling as she stroked his beard, his sideburns, his cheeks and his nose. He felt consumed by her. Healed. Alive.

“I was leaving because… Because I- I thought it would be better than to see you… forget me.” She bit her lower lip. “Let go of me. Move on and… fall madly in love…”

“I am madly in love,” Amon defended gruffly, stubbornly pulling her closer until her forehead rested to his. “I am madly and fiercely in love with you.”

A smile rose up timidly on her lips. He could feel the stutter in his heartbeat, to see something so lovely so close.

“I am rather foolish,” she whispered with guilt.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“You were afraid?”

“Yes.”

Essie pressed her lips delicately against his; soft edges of flowerpetals whispering against his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you, to convince you of my hearts yearning. I’m… still new to the feeling.”

“You love me?” he mumbled in a cracked voice.

Her smile grew, and twinkled joy in her eyes. “I love you infinitely, m’lord Amon.”

Throwing doubt out, Amon pulled her closer once more to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her fingers, all the while, caressed his face. A touch he could never forget.

“I will help you navigate the feelings, if you will help guide me through mine,” he offered in a crooning, anticipating voice.

She smiled brightly, a quiet laugh escaping her. Her fingertips ran through his hair and lightly scraped his scalp.

“I would like that very much.”

Grinning like a fool, he brushed the hair out of Essie’s face. Relief and calm lowered his heartrate as she nestled closer, her nose rubbing against his own.

A quiet noise intruded on their intimate moment, as someone cleared their throat irritably.

“Would ye two decide if ye want on or off m’ah wagon? I’ve got places to be, and ye rallied up the horses ‘nough without your snoggin’.”

His face flushed as much as Essätha’s, Amon sheepishly helped her to stand up. His hip throbbed from striking the damn cart, making him since as he peeled himself off it. He reached for her hand one last time, nervously licking his lips as he met her eyes.

“Ready to go home?”

Essie reached around him. Worry gnawed at him.

Producing her bag, she slung it around her shoulder and took hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers in a familiar way as she gazed into his eyes.

“Lets.”