#DO NOT ENTER THE CIRCLE OF SOLITUDE

[acotarxreader]

The Silent Treatment

Azriel X Reader

Synopsis: Your past affair sends Azriel into brooding, with Elain being lead to believe that the end of the relationship she hated so much had finally happened.

Warnings: Breaking glass? Angst, silly Elain, sillier Azriel.

A/N: As a result of the poll, please enjoy this short series of unfortunate miss communications. Let me know what you think!

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“Az-Az-Azriel! Would you just listen to me?" You attempted to pull your partner in crime’s crossed arms apart from one another, stopping him outside Feyre’s gallery before entering the charity event.

“You’re not seriously still mad about this?! We weren’t even together, you big Illyrian baby!” He continued to try to walk past you as if you were made of the Summer air you both stood in. You wish you and the Inner Circle never played that stupid drinking game, the story of you and a certain senior member of the Autumn Courts Summer fling many centuries ago leaving your loose liquored lips. 

“Az, it’s been almost two weeks! Can you stop with the silent treatment” He gave you one solitary blink before exhaling loudly and continuing his course into the gallery event, leaving you standing alone in the street. 

“Hi YN!” You almost leapt from your skin at the sound of Elain appearing behind you, you giving a small wave of a greeting in return, your eyes landing on Azriel laughing to some throw-away comment Cassian bellowed. You hadn’t heard that beautiful sound in so long and it gave you a new sense of anger. 

“So I saw that- that little moment with Az, trouble in paradise?” you tried not to let her not-so-innocent words nip at you. For the most part, you got on with Elain but every now and then she would radiate this energy towards you you couldn’t quite shake. 

“I can’t even get into it Elain, he’s really pushed me this time, I’m finished with hi- Shit! The time! I have to go give that speech inside!” You left her on the road suddenly, your commitments interrupting your thought process, unknowingly sending a live grenade into your relationship.

Elain hadn’t heard the end of the thought, the thought that may have ended along the lines of “finished with him ignoring me, I need to make it better” but no, those words were never heard. Elain believed her silent prayers had come true, that things could go back to how they were before you re-entered Azriels life after the war, rekindling the youngling romance you both had with one another. She missed his devoted attention to her, his longing glances she hadn’t felt since you recaptured Azriels world. Now she believed the relationship had been cleaved apart with the knowledge of your tryst with Eris during the years you and Azriel were apart. 

Over the course of the following week, you inadvertently kept your distance from Azriel, being sent on multiple missions for the Court but to Elain, you had chosen to stay away from him. With you away and unable to work onf repairing the relationship combined with Azriel’s ongoing silent treatment, she decided it was time to act on her feelings. 

-

Azriel sat in the Summer sun, sipping herbal tea outside your favourite pastry shop. His eyes drifted to an easy close, warming in the sun until a shadow blocked his warmth.

“Elain?”

“Hello Azzills” Azriel cringed slightly at the use of your endearing pet name for him, it sounding corrupt from her tongue, he shook it off. Elain slid onto the adjacent chair to Azriel, his shadows wanting to leap in alarm at the close proximity. Azriel wished it was you, he missed you in his self-inflicted solitude, and he felt like an idiot for it now.

“Sooo whatcha doing Azills?” The name was like nails on a chalkboard from her. Her hand landed on his thigh, Azriels shadows flurrying slightly. Was Elain drunk? Azriel thought. 

“Ehh nothing Elain, what are you doing?” he half laughed trying to defuse the situation. A year previous he would have loved the touch from her, loved the attention. But not now. Azriel had found you after centuries of war separating you from one another, he had no need for half glances and momentary chances, he had you. 

“I’m doing this” she whispered to him before leaning in and meeting his lips. Azriel was entirely shocked by the boldness. The moment he had wanted for so long was now like the worst crime against nature. Azriels shadows were now frenzied, he placed his arms on her shoulders, moving to push her from him until-

“Azriel?!” Your voice came rushing to his ears as he pushed Elain back, you staring at the two of them in utter horror from a little way down the road. Azriel felt as though he may vomit his tea everywhere when his eyes found yours as they seemingly shattered 

“You bring me down here to meet you for this?!” Your words echoed your heartbreak and Azriels confusion. He went to speak but the words couldn't find their way through the bile and shock building in his throat. You vanished in front of him, unable to take the silence for a second more. Azriel leapt from the iron seat but you were gone, his shadows moving to follow you but not quickly enough. 

“Elain! What the actual fuck?!” He couldn’t decide if he was angrier with himself or with her right now.

“I thought you broke up!” Elain almost as shocked as Azriel. 

“Broken up?! Do you really think I would be out fucking sipping tea if YN and I broke up? I would be dead at the bottom of the Sidra!” she felt shame grow in her at his angry tone. 

-

You rocketed into your shared apartment with Azriel, rage absolutely whipping through you as you swept your hands along the photo frame-covered mantelpiece, the happy members shattering to the ground. You stood in the broken glass, feeling all of the emotions of the happy photos rattle around and be replaced with waves of deep, suffocating sadness. You felt your body roar out and collapse into the broken glass pieces, the shards piercing your knees. Alone in the house, as you had been for the three weeks. You rose from the ground on shaking legs, sitting down on the loveseat, looking at the mess. You gently plucked the shards of broken glass from your knees, your flesh knotting back together. 

“YN” his voice was so mouselike in its uncharacteristic meekness. You lifted your eyes to the Shadowsinger stood sheet-white in the doorway. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long and yet now all you wanted was the silence. 

“No” you found your voice saying.

“Let me explain-”

“-Oh so you get to explain yourself and I’m supposed to listen when you wouldn’t even give me the same grace?-” your voice vibrated with anger “-You kissed another female! Not just any other female, Elain! Elain!” you couldn’t stop your tears sailing over the rim of your eyes, your body beginning to shake at the image in your mind. Azriel closed the distance, sitting ever so cautiously next to you as you felt yourself let him. You missed him beneath it all and wished it wasn’t these circumstances that reunited you. 

“I know YN, I am the scum of the planet, I don’t deserve to explain, please let me though, please, please” his hand took yours in his, a feeling you missed so dearly. 

“If you want to be with Elain then-”

“-Don’t finish that sentence, I don’t want to be with her, only you! She thought we had-we had broken up” he said the end so softly, like the idea could cause him to crumble at any moment. His arm snaked around your waist to support you, your head instinctively leaning into the warmth. You both sat in silence but unlike the kind that had stayed between you for the past three weeks, this was warm, full of comfort and hope and home. 

“I’m sorry about Er-”

“-Please don’t apologise for that, it was so so stupid, my jealousy clouded me, I have you now and you're mine n- you’re still mine right?” his words shook out of him. 

“I don’t think I could ever be anyone else’s-” he kissed the top of your head at the words as you smiled - "unfortunately” he scoffed before laughing at your teasing. 

“I love you Azriel”

“And I love you but the redecorating in here maybe not so much”

“Dibs on not being the one to tell Cass I broke the clay horse he made!” you laughed the words out loudly

“Unfair YN I-”

“Uh uh uh-” you shook your finger playfully in his face “-you’ve given me ammunition for the rest of our lives together in what happened today”

“For the rest of our lives, doesn’t sound too bad” he kissed you sweetly then, peace and passion radiating from you both. 

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Let me know what you think friends <3

[weaveandwood]

Distraction

Another smutty one-shot. Happy Thirsty Thursday! Pairing: Gale x Female Tav Words: 2.3K

Summary: Gale offers an alternative to Tav spending the night alone pondering plans and strategies for battles ahead.

warnings: NSFW, fingering, vaginal sex

Tav lay in her pitch black tent, going over the day's events as she always did before going to sleep at night - what went wrong, what worked well, what the party needed to work on before the next battle. The Shadow Cursed Lands were exhausting, and she was beginning to sense everyone’s motivation flagging as the list of things they needed to do kept going on, and on, and on. 

Her tent flap opened, startling her, but no one was there. Please don’t say ghosts are now part of this adventure, she groaned internally, her brow furrowed as she got up and peeked her head outside. 

A faint glow caught her attention out of the corner of her eye - a mage hand beckoning her to a certain tent. She laughed to herself and rolled her eyes - of course he couldn’t just ask her, he had to lure her with magic tricks. Wizards. 

As she walked across the campsite to Gale’s tent, she could see the faint illumination from what she assumed was candles through the seam of his tent flap. It appeared he hadn’t even attempted to go to sleep yet. She wondered what he could possibly want from her at this hour, when they both were weary to their bones and desperately needed to rest. 

“Come in, Tav,” he said from inside, as if he sensed her presence. The mage hand pulled back the tent flap for her as she entered, suddenly in a wonderland of glowing lights dancing around the tent, swirling around her. She couldn’t help but smile as they circled her body, floating between her and Gale like magical fireflies. 

She didn’t have a moment to speak before she felt his lips on hers, desperately kissing her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.

“Gale, what is all this?” She laughed. “I’m not complaining, but it’s so late, we should be asleep. We have to get up so early in the morning to -”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I simply thought you could use a small distraction.”

