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spencerreidswhore187 · 1 year

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Checkmate (Part One)

By @spencerreidswhore187 for @sackofpissandshit

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

TW: Death, violence, brief mentions of kidnapping, rape, alcohol/substance abuse and guns.

A/N: Hi! This is my first Spencer Reid fanfic and I’ve also not proof read it so please don’t judge if it’s not very good. It’s inspired/named after the song Checkmate by Conan Gray and influenced a little by the film Mr and Mrs Smith.

“I’m sorry Reid,” Emily whispered. When the team found out, they had to draw straws in order to decide who’d be the one to tell Spencer. Penelope had tears in her eyes and Emily chewed her nails down to the finger. None of them wanted to be the one to break his heart, not after Meave.

Spencer had experienced heartbreak before but not like this. Whereas before, when he watched the girl he loved get shot, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It hurt him so much, like a physical wound. But now? His heart was fine and, yet, it were as if the rest of his organs had shut down. He couldn’t feel anything. He was floating. He could see Emily’s lips moving but all he could hear was your voice, playing over and over and over again in his head.

Spencer remembered the day he told you that he loved you as though it was yesterday. It was late at night, stars splattered across the midnight sky; your legs were draped over his as you lay stretched across Spencer’s sofa. You both had spent the day binging the Star Wars franchise for what was probably the a hundredth (in release order, much to Spencer’s dismay.) You’d looked so beautiful with the crimson and azure lights reflected from the lightsabers on the TV dancing across your skin.

Your mouth was full of pistachio ice cream when the words slipped out, “I love you.” Spencer recalled the way your eyes widened - as if no one had ever said those words to you before. “I love you y/n. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Your lips stretched into a soft smile.

“I love you, too, Spence. More than anything, never forget that.”

Spencer would have sacrificed anything to go back to that moment: every IQ point, every novel in his possession, his role in the FBI. But no matter what happened, Spencer could not turn back time. He could not return to a time before he knew you were a killer.

—————————————————————

“He’s a fucking FBI agent.” Ben spat.

“No he’s not,” you protested, “he’s a surgeon.”

It’s why he had so many spontaneous shifts, why he’d suddenly have to leave in the middle of the night or during a date, it’s why he’d sometimes be gone for long periods of time.

You hated the way Ben laughed at you. You hated Ben. Full stop.

“How can you be so ignorant y/n. You are so god damn naive.”

“He’s a doctor. I swear.” Spencer wouldn’t lie to you. He’d promised you, the night he said he loved you, that he would never lie to you.

Ben slung an arm around your neck and pulled you into him, overwhelming you with the vile scent of alcohol and piss.

“Then fucking explain this,” he grinned, showing you a photo of your boyfriend. You lurched forward as you read the headline of the article: ‘Dr Spencer Reid of Quantico’s Behaviour Analysis Unit’.

It hurt. So much. This betrayal consumed you. You shoved your boss off of you and vomited. You could hear Ben’s laugh reverberating off the grim walls of the basement you were in as he stumbled away.

You scrubbed at your lips, trying to rid yourself of taste.

Your boyfriend, your best friend, worked for the FBI. And you were a killer.

You were eight years old when it happened, they’d grabbed you off the street as you were walking home from school. The police would have found you if they’d looked. Then men go took you did not wear masks, nor did they bother disguising themselves or the van they tied you up in the back of. It had taken your parents four days to realise you were gone. It had taken the police two hours before they gave up searching. No one had cared enough to find the little lost child. No one had ever cared about you, until Spencer.

You learnt quickly that the only way to survive was to do what they say. Deal drugs, steal, you didn’t care. You would do anything to live. And these men exploited that. They manipulated you. They corrupted you. They were the first people you killed. You slept better than ever that night, in an abandoned alley. Alone. Free.

That’s where Ben had found you. Ben, the leader of a minor gang, paid you to go after those who’d wronged him. The people who broke his rules - rapists, pedophiles, murderers. You enjoyed being a vigilante at first. But soon you learnt you could hurt them in way worse than death…Ben agreed with you.

You would frame them for crimes, rob them, plant drugs in their possession. You would stand from the sidelines at watch their lives collapse.

And now it was your turn. This was a strange sense of Karma.

You and Spencer played a game of Chess every night before you went to sleep. You were waiting for him to come home as you slipped a vail of hemlock into his drink and placed the glass next to the board. Staring at pieces, you heard the front door open.

“Checkmate,” you whispered.

—————————————————————

Spencer pressed his loaded gun firmly behind his back, breathing heavily as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He knew what would be waiting for him, the same thing that awaits him every evening when he returns from work.

You were sat crossed legged in your chair, leaning over the chess board analysing the pieces. You’d been playing this game for the last three weeks - both of you always managed to escape being checked.

You had a glass of water in hand and there was a glass for him next to his seat. Neither of you drank alcohol. Spencer had been sober since his drug addiction and you refused to drink after he told you that he was ten years sober. It was things like that, the small things you did, that made Spencer believe you were gentle and kind. He chided himself for being so stupid.

You looked up grinning at Spencer who was leaning against the doorway. He loved that smile. He hated himself for still loving it.

“Hey Spence.”

How could you be so glib when your hands are covered in the blood of innocents?

“Hi y/n,” he said, fist tightening around the gun.

“How was work? I saw or the news there was crash near the hospital. Did many people get-” you were interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking.

You abruptly stood up and stumbled away from Spencer.

“W-what are you doing.” You tried your best to sound scared when he pointed the gun at you.

“What do you think I’m doing? You are a criminal. You are a fucking murder!” Spencer did not feel guilty when you flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Baby, please, I’ve never heart anyone. Please put the gun down and we can talk.”

Spencer had never noticed your tell before but it was clearer than ever, now. You chewed on the corner of your lip. This was all the confirmation he needed.

He would not be played like a pawn.

“Cut the act, y/n.” You searched his eyes but they were void of any emotion. Her loving Spencer was gone. Dead.

“What act?”

“You know what bloody act. No more games.”

Fine. You couldn’t help but think that things were finally getting fun.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Spencer, you’re an FBI agent. You have a code of conduct. You have morals.” You mocked, disdain evident in your words. “That’s right, isn’t it? You have doctorates but you are not an actual doctor. What you are is a fucking liar.”

That was the first time you’d ever called him Spencer. It had always been ‘Spence’. The facade was truly gone and he felt wretched.

How could you use him like that?

He walked towards you, pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple, forcing you to walk backwards until you hit the wall.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you repeated.

And you were right. Despite Emily telling him to shoot if necessary, Spencer could not bring himself to do it. He was better than you. He had to be better than you.

“Yes I am,” he whispered.

He was not surprised when he felt the cold metal of a blade kiss his neck. Spencer had walked into your trap.

He was surprised, however, when a lone tear slipped down your cheek. His fingers itched to brush it away.

You looked up at him, “did it mean nothing to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. All of it. You knew who I was…what I was the whole time and still you made me love you. You made me believe that you actually loved me.”

This was perhaps the first time Dr Spencer Reid had ever been confused.

“I-what?”

“Why did you have to make me love you?” You breathed.

“Y/N. I don’t understand.”

“You lied about being a doctor. You were undercover. You orchestrated this entire relationship just so you could arrest me. I want to, no, I need to know why.”

“That’s not true. I lied to protect you. My job gets people hurt, it gets people killed!” Spencer cried, “I lied to protect you!”

You pulled your knife away from his neck.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“You have a gun aimed at my fucking head!”

Spencer dropped the gun and kicked it away from the two of you. You were so close that your noses kept brushing with every movement.

He inhaled sharply, “how many people have you killed?”

“I-none.”

“Margaret Sheppard, Claire Daugherty, Travis Smith, Lance Chen and Aidan Keith. Do those names ring any bells?” Spencer pressed into you, his long fingers curled around your upper arms.

Spencer tried not to think of the nights of the murders, the ones you spent as a knot of limbs - not knowing where one of you began and the other ended. He tried not to think of the way you would gasp or how, afterwards, you would pull him to you, leaning your forehead against his, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. The betrayal was the most painful thing Spencer had ever experienced.

“I did not kill any of them. I didn’t,” you protested.

“So explain to me how they all ended up dead within days of each other. Their necks slit and an ‘x’ cut into their wrists?”

“Spencer, I promise you, I did not kill any of those people.”

“It’s your MO y/n. We know it was you.” Or, he thought he did. You weren’t chewing your lip. “You’re telling me that you have never killed anyone?”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me!” He shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. “Please. Please just tell me the truth.”

“I have killed people before. I have killed to survive. I have killed because I had to. I have killed because I wanted to. I have killed for fun. But I have not murdered anyone in the last three years. I have not taken a single life since the day I met you!”

Spencer couldn’t breathe.

You continued, “Margaret Sheppard drowned her newborn baby because it was crying too loud. Daugherty ran a sex trafficking ring, Smith and Chen took turns raping their 15 year old daughters. Aidan Keith beat his wife black and blue. They are…were…rich. They were going to get away with it. I did what I was told to, I made them stop.

“I stole millions of dollars from Sheppard. She had no choice but to claim bankruptcy. I helped every single girl escape Claire Daugherty before I put her in a coma. I planted very incriminating evidence on Travis Smith and Lance Chen - evidence that landed them both a life sentence in a high security prison. And Keith? I wanted to kill him. He was one of the men who kidnapped me when I was a child, but I didn’t. I saved him for last. I destroyed what mattered most to him: his reputation.

“I lied and I stole and I hurt but I did not kill any of them. I would not have done anything that would have risked my relationship with you, Spencer.”

He pulled away from you and started pacing around the room. You stood frozen as he reached for his drink.

I have killed to survive. Those words were replaying in his head (curse his eidetic memory). He wanted to know what you meant. He needed to know. What did you mean by one of the men who kidnapped me? Neither Emily or Rossi had told Spencer any of this. None of the BAU had. He mentally went through all of the cold case kidnappings from around eighteen years ago in the area but none stuck out. Were you lying? Was this some elaborate trick? A trap? His head was spinning.

Spencer reached for the untouched glass of water next to the chess board and took a sip.

You lurched foreword and pulled the cup out of his hand, throwing it against the wall. Tiny fragments of glass flew around the room as it shattered, water staining the wall.

It all made sense to Spencer, in that moment, as his eyelids grew heavy, you had poisoned the drink. That was why you had kept glancing at the glass. But, if you wanted to kill him, why did you stop him from drinking more? Why did you break the glass? The last thing he did before the world went dark was whisper “I love you.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part two soon ◡̈

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mathew gray gubler #mgg #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds evolution #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia

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crimsonedquill · 1 year

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Two Snakes And A Badger: Chapter I

Pairing: Imelda Reyes x f!MC, Poppy Sweeting x f!MC, hints of Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

Summary: Being in a healthy, loving relationship with the Captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team doesn't leave much to be desired. But when MC realises her best friend has feelings for her too, things get a little... complicated.

Word count: 10.5k

Content warning: NSFW (18+). Minors DNI. Smut, cunnilingus, fingering, light dom!Imelda, hints of dom!MC, Poppy having a voyeurism kink, fluff, lots of feels, lots of angst, confusion about feelings

A/N: So, this is a fic I’ve been wanting to write for a while, and a couple of weeks ago I finally managed to summon the combined powers of the universe to actually start writing it. I decided not to stick to a target word count this time and just let things run wild, so that’s why it’s split up into multiple chapters 🙏

This chapter is mostly setting the stage and exploring MC’s relationship with Imelda and Poppy, but eventually things are expected to move towards a Imelda x MC x Poppy pairing (and I honestly couldn’t be more excited lol)

I really don’t know what else to put here so go on and enjoy this entirely self-indulgent feels fest I guess

“Oh, Merlin.”

A strained cry left your lips as you bucked your hips, nails digging into your naked breast while your other hand tangled into the hair of the girl kneeling in front of you. Imelda let out a chuckle, briefly withdrawing her tongue from your folds to flash you a smile that was glazed with your essence.

“Good girl…” she purred, no, growled before plunging back into your warm depths, causing you to whimper in pleasure.

You had more or less known what to expect when you started dating Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain, though in fairness, you’d had no way of knowing just how insatiable she was. Sometimes it seemed like you couldn’t go a minute without having her tongue or fingers inside of you, doing things that often left you unable to walk upright for days after. Not that you particularly minded. If anything, it was even a little flattering, the way your body worked on her like an aphrodisiac; drawing her to you like a moth to a flame. Besides, your orgasms had never been better.

Speaking of which, you suddenly felt a telltale quivering deep inside your pussy, warm numbness spreading from your core to your inner thighs, your breath shallowing at the utter perfection of the feeling. Dark eyes shot up to look at you, trapping you in their devilish gaze as Imelda continued slurping away, clearly having no intention of delaying your release any further. You counted yourself lucky; she usually wasn’t so generous, having found a particular kink in the sound of your begging.

“Oh… oh, fuck,”

You cried, throwing your head back, her muffled groans only giving you a clue as to the filth she would be talking to you right now if she could. You would have been perfectly fine with being scolded to your climax, but right now you wanted nothing more than to just come, to reward your girlfriend with the sweet nectar she was so desperately craving. Sure enough, soon your walls were clamping down on her tongue buried deep inside you, eyes rolling back into your skull as you let out a sinful cry. Imelda cooed with delight, not letting any of your precious honey go to waste as she used her long, curling tongue to lick around your folds, giving your clit a last little flick. You lost your balance, your knees giving out as your orgasm rocked through you. Like always, though, you felt Imelda’s strong grip before you could fall to the floor. She quickly carried you over to the bed – a recent addition to your Room of Requirement you had been gratefully taking a lot of advantage of – and threw you down on the mattress. You giggled as you hit the sheets, quickly being smothered by her lips, which still bore the sweet taste of your juices.

Imelda propped herself up on her elbows, a smile playing on her lips as she hovered above you. “You’re a fucking treat, you know.”

“Miss Reyes, are you getting sentimental on me?” you teased.

“Don’t ruin the mood.” She leaned down, planting another kiss on your lips. “Then again, I’ll admit there’s a lot to like.”

“Uh-huh.” You chuckled, swapping a few more lazy kisses before she settled down beside you, a content sigh leaving her lips. You spent a few minutes basking in your afterglow, allowing your breath to return to its normal rhythm while the little electric currents running through your body slowly dissipated. Imelda sat up and retrieved a pair of cigarettes from the bedside table, using the tip of her wand to light them before extending one toward you. As you took a drag, you watched the wisps of silver-grey smoke curling toward the ceiling.

“Mind if I ask you something?” you inquired.

“Go ahead,” Imelda responded.

“You remember our first time, right? The Quidditch afterparty at the end of our sixth year?”

“Aye, I do. Just the parts I care to remember though.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the memory of that night – and especially the less-than-glamorous morning after – still living on vividly in your mind. “I suppose it’s a little odd it took two bottles of Firewhisky for us to finally act on our feelings.”

Imelda glanced at you, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Do you mean you regret it?”

“Oh, Merlin, no. I felt bloody awful the next morning, but that definitely wasn’t because of what we did.” Shifting to get a better view of her, you admired the elegant curve of her spine. “What intrigues me is – it didn’t really come as a surprise to either of us, right? We were always needling each other, bantering, pretending we weren’t actually flirting…”

“True. So what’s your point?”

“Well, I can explain my being reluctant… but you’ve never been one to beat around the bush. So, indulge me. Why was it only then that you decided to take action?”

Imelda fell into a brief contemplation before speaking, her words slightly hesitant. “I suppose I could tell you, but I don’t think I should.”

“Come on, don’t give me that rubbish,” you laughed, playfully swatting her arm.

“No, seriously. You’d absolutely hate me if I told you.”

“Melly,” you said in a whiny voice, predictably causing her to roll her eyes at you.

“All right, fine,” she grumbled, releasing a puff of smoke. “So, here’s my horrible little confession: I might have known that Sebastian Sallow had a crush on you, and I might have jumped at the chance to fuck his precious girlie before he could.”

Your jaw dropped at the revelation. “Oh my stars, you devious bitch!”

“Look, in my defence, I was piss drunk. And it really wasn’t the only reason – or the most important one, for that matter.”

You squinted at her, tilting your head. “But still.”

“Oh, get off your fucking high horse,” Imelda scoffed. “I wasn’t even going to do anything until you kissed me first.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, I suppose that’s on me. Though I admit, hearing this now, I’m as much as aroused as I am offended.”

“Ooh,” Imelda snickered, “now who’s being kinky?”

“Shut up,” you replied, but before you knew it the Slytherin was already back on top of you, teasing you with little pecks on your collarbone.

“You just love it when I get all possessive, don’t you?” she taunted between kisses. “Telling you you’re mine, claiming you as my little plaything…”

You involuntarily let out a cute little moan. Imelda had always had a way with words, particularly when it came to saying just the right things to turn you on, but this was causing an especially hot feeling in the pit of your stomach. It didn’t help that her voice was occasionally slipping into a deep, animalistic growl that made you shudder with primal delight.