He led her to his bedroll, really two bedrolls next to each other, a permanent fixture in his tent for all the evenings they stayed together after the fire died down. Tav usually spent her nights here, but needed the last three nights to contemplate and prepare for the next part of their plan. She thought better alone, the darkness and solitude clearing her mind. Besides, how could one concentrate when Gale was next to them, whispering about his practiced tongue and desire to use his mouth for any purpose she required?

“You’ve been so in your head the last few days, I can see it on your face. In your movements when we battle.” He sat behind her, kissing her neck as she tilted her head to the side. Tav closed her eyes, the light brush of his lips on her skin and his warm breath sending a pleasant heat through her veins. “You are much more effective when you think on the fly, when you are creative with your fighting. You do things no one expects, my love - I worry you’re trying to be too rigid in your plans.”

She hadn’t taken the time to lace the neckline of her tunic before leaving her tent, and he easily slid it off one shoulder, his featherlight kisses trailing down, from the curve of her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. His hands found themselves on her waist as she sighed deeply. The dancing lights hovered around them, floating lazily through the tent, casting everything in a warm glow.

“Hmmm, I really believe this is all to distract me from getting too in my head and not at all to do with the fact that it’s been three days since I last visited your bedroll,” she smiled, teasing him. 

He laughed against her shoulder, a puff of hot air igniting her skin further. “It may have crossed my mind for a split second,” he said as his hands slipped under the thin linen of her tunic. His fingertips lightly danced across the soft skin of her stomach, causing her to gasp softly. His fingers dipped below the waistband of her loose pants, and she felt him smile against her skin when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. 

“Tav, how scandalous,” he joked, one hand sliding down while the other pressed against her stomach, making her lean back against him. She settled between his legs, her back against his chest. When his fingers finally found their destination, she gasped again, a small jolt running through her as they slid down her center, parting her, already finding her wet and wanting.

She sighed as he touched her, her legs parting. He easily found the part of her she wanted him to touch most, and she let out a soft moan as his fingers circled her, her blood roaring through her veins. 

“That’s it,” Gale whispered in her ear as his finger traced her entrance, dipping in and out before moving back up to circle her again. She reached up, her hand grasping his shoulder behind her for leverage as she arched her back against him and began to rock her hips slightly. Her breaths became deeper and heavier as his fingers teased her the way only he seemed to know how to do. No other lover had been able to coax such pleasure from her so quickly, so effortlessly. She could feel him growing hard behind her as she moved against him, quiet groans of his own joining hers.

She lifted her hips, allowing him to get a better angle as he entered her again with one finger, then added a second. She held onto him tightly as he worked her, sending her closer and closer to her own peak with each movement of his talented fingers. She especially loved when he hit that one spot that - 

“Ohhh gods, Gale,” she panted as he hit it as if on cue. Her nails dug into his thighs as he kept rubbing, his fingers curling inside her. She could feel herself tightening up against him, her release so close. “Just like that, please,” she whispered.

“Come for me,” he said softly, knowing that if he kept a steady rhythm it would be no time at all until she came undone for him. “I want to be inside you,” he said as he kissed the back of her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure inside her to feel her reach her peak, throwing her head back and crying out his name to the heavens between heavy pants and moans. 

“Take your clothes off, Tav,” he whispered in her ear after a few moments of her writhing against him, sending a shiver through her.

“Only if you take yours off, too,” she smiled and pressed her hips back into him, feeling how impossibly hard he was against her.

“You don’t have to ask me twice." She could hear the smile in this voice before he placed another kiss on her neck and felt his tongue move across her sensitive skin.

She heard a rustle behind her as Gale removed his clothing, and she made easy work of slipping out of her loose fitting sleeping clothes before turning to face him. The dancing lights were nearing the end of their spell, growing more dim by the moment, but provided just enough light to make out the contours of his body, the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, the gentle curve of his thighs, the outline of his desire for her. She bit her lip, still in disbelief of what lay under the robes that concealed his form so well. 

She saw his eyes trace down her own body - over the curve of her full breasts, nipples already hard from the permanent chill in the shadow-cursed air, down the soft planes of her stomach and hips, marked lightly with scars from their adventure, down to the center of her desire. His eyes darted back up to hers, dark with lust and hunger for her. He reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. Their tongues slid together as they kissed like they hadn’t kissed each other in months, though it had only been mere minutes since she entered his tent. 

“Gods, Tav,” he groaned as she ran her fingernails down his back, scratching lightly as they traced the line of his spine and then back up again. He placed a finger on her collarbone, tracing around her shoulder as he slowly stepped around her so he was behind her again, her skin buzzing underneath his finger's path. He wrapped his arms around her, grasping her breasts, feeling her nipples get even harder under his touch. “I am finding it quite enjoyable back here tonight, I do hope you’ll indulge me further,” he said softly into her ear. Her skin was on fire, every nerve felt like it was ignited. 

A pause.

“On your knees,” he whispered again. An instant flood of desire coursed through her as she slowly dropped down with him, his hand on her hip, maintaining constant contact as if the spell between them would be broken the moment they separated. He took his other hand to her shoulder, pushing her forward, pressing kisses down her spine as she bent and rested her weight on her forearms, baring herself completely to him. 

“Gods I love seeing you like this,” he said, pressing up against her and running his hands over her body. He was hard and ready for her, and felt like he could burst into flames. He grasped himself at the base, sliding the tip slowly up and down, her entrance now slick with desire and her previous release. “Do you want me inside you, Tav? Or do you want to return to your tent?” She could hear the devious smile in his voice as she felt him toying with her.

She would remember to pay him back for this next time, of that there was no doubt.

“Gale, I swear to the gods above if you don’t fuck me right now -” She moaned as she was interrupted by him pressing himself fully into her, slowly, inch by glorious inch. He moaned as she gave around him, her warm heat enveloping him. He stopped once he was fully inside her, their bodies completely joined. He traced her spine delicately with his fingertip, barely touching the surface before pulling almost completely out and pushing back in fully in one stroke. 

“Is this what you wanted, my love?” He smiled, repeating his hard, slow thrusts coupled with featherlight touches. Each one making her moan with increasing volume. 

“Yes…gods…just like that,” she panted. 

“Gladly,” he said as placed both hands on her waist. He drove into her, maintaining a slow pace that ended with a snap of his hips against hers. The sound of their bodies hitting together drove him wild. “Gods you feel so good, Tav,” he said as he closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he savored how her muscles felt as she shifted beneath his hands, how her sweet moans the filled the tent with music would put the best choirs in Waterdeep to shame, how tight and hot she was around him. 

“Faster Gale, please,” she whispered, lowering her head to rest on her forearms. 

“As you wish,” he smiled. He grabbed her hips tightly, his fingers digging in to her soft skin as he pulled her back to him with each hard thrust to get as deep as possible within her. He thrust into her relentlessly - harder, faster, losing himself as he fucked her just as he had longed to these past few days when he was left with nothing but his own hand for company. He was addicted to her, how she sounded, how she felt when he was inside her - like she was made for him. He wanted her to feel like one night apart was too long, just as he did. She lifted her head back up and he grabbed her hair, pulling it gently and causing her to arch her back. He reached around her with his free hand, his fingers finding her most sensitive area, tracing in light circles as he continued his pace. He heard her gasp and felt her body jolt beneath him, sending a surge of electricity through his own body that settled in his abdomen. He could feel her tensing, tightening around him as he worked her both inside and out. His own release was so close, he was near the precipice. 

“I’m…going..to-” she moaned.

“Yes, Tav, do it, please,” he panted, needing to feel her finish. 

She cried out again as she came hard around him, her body shuddering and collapsing as her orgasm shot through her, waves of pleasure washing over her. The feeling of her pulsing around him sent him crashing over the edge, and he let go of her hair to grab her hips and roughly thrust into her again and again, spilling deeply inside her as he called out her name. 

He pulled out of her as she fell onto her stomach, breathing heavily and laughing. He moved to lay beside her on his back, joining her in her good mood.

“Fucking hells, Gale,” she smiled, looking over at him. 

“Sufficiently distracted?” he asked, flashing her a wide smile while he caught his breath and brushed a small bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“I’m not even sure I remember my own name at this point, let alone any plans I had made for tomorrow!” she laughed. 

He looked over at her lovingly, smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. “Then my work here is done, a rousing success. I love you, Tav.” 

“I love you too, Gale,” she replied.

The very last of the dancing lights flickered out as the two fell asleep, the worries of the days ahead the farthest things from their minds.

[jigeuminunbich]

cherie amour | han dongmin (taesan)

synopsis in which dongmin finds himself falling head over heels for the regular that comes into his job (at a vintage record shop) every afternoon.

genre college!au, fem!reader, s2ls (strangers to lovers), and fluff

warnings halfway proofread ngl, kinda has a princess & the pauper vibe (reader is quite privileged & goes to an elite college), quite a few awkward pauses and bashful stares, and dongmin can’t flirt for the life of him

word count 2k

a/n first ff out of the neo realm, hope you all enjoy!

track-list my cherie amour x stevie wonder, can i call you rose? x thee sacred souls, and all i do is think of you x the jackson 5

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dongmin’s face. The rickety fan his boss had found from storage was doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the wrath of the summer heat— and the fact he refused to turn on the air conditioning wasn’t helping him in the slightest either.