“That’s always been the best part of dating you, you know,” she hummed. “Having you all to myself…”

“So you would never think of sharing me?”

You’d meant it as a joke, but to your surprise she seemed to genuinely contemplate it. “Definitely no lads. But if they were a cute little thing like you…”

You tried to keep a straight face on the off chance that she was just messing with you, but even if she was, you could hardly deny the idea sounded hot as hell. “What, like Natty Onai?”

“Ew, no. No Gryffindors. I don’t want to spend all night hearing their shite about how great they are.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you conceded with a chuckle. “How about McDowell then?”

Imelda thought for a moment. “Violet’s cute. Don’t think she does gals, though. What about that Hufflepuff friend of yours?“

“Who? Poppy?”

“Uh-huh. I reckon she’d be a ton of fun. I have it on good authority that badgers tend to be freaks in bed.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you laughed. “For one, we definitely don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Yeah, right,” Imelda huffed, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. “I do have eyes, just so you know. If we weren’t fucking, I might actually be jealous.”

“Aw, I’m so touched.” You wrapped your arms around her neck, staring lovingly into your girlfriend’s brown eyes. “I guess I better let you keep me all to yourself, then.”

A smile spread across her face, and she leaned in to kiss you – deeply, passionately. You felt warm all over, not even noticing her finger slipping down until you felt something brushing past your sensitive clit, drawing a gasp from you.

“Seems like someone has gotten a little wet again,” Imelda chuckled. “Want me to take care of that?”

You nodded with a smile, having a slight suspicion this wasn’t going to be the last time she made that offer tonight.

––

A couple of days later, you found yourself humming as you made your way down to the lake for your next Care of Magical Creatures class. Upon arrival, you merged seamlessly with the group of students already gathered, your gaze sweeping the surroundings until a familiar voice reached you from behind: “Hello, MC!”

Turning around, you greeted the cheerful Hufflepuff with a smile of your own. “Hello, Poppy! Why, am I mistaken, or have you grown a tad taller?”

Poppy crossed her arms, punctuating her sigh with an eye roll. “Oh, the wit. That joke’s been well worn by now, you know.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Still gets a chuckle out of me.” Your attention was suddenly drawn to a couple of bruises on her forearm. Worry edged your voice as you stepped closer. “Hey, are you all right?”

She looked at her arm. “Oh, this? It’s nothing, really. Just some extra assignments for Professor Howin in preparation for my NEWTs. You know how it is, the creatures can be a handful sometimes.”

“You should be more careful, you know. Doing your exams is going to be hard without your limbs.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I know what I am doing. But – I appreciate your concern.”

It might have been your imagination, but you almost seemed to detect just the slightest hint of a blush on her cheeks as she said it. Before you could respond, though, Professor Howin called the class to attention and handed out your assignments. You were instructed to head up to a group of Dugbogs and select one specimen as a reference for an anatomy sketch. Opting to partner with Poppy, you ventured out with the other students, finding a comfortable spot on a nearby slope that provided a clear view of the herd. Settling down, you retrieved your parchment and pencil, the rustling of grass around you creating an ideal backdrop for concentration.

After a while, you decided to strike up another conversation: “So, no chances left to luck then? With your studies, I mean.”

“Certainly not,” Poppy answered without looking up. “Well, I am worrying a bit about Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but they don’t matter as much as Care of Magical Creatures when it comes to my post-school ambitions, obviously.”

“Yeah, of course. Though I will say that if anyone is guaranteed to pass their Beasts NEWT with flying colours, it’s you.”

Poppy brought her hand up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, flashing you a quick smile. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say. You’ve been doing quite well yourself.”

“Think so?” You inspected your sketch, realizing you’d drawn the creature’s legs in the wrong position. After correcting it, you shrugged. “Not sure about that.”

“Everyone has their strengths. Besides, you’ve done more to help me than anyone else, so it’s not like you lack the experience –”

“I suppose so. Don’t think kicking poacher arse earns me any extra credit, though.”

“Well, it should.” The two of you shared a laugh before relishing another quiet moment. You had to admit that it felt rather nice to spend time with Poppy like this, even if it was in class. You briefly recalled what Imelda had mentioned about your friendship; of course you knew she was just taking the piss, but if you were honest with yourself – wasn’t Poppy the entire reason you had decided to keep your Beasts elective in the first place? You hadn’t really thought much of it at the time, assuming it was the easiest way of making sure you still got to spend time together between your study frenzies, but even now you realised signing up for an entire class just to be able to see your friend seemed a bit overkill… especially considering you weren’t even that good at it.

“How are things with you and Imelda?” Poppy asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You are still seeing each other, right?”

Oh, definitely more than just seeing, you thought to yourself with a smirk. “We’ve been quite well, actually. I’m still hounding her to focus less on Quidditch and more on making it through her exams, but you know how she is. Couldn’t get that woman to listen even if I had thirty Howlers chew her out all at once.”

Poppy chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that. But you’re not actually… you know, worried?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I have any right to be. It’s her dream and she obviously knows what she’s doing. Besides, I think she’s the only person at Hogwarts who’s mad enough to be able to pull it off.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Her smile lingered before she added, “And if you ever need help taming her…”

You cocked an eyebrow, smirking at the Hufflepuff. “Miss Sweeting, did you just make some kind of unsavoury suggestion?!”

Truth be told, you were enjoying the sudden horrified expression on her otherwise innocent face just a little too much. “N-no!” she stammered. “I didn’t mean it that way!”

But then you burst out laughing, clutching your sides as you started tearing up. Poppy’s face instantly turned to a scowl. “Oh, that’s mean!” she exclaimed, though you noted she sounded more relieved than mad.

“I’m sorry… it’s just – your face…” you giggled between gasps for breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Gods, that was just great.”

“I’m happy that you enjoyed yourself, but it seems that in your unbridled enthusiasm you ended up scaring away all of the Dugbogs.” Following her pointed finger, you noted the suddenly empty shoreline.

“Oh, bugger. Eh, sorry about that. I guess we’ll just head back to Professor Howin and I’ll explain –”

“Don’t be silly.” Poppy snatched the parchment out of your hands, quickly beginning to finish the rough lines you’d already drawn. You settled back with your hands in your lap, shaking your head to yourself. “Where would I be without you?”

––

Soft snores filled the air, surrounding you as you lay curled up in bed, the deep and dark veil of sleep slowly enveloping you. You were exhausted, the result of a late-night study session at the library. As you settled in for a well-earned rest, your senses were roused by a presence nearby, the sound of bare feet moving across the floor.

“MC?” a gentle voice reached you.

“Hm? Mel?” You rubbed your eyes, the silhouette of your girlfriend gradually sharpening before you. “What’s going on?”

Imelda stood by your bedside, clad in a simple camisole. You instantly assumed she’d come to find you for a nighttime snack, but as your mind cleared, you sensed an unusual unease about her. She fidgeted, clearly avoiding your gaze. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, I’m not really in the mood –”

“It’s not that, I promise.” She sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. “I just… I need to talk to you. Please.”

You sat up, curious about what had rattled your typically composed girlfriend. Imelda motioned for you to follow, and as you complied, stepping out of bed and leaving your dorm, you wondered what could be on her mind. The two of you made your way to the empty common room. Settling into a pair of comfortable armchairs near a window overlooking the lake, you crossed your legs, giving her space. She gazed at her lap, exhaling deeply.

“MC…”

She hesitated, drawing a breath before blurting out, “I like you.”

The unexpected declaration caught you off guard. Your eyes darted uncertainly, a dry swallow betraying your surprise. “There’s more, or…?”

“No. Yes. I mean – damn it.” She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Ugh, I knew this was a bad idea –”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” You reached out and took her hand, giving it just the tiniest squeeze to put her at ease, even though you didn’t really know what you were doing. Quite frankly, this version of Imelda was scaring you a little. “You know I’m the only one who’s allowed to be a drama queen.”

To your relief, her tense expression softened. “Yeah, and often doing a piss poor job at it too.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You shared a chuckle before she seemed ready to give it another shot. “Look, MC… I’ve been thinking lately. I know I’m always taking the piss, acting like I’m only in it for the sex and giggles, things like that. I know we agreed to keep things light when we decided to give this whole relationship a try, and I appreciate you putting up with that, but… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted more, you know?”

You held back your response, allowing her to continue. True enough, you had sometimes harboured just the slightest bit of resentment over the lack of deeper intimacy in your relationship, but you respected Imelda’s boundaries.

“After we started fooling around, you once mentioned I’d made you realise some things about yourself,” Imelda continued. “I think that goes for me too. I spent a long time being scared shitless of even just the idea of a relationship. Before you, I was religious about only doing flings – worrying that the minute I allowed myself to get close to someone, I’d be throwing away my life and dreams and everything I worked so hard for. And it’s still hard not to feel that way. But… I also know that with you, it’s different. You’re strong, patient, determined... I feel like you understand me in a way no one else does.”

Her small, calloused fingers interlaced with yours, seeking solace. She looked at you, tears glistening before she wiped them away. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is – well, fuck, I like you. I really like you. And even though I don’t know what this will mean for me, for us – I just want to say that if you wanted this to be more serious, then damn it, I’m in.”

A moment of quiet followed, allowing her words to sink in. This side of Imelda was entirely new – raw and exposed. You realised how much it meant that she was opening herself up to you like this.

You gave her a little smile as you moved your hand to cup her cheek, her body immediately freezing at the gesture. “You silly thing… you know I would never let you give up your dreams for me. I love you, I want to support you, I want to celebrate with you when you win, comfort you when you lose –”

A grin appeared on her face. “Except we both know I never lose.”

“Well, sure. Everyone can do flying.” You leaned in closer. “But how about I give you a real challenge?”

Those were all the words she needed to hear. She pulled you up and before you were able to draw a breath she had her arms around you, claiming you for herself with a warmth and a sensuality that had you instantly melt like honey into her embrace. It was so much different from the other times she had kissed you, so full of need, of craving so strong that you easily felt like you were falling in love with her all over again. Both your cheeks were flushed when you finally parted, her palm cradling your face, fingers grazing your lips.

“Gods, the things I could do to you right now…”

You smiled, planting a peck on her lips. “I can’t wait, my love. But we should save it for a later time. You have training, and I’ve got studying tomorrow. We should both get some rest.”

She seemed slightly disappointed, but understanding flickered in her eyes. You exchanged another brief kiss before heading back to your dorm. Unsurprisingly, sleep claimed you easily, your thoughts wandering into slumber with the lingering sensation of Imelda’s kiss on your lips.

––

“Oh, blast.”

Poppy muttered softly as her eyes fell upon the small group of students gathered further down the path. She quickly turned around before they had a chance to spot her, clutching her bag and lowering her head to obscure her face. Seconds ticked by as she anxiously awaited any change in their conversation, a mention of her name, a sign of recognition – but it never came. She breathed a sigh of relief, starting back up the hill. Finding an alternative route to the pens would take longer, but she’d endure it gladly if it meant escaping the juvenile jokes and another reference to Peculiar Poppy…

It was then that another figure emerged down the path. At first, the person wasn’t immediately recognizable, but after squinting, Poppy noticed the unmistakable emerald green Quidditch robes.

Oh, for the love of –

There was no way out. Trapped between two scenarios, she was bound to face one of them. She made a halfhearted attempt at slipping off the path in what she hoped was an inconspicuous way, but her efforts were in vain – she’d already been spotted. A familiar voice called out.

“Hey, Sweeting!”

She straightened her back and put on her best courteous smile as Imelda approached her. “Oh, hello, Imelda! Off to practice, I presume?”

Imelda arched an eyebrow. “Gee, what gave it away?” She shifted her broom to her other hand. “What are you doing out, anyway? Don’t you have studying to do?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Poppy replied, scrambling for an excuse. “I was on my way to collect new assignments from Professor Howin, but, uhm –” she briefly cast a nervous glance at the group of students still loitering further down the path – “I just realised I left my quill!"

“Really now?” Imelda frowned. “Well, why don’t you just borrow mine? I always bring a spare for marking my lap times.”

“N-no,” Poppy stammered, trying to buy more time. “I wouldn't want to inconvenience you –”

“Don’t be daft. You’re not going to trek all the way back for a quill. Take it.”

Seeing no other option but to resign to the situation, Poppy took the quill from Imelda, less frustrated over her thwarted excuse than surprised by the apparent gesture of kindness. She put the feather away, trying to think of something to draw the attention away from herself. “So, uhm, are you headed for the Quidditch pitch?” she decided to ask.

Imelda nodded. “Couldn’t head out beyond the school grounds anymore even if I wanted to. MC has me on a leash these days.”

Poppy chuckled. “She’s merely concerned. Then again, I’m surprised that you’re actually listening to her."

“Like I have a choice. Woman would tie me up to a damn chair if she could. Not that I’d mind, honestly.”

Noticing Poppy’s freckles darken, the Slytherin let out a mischievous laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her I told you that. Anyway – since we are both headed that way, wanna tag along?”

It occurred to Poppy that she could very well have conjured another excuse if she had wanted to, but then again, Imelda didn’t seem all that bad. Plus, having the Captain around would conceivably be the best way to avoid a scolding, so she simply nodded, moving alongside the other girl as they started sauntering down the path.

“I happened to speak to MC a couple of days ago,” Poppy said. “I’m glad to know you two are doing well.”

“Aye, me too,” Imelda replied, her tone shifting slightly. “We… actually had a pretty good conversation last night. I think things are really starting to get serious between us.”

“Oh?”

She didn’t mean to sound disappointed – she really didn’t. But then why couldn’t she feel happy for Imelda and MC? She’d known things had been heading this way for a while, had even expected them to, but now that it was seemingly official she suddenly found herself unable to accept it.

“Come on, you can say it,” Imelda said, instantly snapping her out of her thoughts. “I know it’s bloody asinine.”

“No, not at all. Why would you say that?”

“Well –” The Slytherin sighed. “I don’t rightly know. For the past seven years, all I’ve ever fancied was Quidditch. I’ve only ever had to rely on myself. I suppose I’m just having trouble getting used to the idea of sharing my life with someone else.”

Poppy looked at her feet. “I’d imagine it’s only natural to be a little scared. But I would take it as a good sign – it means this bond you two share is truly something special. And if you would ask me, I’d say that MC couldn’t be a luckier girl.”

Imelda furrowed her brow as she looked at the Hufflepuff out of the corner of her eye, certainly not having missed the melancholy in her voice this time around. She’d always known there was something between the girl and MC – heck, implying as much was her favourite way of getting a raise out of her girlfriend – but she’d never really contemplated the idea that it could be anything serious. Fuck, was Poppy feeling jealous?

They passed the group of students, the conversation dying down momentarily. True to Poppy’s prediction, they shot curious glances her way but remained silent with Imelda present. Once they were out of earshot, Poppy released an audible sigh of relief.

Imelda cocked an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be afraid to show a little bite, you know. They keep singling you out because they know you ain’t about to put up a fight.”

“I know,” Poppy sighed, “I just don’t want to cause any more trouble –”

“Oh, bull. You’re not going to tell me that the girl who rescued a literal dragon can’t manage to stand up to a couple of bullies.”

Poppy looked up at Imelda, her blush deepening. “MC… told you about that?”

“Of course she did. Hell, most of the time I can’t get her to shut up about how you’re taking it to those poachers. You’re gutsier than you look, you know.”

A proud smile illuminated Poppy’s face. “I… I suppose I am. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Imelda grinned before her face turned to a more solemn expression. “Listen, I know I’ve given you a hard time before. Can’t say I’m very proud of it. You have no reason to trust me now, but… if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind getting to know each other better.”

The proposal was unexpected, jarring even, yet something in Poppy felt that it was the right thing to do. She only briefly contemplated the offer before nodding. “I think I’d like that.”

“Great,” Imelda smiled. “Oh, and MC mentioned something about a Hippogriff?”

––

Weeks melted away, and in your sincere estimation, the bond between you and Imelda had never been stronger. Your redefined relationship had given you plenty of new things to appreciate about each other, from stolen kisses before entering the common room to hidden notes waiting to be discovered in your bags. Waking up to find flowers gracing your bedside table had taken some adjustment, but you found it largely endearing that she was working so hard to prove to you that she was taking things seriously.

And that didn’t even include the pure delight your sex life had become. Sure, you’d enjoyed the physical intimacy of each other’s bodies before, but it was like exploring a whole new world now that you were truly making love instead of just committing a physical act. Imelda still wasn’t too big on the whole public affection thing, but she never seemed to pass up an opportunity to drag you into some hidden alcove to do things that usually left you running late for your next class – although even that didn’t bother you as much as it used to.

All in all, you could say that life was pretty damn perfect. Of course, you had no way of knowing just how much your life was about to change again – though then again, you weren’t sure it would have made any difference either way.