Despite feeling like he had been transported to the sixth circle of hell, Dongmin didn’t mind his job, it had actually been a juvenile dream of his to work in a place much like this. Somewhere with artifacts filled with history, antique furniture and decor, a devoted community of customers— and surely, that’s what he got following being hired for this position.

But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be overworked as one of the few underlings for his incompetent boss who had inherited the place and having to endure the smell of what could only be described as vintage.

The continuous buzzing of the fan that whirred beside Dongmin’s propped, beat-up sneakers was muffled for a brief moment as in came one of the meager reasons he decided to put up with his job— only, even.

You.

Following the chime on the door, a wave of heat entered the record shop but you graciously came with it, so Dongmin couldn’t really complain. You greeted him with a smile as he hurriedly straightened in his seat and adjusted his posture stiffly. The smile was returned to the best of his abilities, but he’s sure it came off wonky and jarring.

Silently, you waltzed around the shop. It wasn’t very big, and he’s positive you’ve walked each aisle at least a few dozen times but it still had you coming back every other afternoon.

It was ritualistic for you to stumble into the small-scale record shop nestled between an antique boutique and a genuine crystal shop— Dongmin had become hip to this months ago when he had first began working here. Though, it was obvious to him that you had been doing this a lot longer than his time, judging by the way you interacted with veteran staff and even that dense boss of his.

You were around his age, clear from the cardigan you wore that was proudly embroidered in fancy cursive of what he discovered was your home school— the elite college that rivaled his. It had been an initial thought of his that maybe you were an alum and just liked the comfort that the sweater offered but after miraculously seeing you at a rival game between your two schools’ football teams— he knew for sure that you were close in age.

Unfortunately for him, those were the only details he had found on you. Alleged things about you floated around between his coworkers and to his own ears but he ignored them for solid truth. The truth was, you were clearly a devout music lover from a realm he didn’t know of, a school he could only dream of attending, and a lifestyle he had absolutely no experience in.

“Anything new that you recommend?” At the arriose sound of your voice, Dongmin came to a realization that he had been staring at you for far too long.

Under your curious gaze, he stilled. Nearly forgetting to breathe over the fact you were speaking to him. Another fact he had come to realize, is that you enjoyed your solitude. It wasn’t often that you spoke to him outside of your purchase of a vinyl or the rare CD. But when you did, Dongmin always fell into the same trap as if it was happening for the first time again.

“I—uh— what’s your genre?” He knew this already. You had an affinity for 60s music— he came to conclude from the dozen of vinyls he had previously rung up for you.

You hummed, glancing to the spotty ceiling as you contemplated. “I always go for oldies. Anything recent that you like?” As you asked this, you drew closer to the counter where Dongmin was quickly breaking out into a cold sweat over the fact you were verily nearing closer to him.

Your eyes didn’t waver from him, it was clear that you were genuinely interested in his own opinion.

“Well, I don’t listen to too much recent stuff myself, actually.” He managed to respond, not having the capacity to filter his honesty.

Now opposite of him by the counter, you giggled. Dongmin swore his heart skipped a beat, or two for that matter.

“Well, I guess you’re no help then?” Your voice lilted with humor, your head tilting.

“Heh. No, I guess not…” To Dongmin, he was sure your bout of conversation would end here. You would choose something along the lines of your usual, get rung up with some sort of small talk, and go on about your day while he finished out his shift wallowing about how he wished he could’ve said more to you.

“What’s your genre, then,” you squinted momentarily to double-check his nametag. “Dongmin?”

For a moment, Dongmin had forgotten his name was his own. You watched him blink at you for a few beats before visibly collecting himself.

“Me? Well, I like rock— like Nirvana and My Chemical Romance. But I like easy listening stuff too…”

You nodded, “I assumed just as much.”

Dongmin’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

An endeared smile etched onto your lips instantly. “Yeah, every time you’re here they’re always playing over the speakers. But I hear the Carpenters every now and then, too. You have good taste.”

Dongmin fought the flattered expression that attempted to spread across his features, clearing his throat in an effort to swallow his excitement. “Thanks.”

You nodded, a silence floating in the air as you two both seemed to wait for the other to carry on the conversation. With the atmosphere starting to feel cramped, you open your mouth to ease the awkwardness but Dongmin thankfully beats you to it.

“We—uhm— actually just get in some new vinyls that I think you might like…”

You visibly perk up at this. “Did you?”

Dongmin nods, his tone coming off a bit hesitant. “Well, you get a rotation of the same artists, I noticed…”

Your laughter eases the weight on his shoulders, he finds himself smiling fondly as you nod your head in agreement. “No, yeah, I do. I guess I’m quite predictable,”

Dongmin shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I think your music taste is good too.”

You find yourself smoothing a hand over your jacket, flattered. “Thank you,”

“No problem.”

You both lock eyes for a beat longer than expected, your own being the ones to flit elsewhere as could feel the flutter of butterflies swarm in the base of your belly. Dongmin’s gaze on you is only interrupted when you clear your throat before speaking again.

“Did you want to show them to me?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” As if he had been split from a trance, Dongmin lurches back into reality to begin leading you towards a dusty corner of the shop.

A giggle leaves you as you follow close behind. “No worries.”

It’s safe to say Dongmin did not fabricate that the new selections would be to your liking. You find yourself rifling through the crate carefully, multiple familiar artists’ cover arts calling your name. Dongmin can’t help but admire you as you work your way through the vinyls with pure amazement in your eyes.

“Anything catch your eye?” He gestures toward the basket that you were leisurely searching through.

Your gaze shifts upwards to where Dongmin is standing, sheepishly remembering that he was there. “A lot. I’m supposed to be on a budget for stuff like this but— Oh my god! I’ve been looking for this,” you excitedly pull out a yellowed Lesley Gore vinyl.

Dongmin’s amused laughter catches your attention and you roll your eyes at him before shaking your head. “Damn, why’d you have to know me so well?”

“Heh. I can get you a discount, if you’re interested?” Dongmin approaches you, delivering his sentence carefully to test your reaction.

You jerk away in surprise, shocked that Dongmin would even offer to do that for you. But you can tell he’s genuine as he watches you intently awaiting your response. “No, no. I just need to practice some self-control…”

“You sure? I can’t promise that old guy won’t buy up all the Marvin Gaye in here…” You follow his hands as they skim the top of the distressed and begrimed vinyls, almost like a hypnosis.

A huff leaves you, the memories of your elder competition that most likely had no idea was your competition coming to mind. “Shit— you’re right. Okay, fine. I’ll indulge myself just this once.”

You decide to humor Dongmin and yourself, picking through the crate again to remove several LPs that caught your attention. Dongmin nods, finding confidence in being able to bond with you. After you make your final decision, you both head back over to the counter to finalize your transaction.

“You didn’t have to do this, y’know. I’m sure this is actually against the rules…”

“Nah. It’s fine my boss does it all the time for customers he likes too—“ Dongmin realizes his slip of tongue a little too late, his expression reminding you of a deer in the headlights.

“Really now?” You muse.

“Uh—yeah,” Dongmin coughs. “That’s your total…”

Your eyebrows jump instinctively at the outcome, gladly digging around in your bag for your card. “Damn. I’m glad you like me because inflation is killing me right now, here,”

Dongmin accepts your payment and you don’t miss the way he avoids your eyes bashfully. When everything is squared away, your hefty bag in hand, he decides he’s capable of addressing you head on.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?” He visibly forces out, internally hoping it comes across as natural (he doesn’t).

You nod automatically but have a sudden train of thought that you decide to take a chance and verbalize. “Actually… do you get off any time soon?”

The boy across from you is clearly stunned at the inquiry, blinking at you a couple times before answering. “Uh— in about an hour, actually…”

“Cool. I’ll be at the café across the street, if you don’t have anything to do that is… I feel like it’s only right that I repay you…” The last of your sentence trails off as you feel you’re rambling on, but Dongmin couldn’t have looked more interested in you.

“No! I mean, I don’t have anything to do— I’m free, yeah.” Dongmin shuffles, setting himself in a pose that he hoped conveyed how nonchalant he wanted to be but was clearly failing to do so.

You find yourself amused with his antics— a bit flattered as well. “Alright then, see you in an hour?” He nods intently while he watches you back away from the till.

“An hour it is.” He affirms, returning the wave you spare him before the shop’s door chimes again. Promptly, your warmth leaves him to the humidity of the shop. But he holds his pose knowing he’ll be engulfed in it once more.