You stood in the shadow of the Quidditch stands, observing the congregation of players spread across the field. Your girlfriend commanded the usual centre of attention, barking orders and giving feedback to the team. Even from a distance, you could sense her resolute determination; exams or not, Imelda wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance in her final school tournament.

You made sure not to draw much attention to yourself as the players walked off, knowing how Imelda didn’t like getting the personal mixed up with the professional, though there was an unmistakable smirk playing on her lips when you popped out to her. “This area is for players only, you know.”

“Aw, the Captain’s girlfriend doesn’t get special privileges?” you pouted, causing her to chuckle. “Fine, you can stay.” She moved up to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I was starting to miss you anyway.”

“I must admit, I’m starting to get quite fond of this side of you.”

“Don’t push it. I’d still kick your arse any day if I wanted.”

The two of you headed to the changing rooms, thankfully now empty as most players had their busy studying schedules to attend to. You watched Imelda as she took off her arm pads, leaning back against the wall. “You played brilliantly today,” you said. “From the looks of it, you’re more than ready to win this thing.”

“Yeah, well, looks alone ain’t enough,” Imelda grumbled. “We’re still nowhere where we need to be on offence. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them to focus if they keep flying with their head up their arse –”

“They’ll come together when it’s time for the match. You know they’ve got plenty to deal with as it is.”

“Well, they shouldn’t have joined the bloody team then,” Imelda snapped, before closing her eyes and taking a breath to steady herself. “I suppose… maybe I’ve been a tad harsh on them. Can’t say my own mind has been fully in the game lately.”

“Hey, simmer down, Captain.” Without hesitation, you stepped behind her, placing your hands on her shoulders. Gods, she was tense; it felt like every single muscle in her body was wound up tightly like a coil. It pained you to know that she was pushing herself to her limits like this. “Stop finding ways to blame yourself. You’re going to be great. All this doubt is just going to keep your attention away from where it should be.”

“Guess you’re right.” Imelda’s exhale was soft as she relaxed beneath your touch. With skilful ease, you worked on her shoulders, your hands moving to her arms, offering soothing strokes. You could sense her beginning to ease into your hold, her stress giving way to the kind of relief you had become quite the expert at providing.

“That’s it…” you cooed, noting the tremble in her neck with a light smile, “just let me take care of you…”

You moved your hands back to her shoulders and started applying pressure, using your thumbs to massage the back of her neck, earning a deep groan from her. “Oh, yes, just like that – that’s perfect.”

You let out a chuckle. “I can tell you needed this.”

“Mmm… you always seem to know just what I need…”

Your heart made a little leap at the comment, the pride of being able to bring this comfort to your lover was a sensation like no other. Feeling her body respond to your touch in all the right ways along with the sounds she was making was giving you some rather naughty ideas. Your fingers slipped down her back, and you wondered just how long you would be able to keep up the pretence before she caught on to your true intentions…

As you had expected, it didn’t take long for her thin lips to curl into a knowing smile. “What are you doing?”

“Just caring for my lovely girlfriend,” you hummed innocently as your hands snuck around to her front, reaching the band of her trousers. “You seem so tense, I figured you could do with some extra attention…”

“In public? My, I seem to be quite the corrupting influence –”

You chuckled, your hot breath tickling her ear. “Who says it wasn’t my idea?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she scoffed. “We both know you’re a puss– yyyy”

Her words were lost to a throaty moan as the first of your digits dipped into her trousers and brushed against the little bundle of heat. There was absolutely no hiding it: she was dripping, and probably had been from the moment you’d put your hands on her.

“Oh yeah,” you concluded, “someone’s definitely aching down there.”

“Less talking, more action,” she commanded, grinding against your palm in a futile effort to create more friction, though you were the only one who could bring her relief and she knew it. In fact, you decided you wanted to enjoy this rare position of control just a little longer. Bringing two fingers together, you started teasing her folds, using her own slick to make a lovely little mess of her inner thighs. You listened to the grinding of her teeth, her body involuntarily responding to your movements. An oddly weak-sounding whimper rolled from her parted lips as she furrowed her brow, causing a rush of heat between your own legs.

“Stop f-fucking teasing me,” she whined, obviously hating that she couldn’t even manage to keep her voice under control as you tormented her like this. You smiled wickedly as you drew circles around her clit, your teeth grazing the skin of her lobe. “You may be in charge out there on the field, Captain, but here I’ve got you right at my fingertips…”

A particularly close brush past her sensitive little nub caused her to shiver against you. You felt at least a little bad for punishing her like this, but the rare thrill of having her depend on you was hardly something to be resisted. Usually it was Imelda taking charge, pulling your strings, dictating when and how you came. Now that you were able to set the terms for a change, you were keen to make the most out of it.

Imelda kept whining, bucking her hips to guide your hand. “Come… on….” she gasped, her voice breaking.

You figured she probably couldn’t get much more closer to the edge than she was now. So you leaned in even further, whispering to her: “My poor princess… do you want me inside? Do you want me to make you cum?”

The only reply Imelda could manage was a frantic nod, but you weren’t about to indulge her that easily. Your voice grew huskier, almost like a growl: “Then beg me, princess.”

Maybe you expected her to put up more of a fight, but then again, you had already done a pretty good job shattering her resolve. The cutest little whimper you would have never associated with the tough Slytherin reached your ears: “P-please…”

You were a little thankful the other players had already left, as the guttural grunt she emitted when you finally inserted your finger would have alerted anyone in the near vicinity to what the two of you were up to. You sank in to the knuckle, feeling her clench around your digit – and that was when you heard it.

Someone was gasping.

You instantly turned your head, your eyes searching for the possible intruder. You saw the benches, the lockers, and the small open area leading to the field beyond, all empty. Maybe it had just been your imagination, then? After all, Imelda wasn’t exactly trying very hard to stay quiet –

She contracted around you again, her walls squeezing your finger tightly, and you simply threw any caution to the wind. Your lips returned to her earlobe, briefly tugging on it before you started down her neck, tenderly kissing the skin as you were rewarded with a blissful string of moans and curses; and then you went to work to give your girlfriend the relief she was so desperately craving, unaware of the pair of hazelnut eyes observing every move.

––

Poppy had not meant to catch the two of you in the act. She had not even expected to find you there, merely having gone out to invite Imelda for a trip to Hogsmeade. As strange as it sounded – even to herself – she had come to appreciate the other Slytherin’s company more than she dared to admit, and not just because of the bullies. Maybe it was because the way she spoke about Quidditch reminded her so much of her own experience; a deep-rooted passion that had always been at the very centre of her being, nurtured by someone very close to her heart. Poppy had been surprised to find that underneath the rough edge and all the bravado was another girl with hopes and dreams, much like you, much like herself. Besides, she was simply a lot of fun to be around.

So Poppy had come down to the Quidditch pitch to find her, only to find the two of you locked in a steamy embrace with your hand down Imelda’s trousers. To say she was shocked would be an understatement. She realized she had stumbled upon something forbidden, something never intended for her eyes. The wisest course of action would be to leave immediately and erase the image from her mind.

And yet… she found that she couldn’t. It was bad, and incredibly depraved – but there was something mesmerizing about the whole display that captured her gaze and wouldn’t let go. The way the smaller girl was writhing against you, producing sounds that were so unlike the way she normally conducted herself left an odd stirring deep within the Hufflepuff. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she saw the utterly wicked expression on your face, saw how much you were… enjoying this, despite not being on the receiving end. She didn’t know much about sex, but she knew enough about the heat throbbing between her legs to realise that seeing you like this was really turning her on.

You made a particular move that caused Imelda to let out a deep groan, and before Poppy could help herself, she parted her lips and gasped.

Thankfully, she was able to pull back behind one of the lockers just as you turned your head to look. She anxiously held her breath, chest tightening as her mind raced with nightmare scenarios. There was no way out – she couldn’t possibly explain away her presence, much less plausibly deny she had been watching you for as long as she had. Quite frankly, she deserved everything the two of you were about to lob at her. There was no washing away the shame she had brought on herself; Perverted Poppy, spying on other people. If her Gran heard about this…

But then you turned your attention back to Imelda. For a moment, Poppy wasn’t sure what was going on; it was only after you started kissing Imelda’s neck that she realised you hadn’t seen her. She let out a silent sigh of relief, carefully peeking around the corner in case you were still the slightest bit attentive. But the way you went to work on the other Slytherin didn’t leave any doubt about it; you were completely oblivious to the fact that you were being watched.

That close brush with eternal embarrassment should have been the most evident signal to make a swift exit, yet strangely… it was kind of having the opposite effect. The thrill of nearly having been caught had turned the throbbing between her legs to a warm trickle, and that wasn’t even considering how she couldn’t keep her eyes off you two. Her fingers slowly wandered down her vest, beginning to rub herself through the fabric as she watched you finger-fuck Imelda into a trembling mess. She had never really allowed herself to think of you this way, valuing your friendship too much to risk doing anything to change it, though right now she couldn’t help but let her mind wander… imagining what it would be like if she was the one at the centre of attention, feeling your hands on her body and your sweet whispers in her ear while Imelda had her way with her pussy, greedily lapping at her until she was moaning just as loudly as the Slytherin was now…

Her knees started to feel weak and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a whimper. Just a few steps away, you were increasing your pace, the room filling with a stereo of obscenely wet sounds and your loving taunts.

“That’s it baby… keep making those noises for me… you know I won’t stop until I’ve got you spitting all over my fingers…”

Poppy closed her eyes, focusing on your voice, imagining it was she you were talking to right now. So unbelievably depraved… you would never know what she had done… how could she ever look you in the eye again knowing that you –

A particularly loud curse from Imelda snapped her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes just in time to see the Slytherin collapsing against you, legs shaking so heavily that for a moment she was worried the girl might actually hurt herself. You held her tightly as her climax washed over her, and then the room filled with your content laughter.

“Bloody hell,” Imelda said with a lopsided smile, “remind me to let you take care of me more often!”

“You know I’m always happy to, my love.” You kissed her neck again, helping her regain her balance before you withdrew your fingers from her soaked undies and made a show of cleaning her off your fingers.

Imelda chuckled. “As great as that was, I really could do with a shower now. Care to join, or…?”

“I doubt you would end up much cleaner if I did. You go ahead, I’ll be waiting back at the common room.”

Imelda seemed a bit disappointed about missing out on a shower together, though the orgasm you had just given her didn’t leave her in much of a position to protest. So she took her leave, but not before yanking you by your tie and pressing a deep kiss to your lips, winking at you as she departed with a sway of her hips.

You chuckled to yourself, remembering to straighten your clothes before you headed outside. Out of curiosity, you threw another glance at the lockers as you passed. As you had more or less expected, there was not a living soul in sight… though you couldn’t help but notice the very faint smell of Hippogriffs.

––

“Quickly, get in and close the door!”

You tumbled into your Room of Requirement, closely followed by Poppy and your nabsack. Briefly checking for any missing limbs, you were relieved to find that the two of you were still in one piece, although your robe was torn to shreds and Poppy’s tie and one of her shoes seemed to be missing. Collapsing onto a nearby sofa, you leaned back, letting out a deep breath. “I can’t believe we survived that... What even happened? All I remember is trying to Disapparate, and suddenly, we were right in the thick of it –”

“I suspect we miscalculated,” Poppy sighed, mirroring your lead as she dropped into an armchair. “We were meant to Apparate right outside the castle gates, but we ended up smack in the middle of a poacher camp.”

“Right.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “That must have been my fault. I was trying to focus, but I think I lost my bearings… Merlin, I’m so sorry Poppy. I could have gotten us both killed –”

“It’s all right,” Poppy said, her face immediately turning to an expression of concern. “We’re both here, safe. And more importantly, we accomplished what we set out to do.”

Lifting the nabsack, she directed your attention to it, prompting you to sit up. “The unicorn…? Is she…?”

“She’s alive and well,” Poppy affirmed, her smile beaming with pride. “I managed to snag her before the poachers could spring their trap. Just for good measure, though, I think we best release her into her new sanctuary right away.”

“Of course. You go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Chuckling softly, you watched as the determined Hufflepuff sprang to her feet and dashed off toward the Swamp Vivarium, moving as if she had in fact not just barely escaped from certain death. You wish you could say the same for yourself. As you rose from the sofa, a sharp pain shot from your thigh to your side, causing you to wince and lean back against the cushions. Thankfully, Poppy seemed to be too preoccupied to pay much attention to you right now – you didn’t want her to worry further, still feeling guilty over the danger you had put her in.

With some effort, you followed her into the Vivarium, the thick marshy scent filling your nostrils. Standing by her side, you met her gaze and gave a confirming nod as she placed her hand on the nabsack’s buckle. She undid it, clutching the bag as it quivered; then, a ray of light burst forth, unveiling a splendid creature with the most exquisite golden fur. You and Poppy both sighed in awe, watching the unicorn as she curiously took in her new surroundings. It was a sight that never lost its enchantment.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Poppy smiled.

“Yes, she truly is.”

Your words weren’t solely directed at the unicorn. Out of the corner of her eye, Poppy caught your gaze, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue. Before you could say anything to alleviate the awkwardness, though, a sudden pain in your side caused you to flinch and hunch over, emitting a hiss between your teeth.

Instantly, the Hufflepuff was by your side, her hands reaching out to you. “You’re hurt,” she said, the surprise in her voice triggering a pang of guilt in your gut.

“Just a scratch,” you grunted, dismissing the discomfort. “I’ll walk it off –”

“MC.”

You weren’t a stranger to Poppy’s shifts in demeanour, though sometimes you still marvelled at her ability to go from introverted to assertive in less than a second – this time being no exception. Finding yourself in no position to resist, you surrendered to her grasp and allowed her to lead you back into your Room, sinking into the sofa while she hastened to retrieve her healing kit. You focused on your breathing, taking deep inhalations as Poppy returned and began assembling herbs to craft a healing paste for your wound.

“I’m so sorry for all of this,” you sighed, the weight of guilt hanging heavy over you. “If only I hadn’t been so reckless –”

“Enough,” Poppy replied without looking up, her tone firm. “We both accepted the risks when we decided to do this. And anyway, we did break a fair number of noses.”

You smiled, watching as Poppy carefully lifted your vest and applied the paste, gently smearing it over the bruised area. A sense of physical relief immediately came over you, numbing the pain.

“You saved my life,” you said to her.

“I suppose that makes us even,” she answered with a smile.

“I mean it. I don’t think I’d even be here if it wasn’t for you. And I probably don’t say this enough, but… I’m really glad to have you as my friend, Poppy.”

The Hufflepuff pulled back, seeming hesitant. Clearly she had not expected such a solemn confession from you.

“I admit… I deeply treasure our friendship as well. There aren’t many who would be willing to take such great risks for me.”

Her attention shifted to a minor gash on your forehead. “Hold still,” she instructed, promptly applying more paste as she leaned in to tend to the wound. You shivered slightly, not so much because of the paste’s chill as of the delicate touch of Poppy’s fingers against your skin. You had always noted a kind of innocent prettiness about her, but now she appeared simply radiant as she gently cared for your injury, moving with a grace and elegance that you had never fully appreciated before. Her soft brown eyes inadvertently lowered, your gazes meeting, and a silence enveloped you both.

“Poppy…” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

And then, she kissed you.

Neither of you had intended it. You weren’t even sure whether Poppy had initiated it. All you felt were her lips meeting yours and the realization that you weren’t resisting. A warmth spread from within, flushing your cheeks and quickening your heartbeat – the same rhythm you felt from Poppy. The kiss was brief, a mere moment, yet it seemed as though hours had passed when you eventually broke away, the sudden silence crashing over you like a cold wave.

Poppy appeared mortified. “I’m – I’m sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks flushed. “I shouldn’t have –”

“MC!”

Before you could fully gather your thoughts, a whirl of emerald robes descended upon you. Imelda’s presence engulfed you, her touch frantic as she checked you over, her expression a mixture of panic and anger. She turned your head, making you meet her gaze, which flickered with a blend of worry and exasperation. “Fuck’s sake, having the fucking audacity to ask me to stay home while you go out and risk your bloody neck – are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mel,” you tried to reassure her. “It was supposed to be routine –”

“Oh, don’t even think of using those bloody excuses on me right now,” she barked. “Look at your face, for Merlin’s sake!”

Realising that trying to argue with her would get you nowhere at this point, you decided to relent. “You’re right, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you sighed. “I just didn’t want you to worry with everything else you already have on your mind…”

Imelda’s expression softened somewhat, a trace of panic subsiding. “Well, too late for that now,” she sighed, cupping your cheek. “Please don’t scare me like that ever again. I nearly lost it in front of Sallow when I heard.”

You allowed yourself a chuckle. “Your concern is touching.”

“Shut up.” She pecked your lips before turning her attention to Poppy, who had been attempting to fade into the background. “You were with her?”

“Uh, I was,” Poppy stammered, her face crimson as she braced for a reprimand. To your surprise, and hers, Imelda stepped forward and... embraced her.