© jigueminunbich ‘24

[sweetfushi]

fluff, some angst | satoru gojo x reader.

vampire!satoru whose ears perk at the sound of the large doors of his castle creaking open. he hasn’t had visitors in years - centuries. who has now breached his sanctuary, is the question he asks you. you, who stand in the middle of his entrance hall with an anxious yet gullibly curious expression on your face.

vampire!satoru whose brow furrows at the sight of such a meek mortal staring him in the face. you ask him to feed you the knowledge he holds of countless decades that have passed, whether it be about medicine, society, or pure legend. satoru quirks his brow at this; your tone sounds as if you are demanding this of him, not asking.

vampire!satoru who appears in front of you in an instant, wrapped in a dark cloak that reaches his shoes. his hands remain behind his back, under his cloak, as he circles you and questions why he should do such a thing. “i know who you are, what you are. what is the purpose of your immortality if not to share your experiences?” you tell him.

vampire!satoru who, rather reluctantly, allows you to scour his endless libraries. he’s slightly bothered that he now must provide food for someone, as he himself does not eat. though he himself does not cook, his servants do. no, he doesn’t refer to them as servants. his companions.

vampire!satoru who, hears you knock on the door of his study only to enter without being permitted to. you take the chair diagonal to him and place the thick book you’ve been reading on your lap, before hurriedly turning to a specific page. you ask him about the book and listen intently to his comprehensive responses.

vampire!satoru who, at some point, finds himself looking forward to you interrupting him in his study, even when he's sleeping at his desk or reading his favourite book. he becomes hungry for your curiosity and indulgence in information only he can provide you.

vampire!satoru who falls so deeply in love with you that he makes you his wife but spares you the curse of immortality by not turning you into a vampire. though he wishes to keep you by his side forever, he cannot bare to have you fall into the darkness that is vampirism.

vampire!satoru who kisses you so deeply, a hand always steadying you against his larger frame as he feels you shiver when his fangs graze your soft lips. you can barely keep up with his desire and the way his fingers press so firmly into you, as if he's terrified of losing you (because he is, he just doesn't want you to know that and worry yourself).

vampire!satoru who assigns you a personal companion who tends to your every need - food, drink, comfort, guidance around the castle that you have still yet to memorise the rooms of. despite this companion, you still seek satoru's presence the most, even for the smallest of things.

vampire!satoru who doesn't know how he would have happily continued living in solitude if you hadn't stormed into his castle and demanded that he indulged you. satoru would change a lot of his past choices, but in every life would he admit you into his castle and allow you to replace it as his sanctuary.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[bisexualiteaa]

Late Nights

Viktor X fem reader

Synopsis: With the intent of trying to take some of the burden of Hextech’s advancements from Viktor’s shoulders, in the hopes it would give you more time to spend together, you find yourself in the very same routine you’ve been trying to break him of.

CW: established relationship, private relationship, terms of endearment (love, my love) AFAB reader, reader is a scientist, breaking toxic routines, slight angst, fluff, very light implications of ïntimacy, kissing, mäkeôut, possible OOC Viktor, possible grammar/spelling errors, proofread, very limited use of y/n

A/N: Viktor nation, how are we feeling? 👀 Arcane has once again made itself a hyperfixation of mine, I couldn’t not write about our favorite man of science. 🥹 My asks are open if you all would like to see more works or want to request anything in specific! As always, I hope you all enjoy! 🥰♥️

P.S. a part two is already in the works for anyone who might be interested! 👀

Just one more try. Just one more try then you would finally give it all a rest for the night. Or at least, that’s what you’d been telling yourself for goodness knows how long now. You didn’t dare turn your way to face a clock, almost not wanting to know what time it was, all you knew was that it was late. Very late. Working on your third cup of coffee for the night, you took the last few gulps of it before steeling yourself and returning to the blue prints, notes and tools. Your hands were covered in graphite and chalk from the smudging of your hand against the pages or the black board as you’d furiously scribble, erasing and rewriting equations as you cracked them or corrected them, bags forming beneath your eyes as a slight headache took root from your rather obvious lack of sleep. You were utterly exhausted, but if it meant that Viktor wouldn’t have to spend as much time here stressing in solitude while Jayce took to the public and more time caring for himself, you’d place the responsibility on yourself any day.

You were so far gone in thought, so hyper focused on one of the equations in front of you that you hadn’t heard the heavy door to the lab creak open then shut, or even the tell-tale sound of his cane clicking against the floor as he entered. No, it was only upon his soft call of your name that you finally snapped back to reality, the familiarity of his unique accent that you knew only belonged to one man. It was Viktor. Hearing him call your name made you jolt upwards in your seat before turning to face him with almost a look of guilt and surprise written on your face, as if you were ashamed of what you were doing. There was no hiding it anymore it seemed. “Viktor! You’re here early” you said with a sweet smile, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking any questions. You should have known better than to think so however. “What are you doing here so early?” He asked, completely puzzled to have found your side of the bed empty as he woke up, and to find you here before even Jayce or himself had shown up, concern written on his features as he gazed upon you. The bags beneath your eyes that hadn’t been there before, dark circles beginning to take root in an all too familiar fashion. Your hair lay undone from its ties and messy from running your fingers through it as you’d think. It was eye opening, as if he were looking directly into a mirror. ��I…” you started to say before sighing and averting your gaze, not quite sure how to explain it or if it would even make sense to him what you were trying to accomplish.

“I thought maybe if I worked on some things here when you and Jayce were away, that maybe you wouldn’t have to be here so late” you answered honestly, looking to the notes that sat before you in an amass of papers that were messily scattered about in your own form of organized chaos. “I thought that maybe if I shouldered some of the burden, we could have more time together and you could finally rest” you elaborated, making him look to you with a semblance of sadness, his eyes raking over you with concern and sympathy as he stood, listening to what you were saying. You were doing this for him, sabotaging your own sleep, own needs and wellbeing not for the advancements of Hextech, but for *him.* Was this what it was like when you would come in and attempt to drag him home after the countless amounts of all-nighters he’d pull? Was this what it was like to see someone you love absorb themselves in their work to the point of burn out? Suddenly he understood exactly why you would yell at him for doing this same exact thing to himself, the sight of such exhaustion on you made him sad to see. “I just wanted to help” you finished meekly, looking down at your hands then watching from the corner of your eye as he brought himself closer to you. “You look so tired” he finally spoke softly, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek, turning you to face him before running his thumb along the dark circles beneath your eye. You gave an amused hum as you looked up at him, your hand cupping his as you leaned into his touch. “Welcome to my world, now you know how I feel when the roles are reversed” you said playfully, making him hum softly in acknowledgment. He most certainly did understand now, as harsh of a realization that it was, it certainly helped him see why you fuss over him so much. “How long have you been doing this?” He asked, not with anger, not with disapproval, but out of genuine care for your well-being. “If I’m honest, I lost count after the first month, perhaps…three? Four months now?” You responded openly, averting your gaze once again at your answer, waiting for him to scold you like you do to him for doing the very same thing. Yet that wasn’t what you got. Instead his eyes flitted over your research, looking over your notes and your work for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you the best he could while holding onto his cane. Your arms quickly wrapped around him in return, burying your face into the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head. You clung to him tightly, having greatly missed such closeness.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for the both of us to take some time away” Viktor suggested, more so telling you rather than asking you, making you raise a brow at him in intrigue. “You? Taking a day off? Who are you and what have you done with my favorite genius?” You asked playfully with a soft giggle, making him chuckle in reply as you both separated a little to look at one another. “Favorite?” He asked in return with a cheeky grin, making you mirror it with a laugh. “Yeah, but don’t tell him I said that. Wouldn’t want his ego to inflate too much” you quipped, pretending to speak of him as if he weren’t right there with you, making him chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me, though he is delighted to hear think so highly of him” he added, speaking of himself in third person making you giggle again. “I’m sure he is” you replied through your sweet laughter, looking up at him with that playful twinkle in your eyes and that joyful smile on your face that he truly could never get enough of. It made him warm to see your playful demeanor peak out even through your exhaustion, to see you happy like this and to know he was the cause. It’s all he ever wanted for you. For you to be happy, and he only ever hoped he would be the one to do so. There was never a moment that passed where he wasn’t stunned by your beauty, where he wasn’t amazed that you were real. There certainly was never a moment where he didn’t consider himself lucky enough to be yours. Because he was. Which is why he kicked himself internally for being the reason why you’d started this horrible routine.

“I’m sorry. I have neglected you, and I wish to atone for that mistake, if you’ll allow me?” he asked, making you furrow your brows in confusion as you looked up to him. “You haven’t neglected me Viktor, I’ve just missed you. Missed our talks, missed this” you replied, squeezing his hand in reassurance. You hadn’t done this with the intention to make him feel bad, in fact you’d done it for the exact opposite. You wanted to help him feel better, be stress free even if it were just for a short while. “To the point that you would go to such lengths to sneak off in the night to work on hextech so I do not have to? Because you know me to isolate and overwork myself when I am here? All of that tells me otherwise, love” he replied, making your shoulders slump in defeat, he had a point, and a good one at that, you couldn’t deny. Yet you hadn’t felt neglected, just wishing you had more time to spend with him. “Well when you say it out loud like that, it makes what I’ve been doing sound so silly…” you responded, starting to feel a little trepidatious of your reasonings and actions, maybe you had gone about it the wrong way. “I just wanted to help you so you don’t have to work as much. You spend so much time here hunched over papers, scribbling away without a thought for your own needs. You forget to eat, forget to sleep, or when you do, you most often sleep here which I know from experience is not good for your back or your leg. Not to mention all the stress, not only mentally but physically from it all. I see how much it weighs on you, Viktor…” you added, hoping he would understand your reasonings, even if your actions were a little brash. “It isn’t healthy to absorb yourself in all this like that. What you’re seeing right now in me is what I see in you nearly everyday, it’s why I fuss with you to come home and eat dinner, or to shower with me. You need the time to relax, to care for yourself and just be human for a little while” you continued. “I…I worry about you, Vik” you explained to him and Viktor felt he understood, at least a little now, why you fuss so much. Looking at you and seeing how tired you are when he knows a much happier, more energetic side to you made him realize why you do the things you do for him. Because you see the same in him. Viktor doing this sort of thing to himself was one thing, but you doing it to yourself for the sake of him finally made him see that he needed to be better about his divide between work and personal time.

“Sure I probably went about it in all the wrong ways but…I just want you to be able to be happy. That’s all I ever want for you Viktor, is for you to be happy” you finished, feeling his hand come to your cheek again, guiding your chin up to where your gaze would reach his own, feeling his golden irises stare into you intensely. Not with anger, but with love and understanding. In that moment, as he looked upon you, you could only think of how beautiful his eyes were. Such a befitting color to such a kind, beautiful soul. “Y/N, sweet girl, do you not know that you already help with that? You are what makes me happy” he responded, making you blush a bit at his words. If you felt silly before, you felt downright foolish now. “You already make me happy, none of this could ever change that. Just because I’m tired does not mean I am not happy. I have you by my side, to go to bed with at night, to wake up to, to…lay with” he said, making you smile up at him as a flush covered your cheeks at the last part. “The fact that you did this for me, that you do the things that you do for me is what makes you so special. Yet it is precisely why it would be beneficial for us both to back away from it for a while” he continued, watching as you patiently hung to his every word as he spoke. “I have neglected you, y/n. I have mistakenly chosen my work over you and your happiness, when you never fail to choose me even over yourself without ever asking for anything in return. That isn’t love, not in the proper sense” he explained, judging himself harshly for his actions and how it has affected you. “I haven’t been a very good lover to you as of late, so please…allow me to make it up to you. Allow me to show you that you are my number one priority always” he pleaded, making you smile as you stood in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek now. “I know you care Viktor, I’ve never once doubted that for even a moment. That’s what makes you so special, I never have to wonder, because you’ve proven it to me time and time again. Sure you get a little carried away with your work in ways I wish you wouldn’t, but I never have to wonder if it’s because you don’t care anymore” you replied, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes, savoring the moment of intimacy and closeness. “I am sorry I make you worry for me so much. I love you, and I do not wish to lose you. I don’t want to lose this” he apologized, making you pull away to look deeply into his eyes, your hand gently carding through his fluffy chestnut locks in the hopes of soothing his nerves. “I love you too, Vik, I’m not going anywhere. But I won’t lie, I have missed this. It’s been so long since the last time we had the chance to spend time together as a couple” you said, resting your free hand on top of his that sat gripping his cane, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then allow me to make it up to you” he said, making you giggle softly once more.

“If you kiss me, I might consider it” you said playfully, making him chuckle. “Is that so?” He asked teasingly. “Mhmm” you replied with a cheeky grin, making him chuckle again as he pulled far enough away to look at you with those beautiful golden eyes that made you so very weak. You could see a mischievous twinkle in them as he did, a love struck smile resting on his lips that only made you want to kiss him even more. Gods how lucky you felt to be his. “Then who am I to deny my chance of absolution?” He asked, making you both chuckle softly as he leaned in a little closer, his nose brushing against yours momentarily to tease you before finally closing the distance. You couldn’t even begin to control the way smiled into it, feeling your heart race happily against your sternum as your arms looped around his neck, holding him tight. It had been quite some time since you last shared a moment like this with him, it gave you butterflies as if it were the first time sharing a kiss with him all over again. The way his lips chased yours, craving the feel of them against his own, craving the feeling of your warmth and softness that he’s spent far too long without. The sound of his cane hitting the floor could be heard reverberating through the lab as he abandoned it to hold onto you. You felt his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in slightly as he held you against him for both leverage and closeness. A soft groan left his throat as he kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting you as your fingers toyed with his hair at the base of his neck. Normally he would never show such a display in the lab, even when no one else was present, he preferred moments like these be enjoyed in the privacy of his room. Yet in this moment, he couldn’t find it within him to care if anyone walked in to see you two tangled together like this. All he knew is that he needed this just as much as you did, and selfish as it may have been, he wasn’t ready to let the moment end quite yet. Thankfully, you weren’t ready for it to end either.

Your hand rested flatly on his chest when the time finally came where you had to pull apart for air, allowing him the chance to look at you once more. Seeing the flush that spread across your cheeks, the slight shine of your kiss swollen lips, watching you fight to catch your staggering breath. It was his favorite sight. Knowing he was the reason for your blushes, knowing he was the one that stole the very air from your lungs, and knowing you’d always come back for more only added to that delight. If he wasn’t careful, he may get carried away, allowing his thoughts to run rampant at the sight of you like this. Beautifully disheveled, it countered the way that you were normally so well put together. He loved seeing you like this, and loved knowing that he was the one responsible even more. “As much as I have the right to scold you for doing this to yourself, it’s quite remarkable the advancements you’ve made” he stated. “And to think, all this time I believed it was Jayce when really it was you” he finished, glancing at your work once more before returning his gaze to you, smiling proudly. You returned the sentiment as your eyes followed his to the table then back to him. “Helps that I have a brilliant teacher to have picked it all up from” you replied, motioning to his notes as your arm looped around his thin waist, making him hum with amusement. “Does this brilliant teacher also happen to be the same man you called your favorite genius?” He asked teasingly, making you laugh. “He does! How did you know?” You asked playfully, feigning astonishment. “Mmh, call it an educated guess” he responded just as playfully, shrugging his shoulders and lulling his head in mock aloofness, making you chuckle some more.

“I love you” you proclaimed softly but confidently, resting your forehead against his once more, making him hum pleasantly as he closed his eyes. “I love you too” he replied, a smile growing to his lips at the feel of your hand gently caressing his cheek, your thumb rubbing soft, comforting circles into his skin. His hand came up to hold yours, his thumb mimicking the same motions against the back of your hand as you both stood there, enjoying the moment of peace together. “Let me take you home, I think I’ve found myself to be a little too…distracted to work” he said, making you give a breathy chuckle. “Was that all I had to do this whole time? Distract you long enough to get you to come home so you could eat or sleep?” You asked with a teasing grin. “Perhaps, but I don’t know how you’d feel about doing so in front of Jayce. He has the tendency to ehh…talk a little too much ” he replied, making you laugh and shake your head but with a smile still stretched to your lips. “Fair enough, I’ll at least keep that in mind for the future. For now, I think I’ve advanced the work load enough for you to take some much needed time off” you responded, grabbing his cane for him and moving his hair from his face before resting your palm against his cheek once more. “Let’s go home, yeah?” you finished, holding his hand in yours as you led him out of the lab and back to his room you both share to explore what the next day or two had in store.

[truetogaia]

the quality is so crisp that I can see his ARM VEINS OMG I need him I need him I need him.

pairing: dom!dilf!jake x fem!na'vi!reader

genre: smut, 18+

notes: I am so sorry for this LMAO it's kinda filthy but: Jake’s intercom starts acting up while he's on a mission with some warriors from the clan.

warnings: explicit and mature themes, A LOT of dirty talk, phone sex, daddy kink! ✩ means tiny time jump!

wc: 1k!

!NOT PROOFREAD! I Jake sully masterlist!

You were bored out of your mind, wandering about the village in search of something to occupy yourself. The sun was setting and night was eating away at the sky, leaving a star speckled darkness in its way. Your face was contorted in a frown as you kicked some rocks, just barely missing the entry to a hut. Having spent all day alone, in the solitude of your own hut, waiting for your mate to come back from his hunt, you weren’t exactly thrilled to spend the night the same way. 

You made your way back to your hut, entering through the flaps and securing it before taking a seat on the woven mat. Your legs were sore after carrying you around the forest all day without rest, aching terribly as you stretched them. Jake had been gone for three whole days now, leaving you all alone in your shared home. With this being the longest the two of you had been apart, the longest without him touching you in any way, you were starting to miss him.

You were desperate, and your navy skin was on fire after so many days without him. You decided to take matters into your own hands, only daring to disregard Jake’s request for you to leave yourself untouched until he came back because of how warm you felt.

✩ 

The air around you turned awfully warm as you panted and moaned quietly, overwhelmed by the sensation of your own fingers rubbing against your wet bundle of nerves. The sounds that escaped you were choked, soft mewls and whines occasionally seeping out from your plump lips. You rutted your hips against your hand in a desperate attempt to feel something, an attempt to recreate the feeling of Jake’s thick digits stretching you out.

Jake’s ears perked as a familiar sound erupted from his earpiece, making him halt his movements. This was unexpected, he thought, as your soft noises played in his ears, paired with the sound of  your squelching cunt. At first, Jake was afraid you were being unfaithful, that you were with another na’vi while he was away. But he soon came to his senses as he heard you chant his name, realizing what you were doing. 

“y/n, baby? You there?” 

Jake’s voice made you jolt, scared shitless that he had come back while you were so busy with  disobeying him. But the voice wasn’t coming from the hut, no, it came from the earpiece that you had discarded before deciding to… work on some self love. Your heart was beating wildly inside your chest as you picked it up, placing it in your ear.