“Thank you for getting her back safely,” the Slytherin said. “I’m glad you’re both all right.”

You didn’t meet Poppy's gaze as she shot you a baffled look over Imelda’s shoulder. Frankly, you weren’t sure how to feel. Perhaps a part of you experienced the slightest tinge of guilt, although you felt mostly relief. Honing in on that feeling, you allowed your head to droop backwards, closing your eyes and releasing a deep sigh.

––

The most striking aspect of that night’s events was how quickly they slipped from your thoughts.

While you couldn’t completely disregard what had happened, you found yourself questioning the actual significance of those moments. To be honest, you hadn’t intended to kiss Poppy, and it appeared from her reaction that she hadn’t either. Whatever emotions might have been stirred within you felt almost inconsequential. It was simpler to attribute the entire event to an adrenaline rush – after all, you had never regarded Poppy as anything more than a friend. A dear one, but a friend nonetheless. Or so you’d convinced yourself, although an undercurrent of doubt lingered, making you wonder whether you were trying just a bit too hard to convince yourself.

Regardless, Poppy never raised the issue again, and neither did you. In the days following the mission, there was some lingering awkwardness between you two, but soon your studies occupied your thoughts once more. Things went back to normal, and you genuinely believed it was behind you.

And for a time, it appeared to be – until Imelda proposed a ladies’ night involving the three of you.

––

“Bloody hell, I’m stuffed.” Imelda declared as she flopped onto the sofa in your Room, which you’d slightly redecorated to create a more lounge-like atmosphere for the occasion. “Reckon I’m going to have to schedule a few more hours to get rid of all these extra pounds.”

“You shouldn’t be so fussed about putting on a little weight,” you said. “I think you’d look adorable with a little belly roll.”

Your suggestion was pointedly met with Imelda flipping you off, drawing a chuckle from you as you dropped into an armchair. “Hey Poppy, back me up here. Don’t you think she’d look cute with a belly roll?”

“Oh, I think I’d really prefer not to comment,” the Hufflepuff replied, giving you a polite smile.

“Come on, you must have a type,” Imelda prodded. “Chubby or skinny?”

“Are we talking about Fwoopers or Diricawls?”

Imelda turned to you with a smirk. “Lassie’s got some cheek. I think we’ve been rubbing off on her!”

“She’s just been learning how to survive around you,” you chuckled, winking subtly at Poppy, who responded with a giggle. You were happy to see how comfortable she had grown to be around you and Imelda. She may not have liked to admit it, but she had come a long way since the shy, timid girl you’d met in Beasts class during your fifth year – and you sure as Merlin were proud to have been a part of her journey.

“Right, I think it’s about time we started the real party,” Imelda said, retrieving her wand from her pocket. She cast a few spells to summon shot glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky. As you reached for your glass, you noticed Poppy looking a bit uncertain out of the corner of your eye.

“You don’t have to drink any if you don’t want to,” you assured her, though she quickly shook her head. “I can’t be the only one left sober, can I?” she said, offering you a grateful smile.

“Atta girl.” Imelda chimed in, pouring her a drink. The three of you raised your glasses for a toast.

“To chubby girls and belly rolls!” you said.

Imelda snorted. “Oh, piss off. I’m not toasting to that,”

“How about friendship?” Poppy proposed. You exchanged a glance with your girlfriend, both of you shrugging in agreement. “Friendship works,” you concurred, raising your glass before downing the Firewhisky in one swift gulp. The liquid burned your throat, causing you to cough and tear up. You glanced at your companions, noticing that Imelda seemed to be handling it well, but Poppy’s elfin features had taken on a noticeable shade of crimson.

“Poppy – are you all right?” you asked, genuine concern washing over you. She gave you an odd look, and for a moment, you worried she was going to be sick. However, she then opened her mouth and unleashed the loudest belch you’d ever heard.

Locking eyes with Imelda, you both wore identical expressions of astonishment before erupting in laughter, while Poppy watched with an embarrassed smile.

“Merlin’s Beard, they must have heard that one all the way in Hogsmeade,” Imelda snickered after you had recovered from your bout of hysterical laughter. “I’d say that deserves another round. Bottoms up!”

You didn’t really keep track of the ensuing conversations – you seemed to recall one involving Poppy going off on a tangent about some obscure beast you’d never heard of and another involving you and Imelda having a heated discussion about made-up Quidditch players. You didn’t care either way; you were having a great time getting piss drunk and judging by their slurring and incoherent giggles, so were your friends. After collectively butchering the lyrics to the Hogwarts school song and reciting some filthy limericks, the three of you lay sprawled out in various, comfortable positions across the furniture, soaking in the warm embrace of your intoxicated spirits.

Breaking the tranquil silence, Imelda piped up first, her words slightly slurred: “You know what we should do now that we’re all pissed out of our minds?”

“Make embarrassing confessions we won’t have the slightest chance of remembering later?” you replied.

“Read my mind, girlie. But to make sure the two of you ain’t trying to cop out, I get to ask the questions.”

“Sure,” you shrugged indifferently. Give us your worst.”

“Right, let me think.” Imelda closed her eyes, going silent for a few minutes. Just as you were about to ask if she had fallen asleep, she opened them again and blurted out: “Cock or pussy?”

“Really? That’s the most original you can do?”

“Are you going to complain or answer the bloody question?”

“All right, all right,” you chuckled, taking a minute of your own to think. “Is it a big cock?”

“The biggest. Thick and veiny – the most hugabongulous cock you ever saw.”

You giggled. “Hugabongulous? Come on, you’re just making up words now.”

Imelda looked like she was about to give you another earful, so you quickly continued: “Well, pussy, obviously. But I don’t think I’d mind a big cock if the guy was cute.”

“Ugh.”

“What? You would?”

“Fucking right I would,” she slurred. “I’ll tell you, nothing beats the experience of tasting a girl falling apart on your tongue while you’re suffocating between her thighs. What about you, Pops?”

Poppy stirred on the other end of the sofa, her groggy eyes focusing. You expected her to sidestep the question, but surprisingly, she didn’t seem particularly shy about it. “Well… I suppose I would agree with you –”

“Ha!” Imelda cheered triumphantly. “That settles it.”

“How does that even count,” you protested. “She doesn’t even have any experience.”

“Oh, bull. I’m sure she has at least snogged someone before.”

She turned expectingly toward the Hufflepuff, being met with a suspicious silence.

“I… I can’t say that I have,” Poppy eventually admitted with a sigh.

Imelda seemed baffled. “Hold up. You’re telling me a pretty little thing like you has never even kissed someone?”

A small rational part of your tipsy mind registered a hint of alarm, recalling some foggy details from the night you rescued the unicorn, though you were still too immersed in your own hazy world to really care.

Poppy bit her lip. “I – I suppose I’ve never really given it much thought –”

“But you’d be open to it?” Imelda persisted.

“Well, yes, I suppose…”

You failed to notice the sidewards glance your girlfriend shot you. “So,” she asked, “would you kiss MC if you could?”

This jolted you out of your stupor. You snapped to attention, a blend of embarrassment and irritation rushing through you. “Come on, Mel, that isn’t funny.”

“It’s just a question,” Imelda retorted, starting to sound annoyed as well. “I just want to hear her answer.”

Looking back, perhaps you should have just gone along with the joke. The issue was, in that moment, your brain wasn’t processing it as a jest. Watching Poppy get cornered like that triggered a protective instinct deep inside you. Coupled with the lingering embarrassment you felt over having inadvertently kissed her and your alcohol-induced lack of restraint, it created quite an unpleasant cocktail of emotions.

“She doesn’t have to answer, because it’s a stupid question,” you snapped, straightening up in your chair. “Can we just take a break? I’m getting a headache –”

“Why are you being such a wimp about it?” Imelda taunted, her eyes flashing. “Too embarrassed to hear her admit she’d like to snog you?”

“Of course not, I just –”

“I would.”

You and Imelda both fell silent, realising neither of you had spoken. Your attention shifted to Poppy, who was now looking right at you with a peculiar spark of determination in her eyes. “I… would,” she repeated.

Your mind struggled to process what you were hearing. Part of you wanted to attribute it to the alcohol, but deep down, you sensed it was more than that. She was genuinely opening up about her feelings, admitting her desire to kiss you, confessing that her emotions extended beyond mere friendship. Did you feel the same way? Could you muster the courage to respond to her vulnerability?

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you – anger, shock, disbelief, betrayal. It didn’t seem fair for her to drop this bombshell on you. Unable to contain your reaction, you directed your words at Imelda, “Happy now? You got her drunk enough to talk nonsense. I’m sure you’re really proud of yourself.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Imelda snapped back.

“I’m the arse? What, so we’re just going to pretend that this wasn’t all some convoluted ruse to get us hammered and take advantage of us? You really haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

Part of you recognized that you were only digging yourself into a deeper pit, yet your intoxication rendered you indifferent to the consequences. Your words were fueled by the alcohol, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Imelda’s gaze was cold, though that didn’t affect you as much as the pain in her eyes. “That’s precious,” she said, voice dripping with venom. “That’s really fucking precious. You know what, MC, fuck you. Just because you’re too much of a pussy to be honest about your feelings doesn’t give you the right to act like a cunt.”

“Oh, cut the crap,” you scoffed. “We both know it’s all about one thing only with you. And honestly, if you really thought this was the best way of getting us both into your bed, you’re even more dense than you look.”

You had unleashed those words before you could rein yourself in. Imelda stared at you, her eyes a mixture of hurt and anger, tears glistening. For a moment, it seemed like she might launch herself at you, but then she abruptly stood up, a bitter expression on her face, and spat on the floor.

“Go fuck yourself,” she said.

And with that, she stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her. The room felt instantly colder, the silence pressing down on you like a heavy weight. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts, frustration clawing at your chest. Fuck, why couldnt you think clearly?

A soft shuffling noise brought your attention back to the room. Your gaze lifted, meeting Poppy's tear-streaked cheeks. She avoided your eyes, mirroring Imelda’s exit, and walked out swiftly.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. Fuck.

#hogwarts legacy #imelda reyes #poppy sweeting #imelda reyes x mc #poppy sweeting x mc #imelda reyes x f!mc #poppy sweeting x f!mc #imelda reyes x reader #poppy sweeting x reader #imelda reyes x poppy sweeting #imelda reyes smut #Poppy sweeting smut #hogwarts legacy smut

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voltronisanobsession · 1 year

Note

Hey could you write Percy with a fem s/o who’s emo? Like she is seen blasting her headphones with Slipknot and other bands all the time. Also her maybe having split dyed hair too? I think that would be so cool ngl.

Percy with an Emo Reader

Once an emo, always an emo🫡 I really like this, it’s different from the other requests I get😍😍

Hope I did you justice, it’s been a while since I’ve entered emo territory💔 I played my rock playlist just to write this lmao💀💀💀 not proofread

I love this idea SO MUCH

When people see you, they don’t expect you to be dating the one and only Percy jackson

Dressed head to toe in mostly black, wearing a Slipknot band tee while rock and metal music blares out from your headphones is the last thing some people expect to see at camp

So imagine their surprise when they see Percy holding and kissing your hand, sending a cheesy smile your way while you playfully roll your eyes

You guys are just so different from each other that most people wouldn’t guess that you guys are a couple

You’re dressed in dark clothing while Percy has a little more color in his wardrobe. you’re the black cat and he’s the golden retriever in the relationship 😖

But your differences is honestly what makes you both closer!

Percy could honestly care less on what people think of your relationship

He knows that as long as you’re happy doing what you do then he’s definitely happy as well

Though sometimes you might grow a bit self conscious of how you guys look like to others, Percy is quick to get rid of those thoughts with a soft kiss on your cheek

He understands your concerns, understands why you might be a bit more hesitant to be around him while out in public, but he makes sure to not let those fears control your guys relationship

His confidence gives you confidence💔💔

Moving on, when Percy first met you, it was definitely a really cool experience for him

He thought you were the coolest person, and he still thinks so!

You’ve shown him a whole new range of music he never would have thought he would listen to

The loud drums and guitars hurt his ears at first but he soon found himself enjoying the tracks you recommended to him from different bands

Omg you guys totally give each other song recommendations

His personal favorite rock band you’ve shown him so far lowkey might be sleeping with sirens💀🔥🔥

He also likes all the rock band tshirts you have

They’re different from what he would usually wear, so this dude steals some of your shirts

The thing is that he can’t really hide that he steals your shirts so you’ll just randomly see him one day wearing your slipnot shirt, the black a stark contrast against all the orange camp shirts

If you also wear an accessories, just know if something goes missing, Percy is MOST LIKELY wearing it

OMG AND YOUR HAIR

Percy LOVES your hair

Especially if you dye it different colors throughout the year! I feel like dyed hair is automatically more fun to play with, so you know this dude is gonna have fun with your hair

I can imagine him trying to run his fingers through your hair only for it to get stuck a second later, your head pulled back as he keeps trying to get his fingers through it

Since you most likely dye and bleach your hair often, it’s lowkey fried and damaged, so unfortunately running his fingers through your hair might be a little hard💀💀💀💀 and painful💀

Percy might even wanna dye his hair to match with you teehee

You would paint his nails black when you crash in his cabin for a night (he learns to paint his own nails when you’re not around :,D)

Omg you might even draw some heavy eyeliner on him or add black eyeshadow under his eyes because he probably asked you to😭😭

If you have an piercings, whether it be face piercings or body piercings, Percy’s immediately asking if they hurt and to what extent.

“What’s this piercing called? An industrial? Damn, did it hurt?”

“It hurt like a bitch.”

“Oh wow ok, haha not getting that one!😀”

Honestly Percy slowly adds some of your stuff into his life, your band tees becoming a permanent clothing piece in his own closet

And you’re just happy that he’s so interested in your interests, seeing as it’s made such an impact in your life!

A small thought, you would totally get along with Thalia

You both might share some of the same music interests and immediately bond over it

You guys are lowkey besties

Ending this, Percy would totally let you throw him into a mosh pit if you both were to go to a concert together

#Percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #Percy pjo x reader #Percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x you #pjo headcanons #pjo #Percy jackson #percy jackson headcanons #x reader #headcanons #pjo fandom

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

Text

|| ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ ||

a/n: lol this somehow reached 2.3k hits on ao3, I will never know how. I'm so tired it's 4am and this is a very very lengthy chapter xo pls enjoy I'm gonna go crash now who even needs Grammarly anyway I AM the Grammarly

“You’re a princess?”

“I mean, technically? I don’t really like to talk about it much.”

“But how did Casey know?”

Y/n hesitates. “I…Don’t know. I don’t think I’ve told anyone besides you.” She admits softly, her eyes trained on her nails as they pick away at her cuticles.

It’s silent for a while, and she glances up nervously to check on Leo’s stunned figure. His lips are pursed, exhaling steadily with eyes of acceptance. “Huh.” He says after a while, leaning against the wall next to her.

He looks back up with a small smile. “And I’m the first one you told?”

She nods.

“Hey, lovebirds! We could really use some help over here!” Raph yells across the room at the two. She starts slightly, accidentally making eye contact with Leo before ducking her head, feeling a gentle heat on her cheeks.

“Coming!” She walks off, Leo following suit. He can’t stop the smile that’s stuck to his lips.

She told him first. He’s the first one to know more about her.

The thought makes him euphoric, helping y/n pick up scattered comic books on the floor, the pages drenched from her earlier actions. “So, how does it work where you’re from? Y’know, the whole princess thing?”

Y/n looks up in surprise, not expecting him to ask more about her background. She pauses, trying to explain it as best she can. “I’m the niece of the Northern Water Tribe’s chief. I’m just a princess in name, though. It wasn’t made official.”

“Why not?”

She stiffens, looking away from him. “Some stuff….happened. I mean, it’s not that important since I ended up going with Aang, Sokka, and Katara.” She brushes over it, though the slight tinge of sorrow in her voice only serves to pique his curiosity.

He hums. “In that case, do we have to refer to you by your title now, princess?” He jokes, but his teasing smile falters when she looks up at him with wide eyes and a beautiful flush on her cheeks, making part of him want to tease her more if only to see that same expression again.

“I-I mean, you don’t have to. It’s just a formality thing.” Her voice fades into an almost shy whisper, averting her gaze and focusing on arranging the wet comic books on the floor. His cheeks blossom with a soft pink matching hers, mirroring her actions. His hand brushes against hers, both flinching and drawing their hands to their chests as if they had been burnt.

“What’s going on here?”

She clears her throat, standing back up with a quick shake of her head. Raph watches them both with a playful smile, his hands crossed and ignoring Leo’s flustered glare. Neither responds to Raph, y/n focusing on bending all the water out of the pages and leaving them dry again.

Mikey whoops happily, scooping them up into his arms with a gleeful grin. “Thanks!!” He scurries back into his room with comic books in tow, ready to stash them away in fear of another incident like earlier happening.