“Jake?”  Your voice wavered, and he could hear how irregular your breathing pattern was. “I thought you were busy hunting..” He chuckled slightly at your attempt to redirect his focus, not falling for your little endeavor. 

“Well.. I was. But you see, I got a bit distracted.” He teased you, meaning he had heard you before. Oh how embarrassing, because not only had you disobeyed direct orders from your mate, you had also interrupted a very important hunt. 

“Oh don’t be sorry, sweetheart. I missed you, it’s so nice to hear your voice.” He chuckled, on the other end. “Why’d you stop, though? I don’t remember telling you to.” You couldn’t help the way heat settled between your plush thighs again, heavily influenced by his husky voice. 

“Go on, don’t let me distract you.” He demanded. 

You ran a warm hand down your abdomen, hesitatingly stopping right between your thighs. But you decided to keep going, slowly rubbing firm circles onto your needy clit. You brought your other hand to gently tease your entrance with your soft digits, whining when you slid them into your sopping cunt. 

“That’s right.” Jake’s voice filled your ears as you worked your fingers in and out of your squelching heat, covering them in your slick. “Tell me what you’re doing to yourself, baby.” Your pointy ears perked as you heard him grunt, “Include every little detail, can you do that for me?” 

You nodded to yourself, agreeing. “hmmn, ‘m fucking myself with my fingers, thinkin’ its yours...” Your voice was breathy as you continued thrusting your digits in and out. “Doesn’t feel nearly as good..” He hummed in delight, and you swore you could hear some interesting noises from his end too. “What’re you doing, daddy?” 

“Jus’ takin’ care of myself, honey. Couldn’t help myself at the sound of your sweet voice, using such lewd words..” He cooed, wrapping his large, warm hand back around his aching cock. Your muffled sounds were intoxicating, and he cursed himself for not being at home now. He could hear how wet you were, he could picture it in front of him. Oh how desperately he wanted to be home with you, with his cock buried deep into your tight cunt. 

He pumped himself as your strangled moans kept coming, “That’s right, baby. You wish I was there, hm? Couldn’t wait one more night for me to come home, ‘s that right?” You whimpered. “Yeah, I bet that cunt is fluttering at the thought of it, ain’t it? The thought of daddy’s fat cock stuffing and fucking into your tight pussy.” 

“Fuck!” You cursed, picking up the pace of your fingers. “Please, Jake, come home. ‘Want you here.. Want your cock” You sobbed as your fingers repeatedly hit your g spot, thumb busy rubbing at your puffy clit. Jake chuckled, having sat himself down, propped up against a tree as his fist worked over his thick girth. He pictured you now, with your legs spread wide for him, cunt drenched in arousal, completely ready for him. 

“Yeah? That’s a good girl. shit, ‘m gonna cum to those pretty sounds of yours..” He mumbled, grunting and hissing as his cock slid easily through his large fist. “G’nna come home tomorrow and fill that needy pussy.. g’nna fuck you dumb, babygirl.”  You moaned loudly at his words, finally reaching your climax. Your arousal coated your fingers as you came hard to the sound of his vulgar words. And Jake followed suit, spilling his hot cum all over his hand. 

“Fuck, baby..” His chest heaved as he came down from his high “You okay?” He asked, noticing how quiet you were. But he soon heard the quiet snores from your end, chuckling to himself, happy that you were finally able to get some rest. 

You were going to need it for tomorrow.

UGH THE WAY THIS IS MY WORST WORK EVER. I apologize, but I do have a good excuse!!

[misshoneyimhome]

Yin & Yan I Seth Jarvis 🖋️🌺

Requested: yes/no

Summary; for jarvy : he’s always cracking jokes and very unserious. but he gives me golden retriever energy. so maybe something with black cat gf + golden retriever bf.

Other notes; Well hello again my sweet Canes fan 🤍 I am back with another Jarvy fic, and though I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted this to play out, I hope I managed to catch your vibe anyway 😅 I must admit, the more I look at and listen to this guy, I'm growing a soft spot for him and emotionally getting swept off my feet 🥰

Tropes & Warnings; Seth Jarvis x reader; strangers to lovers; no warnings (except I mention they sleep together, but that's not really a surprise, is it 😂)

Word count; 2.6K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50, @findapenny, @justwanderingbutneverlost, @cixrosie

_

Seth Jarvis was always the life and soul of the party, sporting the brightest smile and the heartiest laugh.

His demeanour was infectious, capable of brightening even the dullest of rooms, and it came as no surprise that he was often likened to having "golden retriever energy." His enthusiasm was tangible, emitting a warmth and loyalty that drew people to him. Seth’s passion for life simply meant he was always eager for the next big adventure, as he had a remarkable talent for making everyone feel valued and acknowledged, his cheerful nature illuminating any space he entered.

In contrast, you were his complete opposite. Reserved, with a fondness for sarcasm and a preference for solitude, you were often dubbed the "black cat" of your social circle. While Seth thrived in social gatherings, you found solace in quiet moments—whether immersing yourself in the pages of a captivating novel or strolling through the city streets beneath the tranquil night sky. Your wit was sharp, your humour dry, and you proudly wore your introversion like a badge of honour.

Yet despite your differences, you and Seth had an undeniable chemistry. It seemed as if his brightness balanced out your darkness, creating a perfect harmony. And though no one would have guessed that you two were such a great match, it turned out that opposites do indeed attract. 

Meeting Seth had been as surprising for you as it was for him. And whenever people asked about how it all began, Seth could never contain his excitement when telling the story, his eyes lighting up as he relived that fateful moment.

---

"Oh, fuck me…" you muttered under your breath as you strolled along the pavement in the streets of Raleigh. Following a trip to the grocery store, the bottom of your paper bag had split, spilling your groceries – and naturally, the sight of broken eggs spreading across the pavement was the cherry on top of an already dismal day. “Just my luck…”

It had simply been one of those days. And weeks. Perhaps even the entire month.

Your flatmate had been an absolute nightmare lately, with her boyfriend practically living over almost every day. They stayed up all night, their noisy sex accompanied by the blare of the television, and on weekends, she'd invite more friends over, filling the flat with thumping music, dense smoke, and the chaos of impromptu parties. Sometimes, the parties didn’t even stop at weekends.

You were nearing your breaking point, but the issue was you had nowhere else to turn. Sure, you’d been on the hunt for another place to live, but nothing affordable had come up. There had been one or two options maybe, but living with a male flatmate who made it clear he'd only offer reasonable rent if you gave him "a little sugar" three times a week wasn’t exactly your idea of a good deal.

You tried to maintain a positive outlook, really, you did. Even though you knew optimism wasn’t exactly your default setting, it often felt like the universe was working against you. “It's all part of your journey for personal growth,” your mother always said. But honestly, you didn’t feel like you needed much more ‘growth’ at this point. You were pretty content with where you were in life. Almost, anyway.

All you wished for was a little positive energy from the universe. Just every now and then.

So, as you stooped to gather your belongings, reminding yourself to think more optimistically and hope for some good vibes, it inevitably began to rain heavily. Big, fat drops splashed all around you, drenching your clothes and turning the situation into a soggy mess. “Seriously? Well, fuck you too,” you muttered aloud, perhaps a bit louder than you intended, your frustration resonating in the now empty street.

“Whoa, easy there, I’m innocent, I swear,” a male voice suddenly came from behind you, chuckling as he approached.

“What?”

Turning your head slightly to see the approaching figure, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. A cheeky remark from a stranger was the last thing you needed right now. However, as the person drew nearer, he then knelt down next to you and reached out for some of your groceries.

“Need a hand?” he simply asked in a much calmer tone, looking at you with warm honey-brown eyes and a wide smile that seemed to break through the gloom.

You found yourself rather bewildered, to say the least. Here you were, kneeling on the pavement in the pouring rain, and this stranger came along offering to help with your groceries scattered on the ground, including the broken eggs. And you had to admit, he seemed a bit charming and quite good-looking.

“Um,” you murmured softly, not quite sure what to say. “Um… I’m alright, but thanks.” You attempted to offer him a faint smile, though you felt it was futile.

And you were correct. The stranger simply stayed put, picking up the packets of Mentos and the lemons you had bought, as he once again flashed you a smile, seemingly unfazed by the rain. “Well, you do seem like someone who could use a hand,” he chuckled lightly. 

Damn, this guy was something else, you thought. Completely catching you off guard, he just started gathering your scattered items into his arms, still wearing that gentle grin.

You didn’t know what to say. On one hand, you wanted to be left alone, feeling embarrassed enough by the universe. On the other hand, it was rather nice to have someone lending you a hand. And you had just asked the universe for some positive energy, even a bit of luck to come your way, so maybe this was it. You might as well give it a try, you figured. It couldn’t get any worse. Right?

“Well, thank you,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he merely replied, his tone genuine. “I’m Seth, by the way. But most folks just call me Jarvy.”

There was a brief moment where you and Seth remained crouched, exchanging looks. You truly felt thankful for his assistance, and as you retrieved the items from your shopping bag, Seth reached into his pocket and pulled out a fabric tote for you to use.

It felt almost like a scene from a romantic comedy. Two strangers meeting when one of the main characters is in a shitty situation and the other comes to their rescue. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more cinematic, the rain stopped.