“Anyway,” her attention is back on Raph, who regards them both with a skeptical gaze, “don’t you gotta go home for school tomorrow, Pipsqueak?”

We’re on nickname terms now?

This makes her grin, glad that she’s been acknowledged by him. The reminder makes her pause, looking around the more or less dry lair. “What about April and Casey?”

“I’ll walk her-”

“I’ll walk her back.”

Donnie interrupts Casey with a hostile glare, making the boy quirk a brow at the turtle’s odd behaviour. “Sure… See you tomorrow then, Red. Princess.” Casey shrugs, turning to head out the way he followed Raph.

“Oh, would you look at that! It seems that y/n doesn’t have anyone to walk her home. I gotta do…stuff, and so does Mikey.” Raph rubs the back of his neck with probably the worst acting y/n’s ever seen, though she does chuckle at the effort.

“We do?” Mikey shuts up when Raph glares at him, pouting at how mean his brother is. “I guess we do.”

“But April and I live together-”

“Actually, I have something to discuss with Master Splinter. You go on ahead first, y/n.” April grins mischievously, patting y/n’s shoulder with an encouraging nod.

“I’d be glad to accompany you.” Leo offers with a roll of his eyes at how obvious everyone is being, taking the hint. She nods with a warm smile, walking past the turnstiles with him.

“Shall we, princess?” He asks, holding his hand out to her with a charming grin. She’s about to take it, but a hot flash of pain rips through her head, the familiar line making her wince.

“Shall we, princess?” Jet holds out his hand to her with a teasing grin, undeterred by the hostile scowl sent his way by the very girl he’s called out to.

“Jet. Nice to see you again.” Her eyes are narrowed into a glare, hands clenching into fists. Just in case, though, she bends a stream of water out of the buckets beside her, steadying herself in case he attacked. After what happened, she couldn’t trust him. Not anymore.

“Calm down,” He chuckles, hands lifted up in surrender. “I’m here to talk.”

“Does that talk include trying to drown another innocent village?” She scoffs, the hairs on her neck bristling when he takes a step forward. “Don’t,” She warns, the water bubbling as it begins to heat up from the rapidly growing anger in her heart.

“I’m here to help. For real this time, I promise.”

“We both know what your ‘promises’ are worth.”

“Not this time. Please. Just hear me out. It’s about your parents.”

Her breath hitches in her chest, eyes widening before she swallows a bitter lump in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I promise it’ll be worth your time. I don’t have the gang with me anymore; all I want to do is talk.” She eyes his outstretched hand with doubt, but her curiosity ultimately wins. She lets the water drop to her feet, splashing onto the dry floor without soaking her dress in the slightest.

“Fine. I’ll hear you out. But one wrong move, and you’ll be frozen for the next five years before you know it.”

She expects him to flinch. Instead, his lips curve into a playful grin, reminiscent of the day they met. Heat crept across her cheeks, tinging the tips of her ears with a rosy pink before looking away with a huff and crossed arms. Damn, those good looks of his.

He holds out his hand, waiting for her to take it. “It’s good to see you again, princess. I missed you.”

“You can leave now!” Raph calls out from a short distance, and she’s instantly brought back to the present. She looks up at Leo’s eyes filled with nothing but warmth and kindness for her. Her stomach turns, her hand about to brush his before she snatches it back. She swallows, unable to bring herself to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, let’s go.” She mumbles, brushing past him in a hurry. He hesitates, eyes filled with mild hurt at the cold way she rejects his hand. He follows suit, missing the wince on April’s face as she watches them leave.

“Should I tell her that tomorrow’s Saturday?”

— — — —

Y/n runs across the rooftops, the cold breeze whistling past her ears soothing her somewhat. Her heart is heavy, but the sensation of practically flying across the rooftops is freeing.

She barely registers Leo following along, having slowed his usual pace for her. She appreciates the thought, her steps slowing so they walk side by side. His curious gaze unnerves her slightly, still unable to bring herself to meet his innocent eyes that hold so much worry, and so many questions.

“So, how’s school life going for you?”

“It’s going good, I suppose. I introduced the history of the avatar and the war to my classmates.”

“You what?”

“I know, April told me not to do it again. Not even about the frog talk too.” She replies grumpily, crossing her arms with a huff.

Leo’s bemused by her words, every single sentence of hers still catching him off guard. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any more baffling, she always managed to surprise him.

His gaze softens, watching her kick a stray pebble. She’s so endearing, he thinks with a chuckle.

“About earlier,” He sees her stiffen slightly, probably thinking about how he’d address her rejecting his hand. “What’s it like being a princess?”

“It was…” She pauses, looking out at the city. He stands beside her, waiting patiently for her reply. “Isolating.” She finally says after a few moments, lips pursed. The silence from Leo spurs her to continue, his reassuring presence encouraging her to speak more freely.

“When I was little, my parents left me with my uncle. He was the chief of our tribe, and it was one last favour he did for my parents before they left. That’s where I met Yue.” She recalls peeking out from behind her father’s legs with a timid smile, meeting her cousin for the first time.

“Yue and I were close growing up. We played dolls together and studied together. We were like sisters. But as we grew up, it became more and more apparent that she was of higher status. She’s the direct daughter of the chief, while I’m just his niece. I wasn’t mistreated, just less…included.”

“What about your royal duties? Did you knight any knights? Dance at balls? Have a coronation?”

“What are knights?”

“Y’know, like, warriors who wear armour and wield swords? They’re loyal to their kingdom and their kingdom alone? You have to knight them with a sword? They swear all loyalty to the princess?”

“I don’t think we have those,” Her eyes shine with humour, smiling at his amusing reply. At first, she thought he was describing himself, what with the swords and all. He had mimicked a ‘knight’s’ actions, dramatically holding out his katanas. She had to hide a giggle at that.

“That’s a shame. I think being a knight would’ve been pretty cool. Why’d you choose to follow them, though?”

His question makes her hesitate, glancing up at him. “There was no more reason to stay.” If she had, Yue’s betrothed would’ve only gone to her. She’d forever be a replacement for her cousin.

But no one could ever replace Yue.

It’s silent for a while, both settling into comfortable silence.

“I’m tired of losing people.”

The loaded statement that slips past her lips is weary, with pure exhaustion laced in every single word. She’s too tired to realize how it sounds, her true feelings bubbling to the surface.

“It must’ve been hard.”

His single reply comes instantly, his words nothing but heartfelt. She doesn’t realize that her eyes have already started tearing up until her vision becomes blurry. She blinks, the tears sliding down her cheeks. She feels something soft brush against her skin, slowly registering a green finger brushing off her tears with a gentle smile.

“It’ll be okay.” Leo promises. “We’ll get you home.”

She sniffles, allowing herself to melt into his touch with a tiny sigh. “Thank you.”

“For now, though, let’s get you home.” Leo chuckles, letting his hand drop to his side after her tears stop flowing. She manages a nod, the both of them starting a slow jog with a shared smile.

Something’s off.

She glances around; brows furrowed in confusion, when she doesn’t spot anyone else. She could’ve sworn they were being watched. The prickling sensation that ruffles her nerves isn’t easing; her gut twists and tugs slightly in a particular direction.

“Something wrong?” Leo asks, curious as to why she’s suddenly on high alert. He didn’t sense anything. But then again, y/n had slightly keener instincts than any of them did.

“Just…felt like we were being watched,” She murmurs uneasily, rubbing her arm in discomfort. She didn’t like the sensation, reminding her too much of the days when they were busy being hunted down by Zuko.

“I don’t see anyone around. Maybe you’re a little tired from earlier.” Leo suggests, the skin above his eyes creasing in worry. “You should get some rest.”

“Maybe,” she still can’t brush it off but continues to jog back to the apartment building. The feeling fades after a while, the tension leaving her body. She unlocks the window, sliding it up. Leo watches from the fire escape, the close proximity making her stiffen slightly.

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, princess.” He says, the nickname filled with fondness. A breathy laugh falls from her lips, still flustered when he calls her with such affection. She climbs into the room, pausing before gesturing for him to come closer.

His eyes widen slightly in intrigue, taking a step and leaning in. She gestures for him to come closer still, as if she’s about to tell him a secret.

“Thanks for keeping me safe, my knight.” She whispers, brushing her lips gently against his cheek.

He’s frozen.

She leans back with a heavy blush on her cheeks, her neck hot. She slides the window shut, clearing her throat. She watches him take a step back, climbing back up the fire escape with jerky movements and a blush that matches hers.

“Wow.”

Y/n yelps at the sudden voice, stumbling back and almost falling onto the ground. She grabs onto the chair nearby in time, looking up wide-eyed to see both April and Donnie in the doorway, stunned into silence.

“I mean…wow.” Donnie can’t help but be impressed by y/n’s boldness, April lifting her hands to clap slowly, eyes filled with awe. ”Wow,” She agrees.

“Y-you saw that?”

What was she even asking? Of course, they saw it based on their reactions. She groans, holding her head in her hands. She could never recover from this.

“That’s it. I’m banishing myself from all interactions.” She mutters, brushing past them both and into the kitchen to make some tea to calm herself down. April doesn’t stop the slow claps, sharing a mischievous grin with Donnie.

“We’re so gonna bring it up around them, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

— — — —

She can’t sleep. Y/n turns and shifts in her spot on the shared bed, freezing when she hears April mumble a sound of protest. She sits up with a sigh, moving to exit through the window and heading up the fire escape to the rooftop.

She’s barefooted, standing on the cold, dirty ground that no one bothers to clean. She takes a moment to sit on the ledge, looking up at the night sky. Her heart is heavy, recalling just moments ago when she had so daringly pressed a soft kiss against Leo’s cheek.

Her heart hammers in her chest like a hummingbird’s melodious thrums, except she’s sure that hers is faster and much louder. How had she been so bold?

Did she even deserve to have the right to feel this way again? After what happened with Jet, it's hard to believe so.

A weary sigh leaves her lips, looking down at her calloused hands with regret starting to fill the emptiness that makes itself known. The silence is deafening, almost too much for her to bear.

Jet.

She hadn’t remembered that name in a while. After everything she’s been through in this dimension, it’s easy to let the name of one’s first love slip their mind. With fighting aliens, discovering mutagen, and befriending a girl with psychic powers, it’s hard to believe that she isn’t just in a fever dream.

Who knows, though? Maybe it really is, and she’d wake up to Katara nagging at her to wake up for another of Aang’s pranks that she’d been a victim of. Sokka would snort at her, and she’d bend a stream of water to soak him in response.

She pinches her hand, wincing at the sharp pain. She huffs out a sad laugh. What had she expected?

It’s not a dream.

“So princess, you gonna come with me or what?”

“Shut it, Jet. I don’t trust you.” Y/n huffs, following Jet with a cautious gaze.

“I really have changed, y’know.” Jet turns to face her with a sorrowful smile she almost falls for, her eyes softening before the reminder of what he did to the innocent village makes her sober up.

“People don’t change so easily.”

“I’ll prove it to you, princess. I promise.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and y/n crosses her arms defensively. The both of them are in an alleyway, with no one else around. She glances behind her, wondering if she should just make a run for it and forget this all ever happened.

“Because you don’t have the right to. Not anymore. Not after what you did to me. To us.”

What had they been, anyway? A couple of teenagers with a mutual crush on each other? That’s all they were. And safe to say, hers had burned out as soon as he endangered her friends.

“Y/n…” He hesitates, his hand falling to his side. “I’m sorry.”

It’s sincere, but she can barely bring herself to look him in the eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He nods resignedly, continuing to trek forward. “Where are we going, anyway?” She asks, staying a wary distance from him.

“Your parents are here. In Ba Sing Se.”

“What?”

It’s as if the breath is knocked out of her with that statement alone, disbelief tinging her voice. “That can’t be.”

“It’s true, princess.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not, princess. They’re only a few houses down. Please.” Jet holds his hand out to her, but she’s hesitant to take it. It couldn’t be. Everything she’s built up to protect herself from her parents abandoning her is crumbling in her hands. She can’t let herself believe it. It’s easier for her to think that they’re dead.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” She hesitates, the painful lump in her throat and tightness in her chest scaring her more than anything she’s faced so far, “I’ll know for sure that they really abandoned me.”

Once the words leave her lips, she feels herself crumble to pieces, dropping to her knees as her eyes sting with tears. She feels his warm arm wrap around her back, holding her against his chest. The warmth brings her painful comfort, allowing the tears to spill over. They wet his shirt, but his hold around her only tightens. She clutches his shirt, crumpling the fabric in her hands as she hiccups through her sobs.

It’s as if she’s back in the throne room again, waving goodbye to her parents with an uneasiness in her gut that she brushes off as a mere stomachache. That was the last time she ever saw them. The warm kiss her mother pressed against her forehead and her father’s affectionate ruffle of her hair. Those were the last forms of affection she’d ever receive from them.

She calms down after a while, having held onto Jet for dear life. She’s about to move away from him, her shaky breaths not doing much to convince him that she’s okay. She yelps, Jet picking her up in a bridal carry and walking back the way they came.

“Put me down!”

“Calm down, princess. You’re tired.”

She narrows her eyes into a glare, though it’s less hostile than before. Her eyes drop to his neck, stubbornly refusing to look into his eyes. She tries to move her feet but finds that she’s lost all feeling in them after having sat on them for as long as she did.

“Any more glaring, and you’re gonna burn a hole through my shirt, princess.”

“Good,” She grumbles with a huff.

His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, her own heart warming at the sound. “Let’s get you something to eat.” She hesitates. Was this really a good idea? Maybe Aang, Katara, Toph, and Sokka would be worried she’d get back so late. Maybe he was actually taking her to be captured again.

Maybe he had something else up his sleeve.

“Fine.”

The first few drops of rain snap her out of her memory, before the rest come down in full force. The rain pelts her body, droplets sliding off her hair and streaming down her face. Her entire body is soaked, and the shirt and shorts provident little protection.

She cups her hands, the rainwater quickly gathering in a small pool. Her body feels heavy and tired, her heart filled with all sorts of emotions that crash against each other like raging waves in a vast ocean that she’ll never be able to calm.

She stands up. She takes a deep breath, bringing her arms up into a circle and suspending the raindrops in midair when her hands meet above her head, moving to sweep her left foot in a semi-arc.

The movement guides the water to surround her in streams, mimicking the image of a hurricane she had seen in passing during geography class. Her movements are slow and controlled, but as thoughts start to cloud her mind, they become more erratic and more emotional.

She thrusts her right arm out to the sky, a jagged spike of ice following suit. The edge is as sharp as the hot flash of anger in her heart, anger at herself for being so helpless and pitiful in this state, anger at her parents for abandoning her, and anger directed at herself for being unable to control anything around her.

She shifts her arm back, leaving the large spike of ice as is and allowing herself to feel the next emotion: Despair. How could she even think about falling in love in a dimension that isn’t even hers? She had to leave sometime. Whatever she felt for Leo would be over before it even began.

She despairs for a life lost, for the various that she’s seen leaving the plane of mortality in the blink of an eye. Despair for her parents. Despair for Yue. Despair for Jet.

Despair for all the lives lost in the war.

Despair for a love that once was.

The water around her seems to adapt to her feelings, shifting and surrounding her in a flurry of churning, rapidly moving stream that she almost lets go of.

Then, Fear takes hold. Her body is simply flowing along with the water, allowing herself to become one with its motions. She’s scared. She’s scared to lose the people around her. She’s scared she’ll never make it back to her home.

She’s scared that once she takes the first step forward to confirm what she and Leo have, she’ll lose it.

She’s scared that she’ll lose him.

The water bubbles, drawing back and coating her body in a protective shield, leaving her face unguarded.

All her guarded emotions finally rise to the surface. She raises her hands again, bending every drop around her to form a huge orb of water above the apartment building.

Then in a single movement, she bends the water to become mist, letting it — and her emotions, dissipate into the morning of New York City, surrounding the buildings with heavy fog.

She sighs softly. It’s as if a huge burden has been lifted off her shoulders. She walks back down the fire escape, slipping back into April’s room and under the covers, not noticing the dirt that covers the soles of her feet and staining the white bedspreads.

She falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, lip curved upwards into a soft smile.

Maybe she should do that more often.

— — — —

“I never understood how turtles — could be so fast!” April says between pants, breathless from the amount of running they’ve just done. Y/n nods in agreement from beside her. She could run, just not for two hours straight.

“C’mon, April! This is just the warmup,” Mikey encourages, all four turtles completely unfazed. “I’m sorry — the warmup?” Y/n echoes in disbelief, holding a finger up as she catches her breath from beside a tired April, “For two hours??”

“That’s what ninjas do. Training sometimes lasts for four–five hours at a time. Awesome, right?”

“Awesome?” April’s baffled by how normal this is for them. “Are you kidding me? I’m gonna puke.”

“I second that motion.” Y/n raises her hand from beside her, already leaning against Donnie, who supports her with a worried smile. Her stomach turns, all her stamina spent. Her legs have zero feeling in them, barely managing to hold herself upright.

“What about a real mission?”

“It took fifteen years of training before Master Splinter let us go on a ‘real mission’. You got a long way to go, sister.” Raph scoffs, sassily dismissing April’s request.

“Not that long. A decade or two will fly by like that!” Donnie snaps his fingers to prove his point, but it only serves to heighten April’s dismay.

“For a turtle!”

Y/n groans softly, the familiar unnerving sensation back again with full force. It had been plaguing her for the past couple of days, and she wanted to tell the rest but didn’t know how to — especially after that night when Donnie and April had both caught her kissing Leo’s cheek.

She constantly felt like she was being followed, but every time she glanced around to try and narrow it down, the feeling disappeared, as if whoever was doing so had fled. It’s back again, though - and growing more intense by the minute.

Everyone’s voices fade into white noise. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on what exactly her instincts are trying to tell her. Her gut twists and turns as if it’s wringing itself out to dry. However, it’s tugging in a particular direction, and she opens her eyes to see April pointing in the same direction as well.

A masked figure is hidden in the shadows, but the brightness of a neon sign reflects onto the signboard they’re hiding behind, revealing their location. They flinch at being caught, grabbing their things and running away.

Great. More running.

She staggers to her feet with a groan, beginning to give chase. If it’s one thing she’s learnt about being watched, it’s that it never leads to a good outcome.

Case in point: Sparky Sparky Boom Man.

As they run to catch up to the mysterious stranger, y/n gets a better look at them now that they’re more exposed to the light. She stops at the edge of the building they’re on but pauses once she bends the water out of the water bag on her hip. She judges the distance between the two buildings, unsure if the amount of water is enough to create a bridge over.

However, she’s hastily scooped up and pressed against a strong plastron, instinctively wrapping her arms around Leo’s neck as his own circle her waist protectively. He jumps off the building after securing a grappling hook to the next, pushing himself off the ledge and landing safely on the rooftop.

He sets her down gently, y/n whispering her thanks softly as their gazes lock. “Make goo-goo eyes at each other later; we got a guy to catch!” Raph rolls his eyes, the both of them flustered at suddenly being called out.

They resume their run, though the distance between them is a bit closer than before. She reaches the edge once more, kneeling down to get a better look at the man who slips into an apartment in the opposite building.

She allows herself to get carried over by Leo, the gesture almost second nature now. She lets go of his neck once they land on the fire escape, hands reaching out to open the window. She’s stopped, however, when Leo shakes his head, his hands holding hers and gently pushing them down.

He produces a tool from behind his back, y/n stepping aside in understanding as he jimmies the lock open before slowly sliding it up. She’s already prepared a shield of ice in case any arrows come flying, holding it in front of them both.

Luckily, no projectiles come flying at them. She breathes a sigh of relief but still keeps her shield up as they enter the apartment. It’s comparatively devoid of decorative furniture, a potted plant in the corner drawing her attention.

She walks over, noting how its leaves are somewhat wilted. She bends a small stream of water to soak into the soil around it, smiling when the plant looks a little livelier than before. She bends the rest of her shield back into liquid form, guiding it back into her water bag.

She hears a gasp, everyone having gathered around a board in the middle of the room. She walks over, curious as to what they’ve found, but her words fall short as soon as her eyes land on pictures of the turtles and April.

“Uh, Y/n? You should see this.”

She turns to Raph with raised brows, walking over to see what he’s looking at with such wide eyes. He passes her his flashlight, and she shines it onto a board that’s separate from the rest.

“Tui’s gills….”

Pictures.

So many pictures of her litter the board, pinned up with metal thumbtacks in a crazed organization system. Red thread connects them all haphazardly, words scribbled in red onto each.

There’s a picture of her healing Baxter Stockman, and another of her on the rooftop with Leo. Another is of her healing people during the Kraang Invasion, while one captures her mid-laugh, eyes gleaming with happiness and her nose scrunched at a joke someone says.

There’s also another of her slumped on the ground in the alleyway, moments away from having blood-bended. Her eyes are dark, her expression blank as blood trickles down the side of her head. Her hand is outstretched to Raph, who’s not captured in the photo, lips parted as if she’s talking to another.

Then there’s another of her with angry tears in her eyes, the close-up shot sending chills down her spine. It captured every emotion she had felt from that night — anger, helplessness, fear…

It’s unsettling. Her hands grip her arms, shuddering at the thought of someone taking all these photos of her without her knowledge. She shines the torch on the hastily scrawled words, beginning to read them.

‘Power over water?’

‘Not of this earth.’

‘Kraang mutant?’

‘The blue one.’

The sentence is scribbled next to a photo of her and Leo looking at each other with gentle smiles as if they’re in their own little bubble. His hand is brushed against hers, and the memory brings a strong heat to her entire face. She sneaks a look around, Raph having walked over to the other board where more photos of their existence are.

She reaches up, quietly removing the thumbtack and stuffing the photo into her pocket. It’s not like she isn’t creeped out by the photo — It is incredibly weird and unsettling after all.

But she kinda liked that one.

She shines her torch on the left side of the board, catching a few messily written words on another piece of paper. She moves the torch to shine on it, her breath hitching in her chest when she reads it.

‘Possible affinity with blood?’

Sudden light-headedness strikes through her head like a shard of pain, her breathing stuttering in her chest. She takes a step back. The red ink starts to bleed, dripping down the pictures of her with a crimson red that both draws her in and terrifies her to her core.

A loud slam draws her attention to Raph, who holds the stranger that followed them to the wall in an aggressive chokehold, his sai pressed to his throat with the intention to intimidate. She shakes her head and blinks rapidly, her racing heart doing nothing to calm how rattled she is.

“Don’t hurt me, I’m a friend!”

“Stalker’s more like it.” Raph scoffs.

“After all these months, finally face to face with the talking ninja turtles and April O’Neil herself. Even the Water Whisperer, Y/n.” He takes a step toward Y/n with his hands outstretched to grab her shoulders. Leo instantly moves to protect her, drawing his katana and pointing it at the man, who takes a step back, hands raised in surrender.

“You better start talking, pal. What’s with the photos? Who are you?” Leo’s aggressiveness seems to make the man start talking, eyeing his sword nervously.

“The name’s Kurtzman. I was a journalist on the case of the missing scientist last year. Then I discovered something much bigger.”

He moves to turn on the light, using his arm to sweep off scattered papers and the mug on his desk. He faces them with a book, placing it down on the desk with a thud. “The Kraang.”

He begins to explain, opening the book and showing the research and pictures inside. “The alien infiltration is long-lived. Ancient, in fact. The Kraang have been trying to use the mutagen to terra-form our planet for thousands of years. But they couldn’t use the mutagen in our universe without a specific chain of human DNA. They spent millennia capturing people. Shaping humankind’s genetic code until finally….”

He lifts up a picture of a baby, and April inhales sharply when she sees it. “That’s me.”

“Your mother was taken by The Kraang before you were born. Then, she was experimented on.” He flips to a family picture of April and her parents. April’s eyes are filled with pure shock, discovering new information about her family for the first time.

“My mom was experimented on?”

“That’s why you’re so special, April. Your DNA can perfect the mutagen in this dimension.” Kurtzman reveals.

“I-I think I need to sit down.” April slumps against a chest of drawers, holding her head as she processes everything he’s said. Y/n, on the other hand, has questions. She takes a step towards the man who’s been spying on them.

“What do you mean when you called me ‘Water Whisperer’?” She questions, her arms crossed defensively across her chest.

“Because you can control water! I couldn’t believe it at first, but once I saw those bridges made of ice, and the streams of water you surround yourself with, I knew at once you had some sort of power over it. There’s something I’ve been dying to ask, though.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s a fact that the human body consists of up to sixty percent water, with over ninety percent of it making up blood. So theoretically, wouldn’t it be possible that-”

He’s cut off with a single flick of her wrist, a small stream of water instantly covering his mouth and y/n freezing it in a split second. He’s effectively silenced, all four turning to look at her in shock. Her eyes are cold, her outstretched fist that’s aimed at Kurtzman a silent threat.

“If you complete that sentence, your mouth isn’t going to be the only thing frozen.”

The promise rings through the quiet room, and she unclenches her fist, bending the water back into its liquid state and back to her side, though the threat reminds everyone exactly how capable she is.

Leo’s about to say something – to check if she’s okay, when the door is slammed open by three disguised Kraang bots. They enter the room with their blasters, armed and ready to fire.

“They found me,” Kurtzman says, his voice filled with fear, “I don’t know how, but they found me.”

“Kraang, the human known as ‘Kurtzman’ has allied himself with the ones called the ‘turtles’, who are turtles.” The bot on the left says.

“Observe, Kraang. Disintegrate first, capture for interrogation later.” The bot on the right says.

All three start firing, beginning to spread out. Y/n’s lips curve up into an empty grin. “You came just in time. I have a few frustrations to take care of.” She jumps out of the way from a blast that’s aimed at her, letting out a cry as she moves her arms in a small arc, bending the water out of her water bag and crafting a spear of ice in an instant.

She sends it flying at the Kraang bot that’s firing at both her and Mikey, the latter throwing two ninja stars that embed itselves into the gun and its eye, while her spear pierces its abdomen. She hears a sharp squeal of pain that goes quiet after, the bot no longer moving to get up.

She waves her arm dismissively, bending the water back into its liquid state and reusing it. It’s tinged pink now, having pierced through the Kraang’s very being. She regards it with nonchalance, levitating it above her hand with her fingers around it.

“Y/n, watch out!”

Leo’s about to make a move to stab the bot that’s moving behind her but falters in his steps once she turns at his cry and sends the spear through the Kraang in the middle. It leaves a gaping hole through the pink flesh, the bot falling to her feet.

“Retreat!” Raph cries out as more of the Kraang begin to enter the apartment. They escape through the window, y/n groaning in annoyance when Kurtzman doesn’t make his exit. He flounders, trying to get to his notebook. The Kraang refuse to allow him to get near it, firing away at him.

She’s so close to just leaving him there. But she sighs, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling him back with as much force as she can muster, falling out the window.

She’s miscalculated his weight, and they both hurtle toward the ground at a terrifying rate. She doesn’t scream, the sound caught in her chest and only a choked exhale escaping. Was this how she would die? Saving an idiot?

She vaguely feels something circle around her leg, and it tightens when they’re inches away from meeting the pavement. They dangle upside down, and she looks down to see Mikey above them, holding on with all his strength using his nunchucks to secure both her and Kurtzman.

He slowly lowers them to the ground, and she collapses onto the ground, releasing Kurtzman’s collar. She stands back up with a grunt, dusting off the dirt on her clothes and ignoring the man’s pained cries. The creep could take care of himself.

“This way, move!” Leo orders after giving y/n a quick glance over to check if she’s injured. He looks away as soon as he confirms that she isn’t, his eyes hardening. His main priority is to get all of them out, unharmed.

They’re about to leave, but a van screeches to a halt, blocking their means of escape. The doors open, and the Kraang step out in spider-like robots. The clawed ends clatter against the pavement, the sound sending a chill down her spine.

A large blaster is revealed when the front panel moves aside, and they start to fire at everyone around. “This way!” Y/n cries out, gesturing for everyone to leave through the other side of the alleyway. Donnie ushers them into the secret entrance installed that leads to the garage, all of them piling into the ShellRaiser before Leo starts the engine up and drives it to the surface.

“Everyone, brace yourselves!” Leo calls out a single warning, y/n grabbing the closest thing to her, which is a handle attached to the wall of the van.

“Here’s the plan. We’ll infiltrate T.C.R.I. Then, we’ll wipe out all the ingo the Kraang have on April and her DNA.” Kurtzman suggests.

“T.C.R.I? I thought you guys blew that place up.” April points out. Donnie stiffens slightly at the reminder, glancing at y/n who doesn’t notice.

Leo drives to a safer area, everyone getting out and staring at the large building a short distance away in disbelief. “They rebuilt T.C.R.I? Raph mutters.

“We break in, erase April’s DNA codes, and get out. Infiltration only.” Leo orders in a hushed whisper.

“Le’s do this,” April clenches her hands into fists, ready to take action.

“Great. You and Kurtzman stay outside on lookout.”

“Stay outside? On lookout?” April’s incredibly offended, her hands on her hips.

“No problem. Take this,” Kurtzman rifles through his pockets, taking out a card and handing it to Leo. “It’s a key card I stole from one of their vans. It’ll get you into T.C.R.I.”

“I can be lookout.” Y/n volunteers, giving her friend a half grin. She shrugs at Leo’s baffled expression. “Hey, give her a chance. It’s the least you can do after you left me behind that night.”

Leo’s wounded expression makes her inhale sharply. She couldn’t help being salty over it still, having felt hurt that they excluded her. “Be careful out there, April.” She cautions her friend.

“Fine,” Leo caves in easily, unable to fight back against her. “Thanks Mr Kurtzman. Look after her.” He says sternly, casting one last worried glance over his shoulder as he leaves with April and the rest.

Y/n raises a brow. Just who was protecting who, here?

She’s left alone with Kurtzman, who she can see in her peripheral, is just itching to ask her questions. His eager eyes make her sigh, caving in. “What is it?”

“I just have a few questions. How did you receive your powers? Do you communicate with water? What exactly are your limits? How many phase changes can you make? Do you ever get dehydrated?”

She feels as if she’s a blueprint being studied by Sokka.

“I was born with waterbending. I don’t communicate with water, no. I feel the flow and simply guide it to the results I wish to produce.” She demonstrates using a simple stream of water from her water bag to wrap around her arm in a spiral, Kurtzman watching in fascination and awe.

“I can change it to be mist or even ice. And yes, I do get dehydrated if I don’t drink enough water. There was a time when I was in the desert and was really tempted to drink cactus juice.”

“Oh,” He sounds genuinely surprised at the last answer. He hesitates. “About my question from earlier….”

Y/n tenses, shooting him a glare that tells him to stop. But he pushes on, determined to find an answer. “Doesn’t this mean you can control people’s bodies?”

He waits for an answer, wishing he had a piece of paper to jot everything down. She takes a shaky breath, trying to steel herself. “Mr. Kurtzman. I do not know why you want to know this information, and nor do I plan to reveal it to you. Consider yourself lucky that none of them are around right now, or I would have frozen your entire being right here for speaking of such things.”

“Is that a yes?”

Her gaze darkens. This man is treading very, very thin ice. “It is a taboo power. A dark one I wish I never knew. Some things, Mr. Kurtzman, are better left unanswered.”

A moment of silence passes, y/n leaning against the wall and mulling over her own thoughts when Mr. Kurtzman speaks up again. “Maybe we should secure a van for their escape.” He suggests.

She moves to stand flat on her feet, nodding in agreement. “How about that one?” He points out a van a few feet away. They make their way over, Kurtzman jimmying the lock smoothly with ease.

She regards him with a mildly impressed nod. He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Had to secure a few getaway cars myself when investigating the Kraang.”

She sits in the passenger seat, Kurtzman sitting behind the wheel and hotwiring the engine. It starts with a purr, and he sits back up with a satisfied smile. She hears the sound of doors being smashed open, looking at T.C.R.I. to see the four running away from a crowd of Kraang that are chasing after them.

Kurtzman holds down the gas pedal, y/n yelping as the van suddenly moves. They screech to a stop in front of the five making their escape, y/n opening the door. “Get in!” She urges. They pile into the vehicle, Leo shutting the door behind them as Kurtzman drives off.

“What happened? Why is April dressed like that?” She has so many questions, but none get answered as the driver laughs loudly, gleeful at escaping the Kraang.

“Thanks for the save, Mr. Kurtzman.” She had to hand it to him; Leo was anything if not polite.

“I owed you one! So, did you wipe out the Kraang computers?”

“We did, by the skin of our noses.” Donnie shrugs.

“The only reason we survived was because of April. Whatever you did back there saved us all.”

“I have no clue what I did,” April sighs, clinging to her friend’s arm for emotional support. Y/n pats the top of her head softly, offering comfort in whatever way she can. “I was freaking out and then zap. The Kraang were toast.”

The van slows to a stop, and Leo opens the door for everyone to exit. “Well, I’m off. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the Kraang. Let me know if you need my expertise again, you know where to find me.” He hands Leo his card.

“And uh, blue one.” Leo’s about to walk off with the rest, April filling y/n in as they walk back to their apartment. Kurtzman gestures for him to come close, and he obediently leans in. He sees Kurtzman hesitate, looking at y/n in case she overhears.

“Here’s a piece of advice. Watch out for the Water Whisperer. Remember the question I wanted to ask earlier? Remind your brainiac brother about it if you want to stay safe.

You have no idea what she’s capable of.”