“I’m Y/n.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/n,” Seth chuckled, holding your groceries close.

You couldn’t help but smile, thanking him once more for his help. There was something about his charming grin, the way his eyes sparkled despite the dark, grey clouds, and how happiness seemed to emanate from him like a shining aura. Seth was truly special, and perhaps he was the stroke of luck the universe had sent your way.

Well, at least until you both stood up and your jeans tore at the inner seam.

“Fucking hell!” you exclaimed, letting out a deep sigh.

Once again, Seth couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like you’re really having a day, huh?” He gazed at you with his warm brown eyes. “How about I buy you to a cup of coffee?”

Once more, you were taken aback. This guy didn’t even know you, yet here you were, still drenched, now with torn jeans, and he was just smiling and offering to buy you coffee? Who was this guy? Was it some sort of prank?

But no, it wasn’t. Despite your initial suspicions, Seth turned out to be nothing but a friendly guy who simply wanted to help out someone in need. He also happened to be a professional ice hockey player, playing for the Carolina Hurricanes, although he hailed from Winnipeg. All this you learned over your cups of coffee and even more so when he offered you a lift home.

Naturally, you had hesitated, unsure whether to trust a stranger on the street. However, for once in your life, you decided to push aside the anxious thoughts in the back of your mind and listen to your intuition, which urged you to trust the universe. And as you strolled with him to the nearest coffee spot, discreetly concealing your torn jeans, you felt nothing but grateful that you had done so.

_

Seth Jarvis simply turned out to be the best relationship you'd ever had. Even your mother took a liking to him – and if there was anyone more of a pessimist than you, it was her. And of course, Seth simply chuckled when he’d first met her, joking that now he knew where you inherited your lack of cheerful spirit from. Yet, he never made any negative remarks about it or you.

In fact, he found it intriguing and just smiled at the fact that you were more cautious and concerned about life than he was. You were a planner, always wanting to anticipate the unexpected and be prepared, whereas he was more spontaneous, going with the flow and keeping a cheerful outlook. And as it turned out, you complemented each other perfectly.

Whenever his energy soared a bit too high and led him off track, you were there to keep him grounded and calm. And when your negative thoughts and energy veered into a darker mood, dragging you into an emotional spiral, his positivity and optimistic mindset lifted you right back up.

But of course, no relationship was ever perfect. This truth became especially evident during your first hockey season with Seth while you were dating, spending most nights either at the PNC Arena or in front of the telly cheering him on. While you loved Seth and cherished your time together, the emotional rollercoaster of wins and losses took its toll on your budding relationship.

However, it was also during those low moments for Seth that you found yourself stepping up as the steady rock he needed, cheering him on and reassuring him that things would improve next time. To your own great surprise, you often found yourself embodying the positive spirit, a role you hadn't expected to play. And you couldn’t help but appreciate the positive energy Seth brought out in you, realising how much you were growing together.

Moreover, being with Seth provided a much-needed escape from your dreadful roommate. Though moving in with Seth may have seemed a bit spontaneous to some – classic Seth style – it certainly made your life a lot easier not having to deal with her. Finally, you could just focus on yourself, your work, and now your boyfriend, Seth Jarvis.

And having you around also had a positive impact on Seth. It grounded him and perhaps even added a touch of maturity, naturally noticed by his teammates. Though Seth never lost his playful demeanour, his teammates definitely observed how he became more composed and grounded in your presence. And they never missed the chance to tease him about it.

“Off home to the little missus, are we?” Jesperi would playfully tease.

“Yeah, making sure wifey’s got dinner on the table!” Necas would chime in.

Seth would just laugh it off, but there was a noticeable warmth in his eyes whenever they mentioned you, and he would often reply with a cheeky grin, “You’re just jealous you don’t have someone waiting for you at home with a warm dinner and a smile.”

Living together also brought moments of growth and adjustment. You learned to embrace Seth’s spontaneous nature, finding joy in unexpected adventures and impromptu plans. Meanwhile, Seth grew to appreciate the stability you brought into his life, enjoying the calm and predictability of the routines you established together.

“Ah, I’m sure Seth’s the one making dinner to spoil his favourite girl,” Teuvo teased, winking at you as you then entered the locker room after the game to greet your boyfriend.

“Sure, as if Seth could even locate the kitchen,” you fired back, walking over to him and planting a kiss on his cheek, eliciting laughter from the lads.

“Hey, I can cook!” Seth protested, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Just because I burn toast doesn’t mean I’m hopeless.”

“Oh of course, dear,” you teased back, patting his chest. “Let’s just stick to ordering takeout.”

Despite the playful banter, it was evident to everyone that you and Seth shared something special. His teammates admired the balance you brought to his life, even if they wouldn't admit it outright. And for you, seeing Seth’s bright smile after a long day, hearing his infectious laughter, and feeling his arms around you made every tough moment worth it.

You simply got each other. You never worried that your sharp energy might drive him away. And every day, he reminded you, in his own way, that no matter what, you were keeping him steady.

One night, after a particularly tough game, when Seth came home, flopped down on the sofa, and let out a dramatic sigh. “I need a pick-me-up,” he said, giving you those pleading puppy-dog eyes.

“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” you teased, taking a seat beside him.

“How about a massage?” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How about you help me with the dishes first?” you countered, nudging him playfully.

“Alright, alright. Slave driver,” he groaned, but he got up and followed you to the kitchen, a smile playing at his lips.

It was one of those nights when his career weighed heavily on him, which also meant it weighed heavily on you. Each time you felt his cheerfulness slowly wane, overshadowed by the darkness of a loss. And it would have been easy to let your own emotions sink with his, to let it all spiral down. But you didn’t; you couldn’t allow yourself to do that. All you wanted was for Seth to be happy, to be his cheerful self.

So, as the two of you shared giggles and inside jokes, moving around the kitchen as you finished up, Seth’s mood quickly returned to its usual buoyant self. His smile widened and his chuckles deepened as always.

“You know I love you, right?” he grinned as he held you close, leaning against the kitchen counter with you in his arms, your hands finding their way to his neck.

“I know – just as you know I love you,” you smiled back at him.

“And if I ever turn into a whiny little puppy again…”

“…I know you’re back to your usual self,” you flashed him a wink before pressing your lips against his.

It was a tender moment yet filled with chuckles and laughter, as always. Something only Seth could bring into your life. And as his hands then found their way to your buttocks, giving them a playful squeeze before lifting you up in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

The love you made that night was smooth and intimate. The sensation of Seth’s body against yours, your skin tingling with heat, covered in sweat as he moved inside you, sent your mind spinning, endorphins flooding your system with a high only he could induce.

Your lives were entwined in a way that felt natural and right, as if you were always meant to find each other. The challenges you faced only strengthened your bond, proving that sometimes, the universe really does know what it’s doing. With Seth by your side, the ups and downs of life felt a little more manageable and a lot more joyful.

[theesirenteller]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗; 𝕱𝖆𝖚𝖝 𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖑 | Masterlist

BETH sat in her car, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence as she stared at the dimly lit apartment building where Epiphany lived. This plan had been brewing in her mind for weeks, festering like a dark seed. She had watched Epiphany closely, memorizing her schedule, waiting for the right moment. Tonight, Epiphany was out with Rio, and that meant Beth had her chance. She adjusted the black gloves on her hands, checked her watch, and glanced at the small bag sitting in the passenger seat. Inside were the tools for her deception: a lock-picking kit and a few small bags for what she intended to take.

Stepping out of the car, Beth slipped into the shadows, careful to avoid the security cameras. She had paid attention to every detail of Epiphany’s life, knowing her routines, and some of her secrets. When she reached the apartment door, Beth worked quickly, picking the lock in under a minute. Once inside, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. She moved through the space like a ghost, her gloved fingers brushing over Epiphany’s belongings, her clothes, her shoes. Beth opened the closet and pulled out a leather jacket Epiphany often wore, followed by a pair of jeans and boots that would complete the look she needed. With everything carefully folded into her bag, Beth left the apartment as quietly as she had entered.

The next phase of her plan was more delicate. Beth had spent time finding a girl who looked remarkably like Epiphany. It hadn’t been easy, but desperation made people do strange things. The girl was younger, maybe a little slimmer, but with the right clothes and under the right light, she could easily pass for Epiphany. Beth had arranged a meeting with her earlier that week, explaining that she needed her help for a "photography project." The girl, a struggling actress, jumped at the opportunity. She had no idea the role she was about to play in ruining someone's life.

Two days later, Beth met with the girl in a dingy motel room on the outskirts of town. She handed her Epiphany's clothes, watching as the girl slipped into them, adjusting the jacket and smoothing out the jeans. “You look perfect,” Beth murmured, circling her like a director inspecting a scene. The resemblance was striking, enough to make Beth feel a twist of satisfaction in her gut. She had set up a meeting between the girl and a detective who had been investigating Rio for months. Ever Since the assination of agent Turner and his group of undercover detectives, another detective had replaced him. Of course, the girl didn’t know who he was—she believed it was all part of Beth's elaborate photo series. Beth had arranged everything so the meeting would appear secretive, suspicious even.