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juyeoniemyhoney · 1 year

Text

edge of desire

Perhaps it is time to tell your best friend that you're in love with him. It might not go well, but there is an edge to desire, and you might just be standing right in front of it.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: ANGST, maybe fluff?, pining, silly little thing i wrote because music gets me in my feels

warnings: none

word count: 2239 words

honey's notes: I write too much Wonwoo fluff...... it's time for pain!!!!!!!!! also i havent written anything that i've liked this much in a while... finally feeling talented again hehe

“Who was your first love?”

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, not completely expecting Wonwoo to spring such a loaded question on you.

You contemplate for a while, really dig deep to answer his question as best as you can, but it all is for naught as you decide to lie instead.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone before, Wonwoo,” you finally say after a long pause. With his head heavy against your lap, Wonwoo seems displeased with your answer. You quickly try to appease him with more explanation.

“I think I’ve liked many people before—,” you pause, gulp down the words that attempt to crawl its way out of your throat, light on its paws like a leopard ready to pounce. “—but to me, love is more of a choice than something that just happens, you know?”

Wonwoo remains silent, his lack of words so telling of his desire for you to continue speaking. A breeze sweeps past the two of you and you feel the metal park bench sear your skin as the setting sun beats against your back. The warm breeze tousles Wonwoo’s hair, wisps of black falling over his closed eyes and ghosting his long eyelashes. You almost burrow your fingers deep into the soft strands, the sight of it too enticing for you to resist but somehow, you manage to pull yourself from your daze and clench your fist around your shirt instead.

Perhaps if you weren’t lying to him you would feel more comfortable to run your fingers through his hair like you usually do.

“Okay," he says pointedly, though you know he doesn't mean to be sharp. "Then have you chosen to love anyone before?” Wonwoo corrects himself and presses as gently as he can. Suspicions rise within you as to why he is suddenly so curious about who you have loved before. You almost allow your poor heart to hope again, to believe that maybe this curiosity stems from love itself, a love that Wonwoo holds for you.

“You. I will always choose to love you,” is what you burn to say. The words scratch at your throat, nails digging into flesh and drawing blood in its attempt to escape from the tip of your tongue. Your lips, however, are relentless and stubborn.

“I’ve never really thought about it, Wonwoo,” is the lame answer you decide on. Eyes dropping from the sky to his closed eyelids. In your fragmented mind, you imagine Wonwoo’s eyes, all the colours coming together slowly and easily as you paint them in your head, almost lifting your hands to follow the brush strokes against a canvas that you have perfected again and again when Wonwoo’s eyes plagued your mind in the middle of the night and all you could do was paint them over and over and over again.

“Think about it now,” Wonwoo supplies, opening his eyes to look straight into yours. He springs up from your lap, eager and curious in the way he always is around you and you swear, you almost let the words slip past the cage of your mouth.

The thing about Wonwoo and you is that if you were to ever tell him that you’ve been in love with him since forever, he wouldn’t take it well. The two of you have grown up together after all and the man has established what he likes in a partner over and over again (which, you regret to admit, is the complete opposite of you).

The other thing is that Wonwoo knows everyone who has come and gone from your life. He knows your every feeling, sometimes even before you know you’re feeling that way. So, lying really is out of the options. Not that you had options to begin with.

“Why don’t you tell me about your first love first, Wonwoo? Maybe then, I’ll be more encouraged.”

Wonwoo sends you a lame look, eyes narrowed in a faux glare for turning his question on him. You laugh and reach to ruffle his hair but catch yourself halfway and settle on patting his shoulder instead.

“Okay, fine.” He sits up and faces the lake before you, shoulder brushing up against yours as he leans back against the bench. If you tilt your head a little bit to the right, your head will be on his shoulder and you curse him for sitting so close to you when there is still so much space on the bench. You keep your eyes on the glittering lake and try to ignore the way his arm feels pressed up against your own.

“I know this is crazy to say but I think my first love was Jieun,” Wonwoo answers with a sheepish smile, eyes dropping from the lake to his twiddling fingers, then back up to look at you when you don’t say anything.

You meet his eyes and feel yourself break a little inside when the setting sun meets his irises and sets them ablaze, the usual dark brown lighting up to a mesmerising shade of amber that you memorise and pray you remember to paint later.

“Why do you say so, Woo?” you ask despite yourself. You cringe at your use of his nickname, something you had decided to haphazardly add in an attempt to seem unfazed by his confession. You wish it had been you. You always wish it was you.

“I don’t know,” he deflects. But he does know and it is so evident in the eager way he parts his lips to speak about her, in the way he readjusts himself in his seat, a habit of his you have ingrained in your brain along with everything else that has to do with him.

“I mean— she was my first girlfriend. So, I guess she was the first person I chose to love,” he continues. “I chose to put myself out there, despite the fact that I had, like a hundred percent chance of being rejected. But I think choosing to bare your soul to that person is the first step in loving, if that even makes sense.”

Wonwoo’s words silence you. You contemplate all of the times you had worked up the courage to tell him, only to chicken out and keep your feelings to yourself. You were always so afraid of losing him you guess you didn’t realise you were invalidating your love for him, and in turn, his love for you.

Because Wonwoo would understand, he of all people wouldn’t shut you out and shun you away just because he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. In fact, Wonwoo would feel bad for not feeling the same way as you. Because he’s Wonwoo, so fiercely kind and compassionate, so understanding and warm and loving, the one and only person who was able to shake up your rock-hard heart and melt it down into easy and pliable, the one person who was able to make you fall in love.

“Okay, now it’s your turn—“

“You,” you say without hesitation, fuelled by his words and your realisation. Wonwoo turns to you in confusion first before he finally gets it, mouth previously ajar to express his confusion zipping shut as soon as he realises.

You don’t look at him, eyes trained on the lake and the small ripples in water the fish make when their little fins break the surface tension. But you feel his eyes bore into you, gaze soft and already apologetic and you exhale harshly at the thought of Wonwoo feeling sorry for not realising how you’ve been feeling for the past six years.

“But I don’t think you’re my first love. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve loved anyone other than you, Wonwoo," you say, baring your heart and soul to the one man you have ever loved, to the one man you will continue to love forever.

"I don't even know when it started," you continue when Wonwoo remains unnervingly silent. "Maybe it was when we ran in the rain hand in hand when we were twelve. Or maybe, it was when you started dating Jieun and I cried for two weeks. All I know is, one way or another, I began choosing you over everything."

The words leave your lips like a bird that has been caged for aeons. And perhaps, it is a horrible thing; to be left empty and to never be filled again, the cage door broken by the tenacity of the bird, by its thirst for freedom and its razor sharp claws. But at the same time, isn't it such a good thing? To not have to clench your teeth so tightly anymore, to be able to walk around without the substantial weight of your feelings weighing you down like a thousand kilograms against your chest.

"And I know I'm totally not your type. Believe me, I'm well-versed in exactly what you look for in a partner. I've spent hours, years, forever, trying to be exactly what you want, trying to be someone I'm not. And I know you're going to reject me and our friendship isn't ever going to be the same ever again and it'll be so weird now. But I just—"

You catch yourself midsentence, not quite sure what to say as every single feeling you've ever felt bubbles up inside your stomach and fills your lung cavity, the feelings so suffocating, you almost think that if you dived into that lake you might be able to breathe better than you are breathing right now.

"Just?" Wonwoo prompts quietly, the first thing he's said since you started pouring your heart out to him. His voice is meek, almost afraid that anything he says will set you off, his eyes wide in observation, gaze guarded, expression like nothing you have seen on Wonwoo before.

"I just thought I owed you this much, that I'd explode if I didn't tell you," you finally manage to get out, though your voice gets caught in your throat in a way that has you running laps in your head, that has your palms sweating and your eyes watering.

You quickly blink away your tears and look up to anticipate Wonwoo's answer. You aren't surprised to find that he's already looking at you and for the first time in forever, you can't tell what Wonwoo is thinking or feeling.

Wonwoo doesn't really say anything, not verbally at least. But he continues to look at you, eyes studying you so intently you feel your neck warm and your cheeks burn. His silence unnerves you. Wonwoo has always been a man of few words so you have gotten used to his silences, but that was when you were well-versed in reading him, when you knew what every small quirk of his brow meant, what he was feeling with every lilt of the corner of his lips.

Perhaps that is why you are caught off guard when he finally speaks, jumping so far out of your skin it makes Wonwoo jump too.

"I love you, Y/N," is how Wonwoo begins his sentence. And you'd never thought you'd hear those two words in the same sentence come from his mouth; your name and love uttered so vulnerably your pulse stutters.

"But just," he pauses, the calm before the storm, the screaming in your head is so loud, it deafens. "not in that way, you know? I'm sorry."

Your heart breaks all over again at his apology. You stand up to leave, the hand that finds your wrist begs you to stay. You don't want him to see you like this. But you don't have anyone else to go to. The person you find the most comfort in is breaking your heart because you let him.

Wonwoo tugs on your arm and you comply silently, feeling a lump as big as your heart form in your throat. You force your tears down, force the tsunami of feelings down, down, down so deep inside you, you pray you forget about it and it disappears forever.

Wonwoo tugs your arm one more time, and you, so overwhelmed with your feelings as always, allow him to tuck your head under his chin, allow him to guide your arms around his waist, allow him to engulf you in his arms, allow him to comfort you just one more time before you lose the one relationship you cherished.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head, his own voice breaking. He doesn't want to hurt you. He wishes he could say yes, wishes he could overwhelm you with joy by just saying those three words and meaning it in exactly the way you want. Maybe he can. Wonwoo doesn't know. He just knows he never ever wants to be the cause of your tears again.

Wonwoo's endless apologies push you off the edge of desire and when he envelopes you in his arms, it feels like you are thrown into the ocean, your back breaking the surface tension of the water. A thousand things flood your mind, your insecurities like a tsunami against your chest, the thoughts so suffocating you almost think your lungs are filling with water. His warm skin meets your own like the rolling waves, his breath against your neck, a hot breeze. Like this, you finally know what it means to love the sea as a drowned person.

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thedeal-if · 1 year

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how would the ros take care of sick mc?

This!!

(Don't mind me I love comfort scenarios)

As soon as you wake up, you know this is going to be an awful day...

It's not so much a matter of intuition but of how terrible everything feels. There is a heaviness to your mind, persistent and disorienting, an overwhelming haze. Your nose is clogged, you’re burning up.

It’s a sneeze that fully wakes you up. Your brain clears a little. You're sick.

Dante spends from two to three minutes pacing like a man—demon—possessed, you lose track of his foreign rambling shortly before he halts. You lay in bed and even with your fever, you can’t seem to contain your amusement. Dante stops, fiddles with his hands, and falters under your glance like a kicked puppy.

“I don’t get sick, I think,” Dante explains, he shrugs sheepishly “You’re not going to die, right?”

His question makes you laugh, and your laugh makes everything everywhere hurt. When you wince, Dante’s frown deepens.

“I’m not dying, Dan.”

“Okay, okay,” he nods seriously. Dante nods again. He seems to decide this is a situation that is completely out of his control, because he adds, “Tell me what to do so I can help.”

Lilith presses a soft hand to your forehead, her touch is cool and comforting—like marble—, she brushes your hair/fringe back softly, nails brushing against your scalp. If Lilith was a witch, you would wonder whether she’s putting a spell on you.

Whatever she does, the effect disappears as soon as she draws her hand back.

“Well, you have a fever, love,” Lilith nods. She sounds as concerned as she is curious.

You sniff, “I hadn’t noticed.”

The Succubus ignores your words in favor of rolling her sleeves with the determination of a person on their way to war, ready to tackle any issue thrown her way. Lilith grins at you like she knows what she’s doing.

“I’ve been on Earth—well, around humans—long enough! Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” she claims “How about you take a nap while I get you something warm to eat?”

Josh and surprises have never mixed well—you don’t know how he could have been prepared in advance for your sudden illness. You don’t even open your mouth to complain and Josh simply knows something is wrong. He’s been familiar with your tics and quirks for over a decade, it’d be impossible for him not to notice.

“Are you okay?” Josh questions quietly. Almost instantly he winces, “That was a pretty dumb question, sorry.”

You still answer for the sake of it, “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“You’re looking pretty good for a victim of a traffic accident,” he chuckles “You don’t need a doctor, do you? I can call one.”

“Aren’t you—” a loud sneeze interrupts you “one?”

You’ve offended Josh—as offended as he can feel when it involves you—he presses a hand to his chest like he’s nursing a stab wound.

“Not really. Not yet,” Josh hastily corrects. Deep in thought, he presses a warm hand against your forehead, then he smiles coyly “I can make an exception for you, though.”

When you explain you’re feeling ill, Villanelle’s eyes fill with concern, and then they glow. You know that look all too well. It’s the one Villanelle gets whether she gets a sudden idea she wants to test out. The realization must register on your face, as the witch is reaching out to you reassuringly.

“It’s not a bad idea, I swear! Remember, I do this all the time!”

By ‘this’, Villanelle means all the elderly inhabitants of Blackburn, their neverending lists of maladies, and her magical solutions. It makes so much sense why they worked now that you know.

“I swear you’ll be up and running in a jiffy!”

Villanelle leaves and returns half an hour later with a potion that tastes like chocolate. Your fever is gone as soon as it touches your lips.

Victor is one of the most dependent people you know, when you let him know you’re not feeling well, he doesn’t overreact or make a big deal of your situation. You think that, for Victor to openly show some concern towards you, you’d probably have to be on the brink of death.

It‘s a thought you might have complained about, but Victor doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes on your shoulder until you’re laying down, leaves briefly, and returns with a wet rag. When he presses it to your forehead, it’s cool enough that it makes you sigh.

“There’s a bottle of water on your bedside table. Drink it when the rag dries,” Victor instructs “I’ll be back with some soup— you need the protein.”

“Will you keep me company then?” you pout theatrically.

A sigh leaves his lips. Then, a reluctant, “Fine.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘sick’?”

“… It means I’m sick, Aliyah,” you sniff.

The genie has been keeping her distance—Aliyah stands tersely by the door, you almost expect her to run away—since she found out you were ill, narrowed eyes fixed on you like she’s expecting you to pull a nasty prank on her.

“Oh,” Aliyah frowns “That’s bad?”

“Yes. It is bad.”

“Boohoo. Just another thing to add to the list— Another flaw of humanity,” you wouldn’t be surprised to find out if that list existed. Aliyah probably takes it everywhere with her, she’s probably memorized it like a priest would the Bible “Is there any medicine that can fix… ‘that’?”

It’s like she’s speaking of a tumor and not a mild flu. Aliyah shuffles closer as she apparently realizes you’re not dying because of your ‘faulty nature’.

“You can keep me company,” you say with a small smile “I’d feel a lot better.”

Aliyah blinks at you with what you initially interpret to be murderous intent. Whatever she feels, she doesn’t voice. Hesitately, the genie sits by your side.

Nathan barely bats an eye when you complain about your predicament, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other. The nearly-fallen angel invades your room like he owns the place, he flops down next to you and grins with forced innocence when you look at him in suspicion.

“What is it?” Nathan even pouts, the bastard.

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Planning?” he snorts “I leave that to the higher-ups.”

Nathan smirks, his big hand lifts until it comes to a stop in front of your eyes. You, of course, watch him carefully like he’s a lion ready to pounce. Despite your attentive glance, you can’t avoid Nathan’s finger and the way it flicks your forehead.

“You—” you gasp, but the surprise comes for another reason entirely unrelated to Nathan’s attack. Or not, given the fact that it was that very motion that cured you of your illness “Nath—”

“Are you going to grovel at my feet and praise me like I’m a God,” Nathan smirks with mischief “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself if that’s the case.”

You sigh in exasperation, though a fond smile of appreciation finds your lips.

“Forget it,” you say.

Eden has always been much more observant than you give her credit for. She knows of your illness as soon as she sees you, and she frowns with a challenge like it’s a physical foe she can strike and beat into submission.

“Damn,” is the only thing she says for a few moments. Eden approaches your side, takes your temperature with the back of her hand, reaches inside the bedside table and pulls out a packet of tissue when you sniff “Does anything hurt?”

“Everything does,” you pout.

“Don’t be dramatic. You’ll be fine in no time,” Eden tuts “You should sleep a little longer.”

You do and, when you wake up, it’s to Eden handing you a bowl of soup. She quietly offers to keep you company for as long as you wish her to and smiles when you nod your head yes.

#the deal #inferno #interactive fiction #ask #dante #lilith #josh #villanelle #victor #aliyah #nathan #eden #ros #scenario

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

Summary: An evil enchantress has locked Princess Feyre Archeron in a tower, secluding her from her family and removing her entirely from the outside world. Trapped and alone, Feyre turns her gaze to the stars, dreaming of returning home to her sisters- of finding peace. She's determined to escape before her birthday and the annual starfall that marks the occasion just as soon as she can figure out a way down.

When a thief breaks into her tower, Feyre takes her chances and leaves with him, unaware of who this man is and the price freedom will try and extract from her

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

f Feyre had been smart, she’d have left Rhys to die. No one would blame her for it—it was clear he’d been caught up in the rushing river filling the once dry creek bed from the broken dam, had been injured by debris, and had managed to crawl into the grass before succumbing to his wounds. It likely wouldn’t take long at all, and was probably painless.

And yet Feyre found herself searching the bank for a sharp rock and, once she found it, sliced open one of the scars littered along her wrist and pressed the wound to his lips.

“Drink it,” she breathed, her other hand cradling his head so he wouldn’t choke. “Come on, Rhys, drink.”

He did, taking the most polite mouthful of blood—and then another before his eyes fluttered open and he realized what was happening. Shoving her back, Rhys wiped at his shining, ruby lips.

“You—you—”

“Yes, I know. Witch,” she grumbled, gripping the wound with her other hand and applying pressure. “But a witch who saved your life.”

Pulling at his shirt and revealing dark, swirling tattoos inked along his shoulders and broad, muscular chest, Rhys watched his once fatal wound knit itself back into flawless, golden brown skin. Feyre felt a little bitter looking at her own wrist—she could heal him, and Amarantha, and everyone else, but not herself. Rising to her feet, Feyre walked toward the treeline and plopped back down, wet clothes uncomfortable against her body.

Rhys came to join her, hesitating before sitting shoulder to shoulder, his back against the same wide tree trunk.

“That’s why you were imprisoned?” he questioned.

Feyre nodded, drawing her knees to her chest. “My mother made a deal with an enchantress in exchange for children. I don’t know what my sisters got—well, that's not true. I’m pretty sure my middle sister got beauty. And I got this,” Feyre said, holding up the thick strands of her hair draped all over the ground. It would take her days to pick out all the strewn about leaves and sticks. “Eternal youth, so long as you keep drinking from my blood, you’ll never age, never die. Not me, though. I’ll live and die as I should.”

“Oh,” Rhys murmured, looking down at his broad hands. “That's why you thought…I’m not going to sell you, for the record.”

“I appreciate that,” Feyre murmured, not bothering to mention that it was the least he could do given she’d saved his life.

“You can’t kill her on your own, you know,” Rhys told Feyre, closing his eyes. “Believe me. I’ve tried.”

“Why?”

He peeked open one violet eye. “She killed my family.”

Oh. “I think she killed my mother, too.”

Without opening his eyes, Rhys reached over and gripped her knee. Neither of them said a word, calming their still terrified bodies. Night was starting to settle, which prompted both Feyre and Rhys to get up, gather firewood and some fish from the river they’d just been plucked out of. Rhys built the fire while Feyre began deboning their fish. It was companionable for a moment—even in their exhaustion, Rhys and Feyre had found common ground. Both their families had been wrecked by the same horrible woman.

Looking at her nails illuminated in the dark, Feyre dared to ask, “How did you try and kill her?”

Rhys glanced over, stretching out his legs in front of the fire. The food was long gone, leaving nothing but the curling smoke and crackling fire for company. Overhead, a blanket of stars twinkled, watching with what Feyre thought was curiosity.

“Traps. Poisoned arrows, poisoned drinks. A poisoned dagger—”

“I’m sensing a theme,” Feyre said, almost smiling.

“She’s hard to get close to,” Rhys murmured sheepishly. “I’d much prefer to drive a sword through her throat and watch her gasp for air at my feet, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Feyre was tempted to ask why she’d targeted his family. What about them was so special? But asking opened her up to the same line of questioning, and though Rhys seemed to have made peace with Feyre’s magical blood and hair, she wasn’t certain he’d be so calm about a hidden princess in his midst. He was a criminal after all, even if he was one with some morals. And he’d protected her twice in the caverns when he could have let her die and picked his ring off her body.

“What’s so special about the ring?” Feyre asked him after another long minute of silence.

“It belongs to the love of my life. I intend to give it to her…if I ever find her.”

“That's…strangely romantic,” she agreed, guilt pricking her chest. “How will you know when you find her?”

Rhys shrugged. “I’ll just know.”

“Good luck,” Feyre murmured. She didn’t think true love existed—not in a place where a child could be locked up in a tower for a decade, at least. There was no love that existed at all, only people trying to survive and make the best of their terrible circumstances.

Still, long after Rhys had fallen asleep, Feyre was still thinking about what he said. I’ll just know. Pulling the ring from her pocket, she examined that blue stone and silver band with curiosity. What would it be like, she wondered, to find someone who could recognize you on sight? Who knew what you were without a word needing to be said?

It was silly, sliding it onto her finger. Stupid, too, because if Rhys saw he was likely to be angry. But he merely slept, head lolled against his shoulder while Feyre held the ring up against the firelight. It truly was beautiful, and whoever it belonged to was impossibly lucky. Rhys, for all his annoying qualities, was frustratingly loyal.

And maybe some little part of her was jealous, because Feyre could have given it back to him. He’d promised, and she believed he’d take her to Avalon with or without possessing his ring. Feyre merely repocketed it, wanting to hold on to it—and to him—for a little while longer. Rhys was the first person to show her true kindness, even if sometimes it felt begrudging.

And she’d been alone for so long. She wasn’t ready to let it all go.

When Feyre woke the next morning, her head was in Rhys’s lap. He was awake, her hair carefully piled around her shoulders as he picked scattered debris from the strands with nimble, gentle fingers. Rustling treetops hid the sun from view save for a few errant beams that warmed her skin.

“You don’t have to do that,” Feyre murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Keeps my hands busy. And you looked like you needed the rest,” Rhys replied in that deep, rich voice of his. “We’re ahead of schedule. Maybe a day or two from Briarcrest, and then from there it's just a day’s walk to the border.”

“Right,” Feyre murmured, sitting up. She was embarrassed to be using his thigh as a pillow, and more embarrassed still that she’d worn the ring he intended for his future wife someday. It was all painfully intimate. Rhys didn’t stop pulling things from her hair given the length even after she sat up, taking his hands out of her hair only when it was time for her to braid it.

“What happens when you cut it?” he asked, watching her finger comb her hair.

Feyre shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope it just becomes regular hair.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then I might just shave it all off and be bald until I die,” she replied, knotting the end of her braid. It fell to the back of her knees, just as it always did, but at least it wasn’t dragging. The multitude of braids required in order to shorten it made it nearly as wide as her back which Feyre preferred simply for aesthetics.

Rhys cleared his throat, looking away when she finished tucking her shirt into her laced up pants. “We should ah, probably get going.”

While Feyre smothered their fire, Rhys made his way down to the river to splash water over his face and hair. The wet droplets clung to his skin, making him, impossibly, more handsome than before. Feyre couldn’t look at him as he approached, his white shirt still unbuttoned from the day before, revealing wide swaths of muscle and skin beneath the aquamarine of his vest. His jaw was darkly stubbled while his hair was mussed and gods, he was so beautiful it made her teeth ache.

“Will there be somewhere to stop between today and Briarcrest?”

Rhys grimaced. “Nope. We’re roughing it for the next two days. Good thing you’ve got shoes, though.”

“I would hate for you to have to carry me,” she replied, not hating that thought at all. A flush crawled up Rhys’s neck while he coughed again.

“Yeah,” he agreed gruffly.

“So,” she began, sidling up next to him. Even after a night outside, Rhys still smelled good. Like citrus and the sea—like a cloudless, starry night over a cold, midnight sea. “Wanted by the crown, huh?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “They’ve never once managed to get my nose right on those stupid posters.”

Feyre looked up at his perfect face, deciding it might be fun to tease him a little. “Looks right to me.”

A dark scowl clouded his expression. “Look again, Feyre darling. I am far lovelier in person.”

“And so modest, too.”

“Incredibly modest. I have to be, given how beautiful I am and how big my—ow!”

“That’s enough of that,” she said breathlessly. Rhys glanced down at her and Feyre hoped her red cheeks could be attributed to the uphill hike and not her embarrassment. A sly smile spread over his face.

“I’ll show you—”

“I said that’s enough!”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys replied smoothly, openly grinning now. He knew he’d gotten under her skin. Did he also know he’d made her heart race? Feyre had read just enough to understand sex, even if she’d never gotten to partake in it. Clearly Rhys didn’t have that problem, which, good for him she supposed. It seemed wrong to bed him and then wave him off.

“Lighten up,” Rhys said, reading her every thought. “Your virtue is safe with me.” Feyre nodded, unable to explain that she wasn’t really worried about that. She was more worried she might like him too much, and it would make leaving him difficult.

Still.

Feyre thought about what it might be like for the duration of the walk.

RHYS:

He was losing his mind. Feyre’s shirt was dry, and somehow more sheer than it had been the day before. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed it, given they were in the dark and she was being strangled. Now, though, in a beam of fading light, all Rhys wanted to do was rip it off her body and really look at her. It didn’t help that every day they spent in the sunshine drew forth more freckles over the bridge of her nose and warmed her skin. They’d been walking for two days.

Two days in which Rhys waited until she fell asleep beside him and drew her into his lap only to pretend she must have done it herself in her sleep. And two days he’d been allowed to untangle her thick hair and comb through it with his fingers while she was unaware, just so he could watch her braid it again.

They were coming up on Briarcliff—which meant their time together was drawing to a close. He supposed that was for the best. He was starting to imagine scenarios in which he told her the truth and offered her his assistance, of which he truly had none to give. Rhys was about to stage a bloody coup, just like the one that had stolen his crown ten years before. He could die.

He could succeed, too. And if he did, he doubted he’d have the sort of time to dedicate toward her revenge. It would have to be shelved while he found a place for her in his court and Rhys didn’t even know what he’d do with her.

Put her in his bed? It was tempting, of course, and Rhys was highly aware that his best chance at stability and legitimacy was marrying someones very important daughter. A princess from a neighboring realm or a very high born woman of a nobleman with a lot of money made the most sense. And the more he thought about it, the more he could see true love slipping from his fingers.

Rhys was bound by duty.

And he had to let her go.

Sleeping with her would merely complicate his weird feelings, strung together by what he kept telling himself was trauma. She was keeping secrets—so was he, to be fair. Still, Rhys couldn’t resist alluding to his cock, to his mouth, to anything that might give her pleasure, if only to see that blush stain her pretty cheeks.

Feyre really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And Rhys doubted he’d ever encounter her kind of beauty again. Fierce and unflinching, resilient and yet somehow deeply optimistic.

And soft. Oh, but Feyre was so, so soft. She wanted him to think of her as hardened, as someone unafraid but Rhys could see it just beneath the surface. That sweetness, like a kitten he wanted to stroke.

Well. Mostly like a kitten. But truthfully, when he imagined stroking her, she was naked and begging him for more, more, Rhys—

“Rhys?”

Rhys snapped out of his daydream. “Hm?”

“We’re close. Look,” Feyre pointed toward a well worn path a few feet away. Deep grooves from carriages and wagons dug against the ground, half frozen as the world continued to get colder. He’d caught Feyre with her arms wrapped around her body as they walked. It had been seasonally warm year round, but the closer they came to Avalon’s border, the colder it would become. Winter was upon them, after all.

He’d get her a cloak while he was there, and maybe both of them some warmer clothes, too. Rhys was looking forward to soft blankets and a warm meal he didn’t have to hunt down first. Though, to be fair, Feyre was far better at hunting than he was. It had been her who’d trapped all those rabbits and Feyre who had made the bow and iron tipped arrows while he’d been collecting firewood.

A huntress and a thief. What other little talents was she hiding, he wondered?

By the time they reached the open gates of Briarcliff, Feyre’s shoulder was pressed against his side and her body was wracked with shivers. He wasn’t doing much better, well aware the guard that watched the two of them enter must have assumed them beggars. Let him. Better that then the truth.

“This way,” Rhys murmured, straightening himself even when whistling air whipped around his face. He just needed to get inside for a minute, warm himself up, and then he’d be fine.

The city itself was beautiful and vibrant—nearly reminiscent of Velaris. His teeth ached from longing.

He was so close to home. So close to going back and setting everything right.

“What’s going on?” Feyre asked him, looking as local vendors arranged tables on sidewalks and hung brightly colored pendants and string lights over the streets.

“Starfall,” Rhys replied with a shrug. It had been one of the most cherished holidays in Velaris before…before. Now he could hardly stand the sight of it. “We’ll be long gone before—”

“Gone?” Feyre asked, reaching for his arm to stop him. She wasn’t looking at him, though. She was looking at a mural painted against a limewashed building. Rhys turned, catching the stares of the three young princesses peering back. They’d be grown women, now. He’d never thought much about them, though he’d met them all when he’d been a little boy. Only once, because his father thought he and the oldest sister might be a good match to unite their kingdoms.

He remembered hating her.

And he remembered their bright, open palace overlooking the sea, and the middle sister—who wouldn’t have been older than seven—trying to rope him into a tea party. And how the youngest had opened a panel in the wall for him, mischievous blue eyes twinkling like stars, one finger pressed to her lips.

Tell no one, she’d whispered before closing him in. Rescuing him from both of her sisters and dumping him out in the courtyard where Rhys had spent the rest of the visit lounging in a hammock napping under a warm summer sun. No one had seen the trio of princesses in years. Except Cassian, at any rate, if Azriel was to be believed. He had the eldest, escorting her to the other sisters somewhere in the vicinity. Rhys didn’t let himself dwell, turning away from their too knowing eyes. Feyre remained a beat longer before reaching for him again.

“Can we stay?”

“Stay?” he scoffed. “You’re a day from the border. You could be in Avalon by nightfall tomorrow—”

“But it’s starfall,” she pressed, her voice a breathless whisper.

“So?”

Hurt flashed over her expression and Feyre removed her fingers. “Right. Let’s go—”

He caught her before she’d made it more than three steps—in the wrong direction, not that he dared to tell her so. “What’s important about starfall, Feyre?”

Tell me something truthful about you.

“I could see the falling stars from my window,” she whispered, genuine pain lancing her expression. “It’s how I knew…how I knew I’d turned another year older.”

“Your birthday is on starfall?” he asked with wonder. Feyre nodded, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re right, though. We should—”

“Stay,” he interrupted. “We should stay. It’s just…it’s just two more days. I’ll deliver you to Avalon in a week, just as I promised.”

Three more nights with Feyre. His reasons were selfish—he wanted to prolong what he had with her before he had to tell her goodbye. And maybe steal something for himself before duty came to claim him. He’d have his memories, right? Though Rhys would end up married to someone out of survival, he’d know that somewhere in the world, a woman like Feyre could exist and he’d got to be part of that, a part of her, even for a little while.

The relief on Feyre’s face made it worth it. She’d never admit that she was thankful, proven by the little nod of her head. But he knew it. Rhys didn’t resist the urge to reach for her delicate wrist or pull her hand into his.

Even when Feyre yanked it back out a second later, he’d felt their fingers interlock for that moment, palm to palm. Rhys forced a roguish grin on his face, to act like this was all a little game to him. Feyre scowled, following after him until he reached a tavern called The Snuggly Duckling.

Inside was warm, and smelled of roasted meat and hoppy ale. Rhys drank it in, making his way to the beleaguered woman running the desk. The sounds of cheering and raucous laughter was nearly deafening.

“I need two rooms—”

“I’ve only got one,” the woman interrupted snappishly. “Last one. You can have it or you can go on. Everything is booked up thanks to Starfall.”

“One room is fine,” Rhys said smoothly. Feyre wasn’t paying attention anyway, which was just as well. Her pride would have demanded they keep walking, and he was determined the next three days belonged to them. Just Rhys and Feyre. She wasn’t an enchantress on the run and he wasn’t a prince trying to reclaim his crown.

He wanted to give her one good birthday. He doubted she’d ever had one.

They exchanged coins for a key, and Rhys dragged Feyre up narrow, creaking steps. Three stories to the top, where he slid in that golden key and revealed a small room made up nearly entirely of a bed. It was, blessedly, big enough for them both. A little table by a jutting window had two chairs for meals, and a trunk that the foot of the headboard was likely for storing their things.

Feyre froze in the doorway while Rhys stepped inside. “Rhys,” she breathed, but he was ignoring her to open the little door across the bed.

“A bath,” he said with open relief. He didn’t care if the water was hot—because there, on the sink, was small bottles of soaps for his hair and skin. “There’s a bath.”

“And only one bed,” she added, like this was a problem.

“We sleep next to each other every night anyway,” he reminded her smoothly, as if his heart wasn’t racing in his chest. “This is hardly any different.”

She took a tiny step inside. “Right. And you’ll keep to your end.”

“I promised your virtue was safe with me, did I not?”

“You did,” Feyre acknowledged.

“I’m a man of my word, Feyre. Go on. You take the first bath. I’ll track down warmer clothes and something to eat.”

She held his gaze for a moment and then relented. “Alright.”

Rhys couldn’t hide his grin.

“Good.”

#feysand #pro feysand #doing everything earlier than usual today

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