That night, Beth positioned herself in a car across from a small diner where the meeting was set to take place. She watched as the girl, dressed in Epiphany’s clothes, entered and sat at a booth. Moments later, the detective walked in, and Beth’s heart raced as she watched them shake hands and sit down, their conversation hidden behind the glass. Beth raised her camera and began snapping photos, capturing the way the light hit the girl's face, making her look so much like Epiphany that even Beth had to blink twice. The detective leaned in, speaking closely to the girl, and Beth took more photos—perfectly staged to look like they were sharing confidential information.

After an hour, the meeting ended, and Beth continued snapping pictures as the girl and the detective parted ways. She had what she needed. Later that night, in the solitude of her home, Beth sifted through the photos, editing them carefully. She adjusted the lighting, blurred some of the details, and most importantly, altered the timestamps. She wanted it to look like these meetings had been happening for weeks. The final product was a series of damning images that could easily be mistaken for Epiphany betraying Rio with law enforcement. Satisfied with her work, Beth transferred the photos onto a burner phone she had picked up earlier that week.

Beth hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the "send" button. This was the moment of truth, where everything would either fall apart or go exactly as she planned. With a deep breath, she pressed send, watching as the message was delivered to Mick. The photos, carefully staged and edited, would tear his world apart. Beth knew him well enough to know that trust, once broken, could never be fully repaired. And this? This would break him in ways he couldn’t even imagine. With a smile, Beth tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin and walked away, feeling a weight lift off her chest as she disappeared into the night to accompany Ruby to a bar.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Epiphany was swallowed by the sea of people on campus. A few classmates from her psychology class had invited her to their pre-Christmas bash, and after weeks of being alone in her apartment, she couldn’t resist the temptation. Rio had been in Tokyo for the last three weeks, and although she had once been thrilled by the idea of some quiet time to herself, the loneliness had quickly settled in, like a heavy blanket she couldn’t shake off. 

The party was a welcome distraction, a chaos of lights and music that buzzed through her body, pulling her out of her thoughts. As the techno beat thumped against her chest, she felt herself lose the grip on everything else—her worries, her doubts—swept away in the rhythm of the crowd. The pressure of the bass vibrated through her feet, making her legs move without thinking, her body slipping into the groove effortlessly.

Her hips swayed against the bodies of her classmates, her raven curls bouncing in time with the beat. The music surrounded her like an ocean tide, pulling her further from herself with every thump of the bass. She caught flashes of faces around her—grinning, carefree—and for a moment, she felt part of something bigger, the chaos of the crowd absorbing her. But then, as quickly as the euphoria came, it retreated. 

Her mind wandered back to Rio. Three weeks. Three weeks since she had felt the warmth of his touch, heard his voice beside her at night, tangled in blankets. Was he thinking of her, or was Tokyo keeping him too busy? She should’ve been happy he was away, letting him get his own space. But tonight, as she danced with strangers, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that she was simply filling a void until his return. 

She closed her eyes, losing herself to the beat again, but this time, her movements were just a little slower, a little more deliberate. Was she dancing for herself? Or was it for Rio, in some strange way, a dance she could give him when he came back? Her classmates were laughing around her, but she wasn’t sure if she was laughing with them—or at herself.

One of her classmates, Jessica wrapped her arms around her waist and whispered into her ear, “ Hey Piffy, wanna bump a line? You’re looking too sober for this kind of night."

Epiphany shot her a smile. She’d been avoiding drugs lately—she didn’t want to lose control, didn’t want to feel any more disconnected than she already did. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. She took a breath, about to accept, when a thought struck her, sharp and almost funny. She twisted around in an exaggerated spin, her body brushing against Samara’s, her hands snaking up to loop around Samara’s neck.

“No thanks, I’m trying to get pregnant,” Epiphany murmured into Samara’s ear, her voice dripping with a playful, flirtatious edge.

Samara blinked, startled at first, and then let out a loud, infectious laugh. Her hands came up to push Epiphany lightly in mock protest, but there was an underlying curiosity in her eyes. “What, you think you’re going to get knocked up here?” she asked, her tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

Epiphany let out a laugh that wasn’t entirely real. It was a joke, of course. At least, that’s what she told herself. The idea of wanting something so tangible, so real, something as permanent as a baby, had crossed her mind more than once, but she quickly pushed the thought away. It wasn’t even practical. And yet, the words hung in the air between them like something she couldn’t erase.

She swirled her drink in the air, pretending to focus on the rhythm of the music rather than the growing tension between her and Samara. The laughter around them seemed louder now, more distant. Samara was easy to be around. She wasn’t trying to fix Epiphany, or ask too many questions about Rio or why she was here, alone.

Epiphany met Samara’s gaze again, suddenly aware of how close they were, her arms still loosely draped around Samara’s neck. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself drawn to someone like this—not a romantic attraction, but a kind of magnetic pull. Samara’s proximity felt strange, not like the tension she had with Rio, but it was enough to make her skin buzz, her heart racing in an unfamiliar way.

“Seriously, though,” Samara said, her eyes narrowing, studying Epiphany with a mix of amusement and curiosity, “is it just me, or are you way too quiet tonight? You’re not usually so reserved.”

Epiphany hesitated for a moment, her fingers tapping lightly on Samara’s shoulder. “Maybe I’m just not feeling it,” she said, her voice quieter now, the humor fading slightly. It wasn’t a lie, exactly—she was just hiding the deeper things she didn’t want to confront. She didn’t want to talk about Rio or what was left unsaid between them. She didn’t want to think about how empty this all felt.

The song changed, the tempo shifting to something slower, more sultry. The crowd around them seemed to melt away as the night wore on, leaving just the pulsing beat and the dizzying effect of the flashing lights.

Her gaze drifted, and she spotted a group of people huddled by the bar, laughing with the kind of carefree joy she hadn’t felt in a long time. Was she jealous of them? Or just of the idea that they could be so free, so unburdened? She wasn’t sure, but she felt a pang of longing that she quickly masked with a smile.

Epiphany shifted, stepping back slightly from Samara, feeling the disconnection creep back in. It was as if the night had gone from a blur of excitement to a moment of painful clarity. She could almost hear her own thoughts, loud and intrusive. What was she doing here?

“Anyway,” Epiphany said, her voice lighter again as she stepped back, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I think I’ll stick to the caffeine for tonight. Who knows? Maybe I’ll start making my own little army of babies later, after all.”

Samara laughed again, and the sound was like a momentary escape. But as the music pulsed on, Epiphany felt the familiar ache settle back into her chest. She was surrounded by people, but still, somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being alone.

Epiphany wasn’t the only one who felt empty and alone without their lover, Rio had felt the same,despite successfully securing a transportation of machinery and new-age technology. As he sat cozily in first class, rio sulked in his feelings of longing for Epiphany.his relationship with Epiphany had only deepened, solidifying the partnership he never knew he needed. She was unlike anyone he'd ever been with—smart, fierce, and loyal. Trust was hard to come by in his world, but Epiphany had earned it, and that made her the most important thing in his life. He took a sip from his glass, his mind drifting to the plans they had for the future.

A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.”You gotta see this,” Mick informed him as he passed Rio the phone.his brow furrowing as he scrolled through the photos that appeared. The first image showed a woman, wearing a familiar leather jacket, sitting at a diner. He blinked, his pulse quickening. The jacket was Epiphany’s—he had seen her wear it a hundred times before. He swiped to the next image, his grip on the phone tightening. The woman was shaking hands with a man.

The next few photos made his stomach drop. The man was Detective Hawthorne, the very same detective who had been hounding him for months, trying to bring him down. And the woman—he squinted at the screen—looked too much like Epiphany for it to be a coincidence. The clothes, the way she held herself, the shape of her face. But there was something off, something that made him hesitate. The photos were blurry in parts, the lighting soft and grainy, but it was close enough to plant the seed of doubt.

Rio swiped through the images again, each one more damning than the last. The timestamps were from different days, spread out over weeks. How could he not have noticed? The girl in the photos—Epiphany—looked deep in conversation with Detective Hawthorne, almost intimate. His chest tightened, rage bubbling beneath the surface as his mind raced. He thought about the nights she said she was out with friends, or running errands, or busy with work. Could she have been meeting with a cop all this time? He slammed the phone down on the arm rest,as he fought to keep his composure. 

His mind whirled with possibilities. Was this a setup? Could someone be trying to get inside his head, break the trust between him and Epiphany? Or worse—could it be true? He had enemies, plenty of them, but the photos looked real enough to make him question everything. He didn’t want to believe it, but he’d seen enough betrayal in his life to know how easily things could turn.

The spark of warmth within his heart told him his thoughts were of paranoia and that this was more elebroate plan from someone else.

He stared at the last photo, the one that sent a jolt of pain straight to his core—Epiphany, or someone who looked exactly like her, leaning in close to Detective Turner, as if whispering something in his ear. The image was grainy, but the implication was clear; someone was trying to frame Epiphany.

“What are you thinking, man? It looks fraudulent.” Mick commented. 

“It is fraudulent.” Rio agreed, he then proceeded to pass Mick the phone,”Which is why it’s time to tie up loose ends and clean up this mess.”

Later on, once the plane landed and Rio was situated in his car his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as the phone rang. When Epiphany picked up, her voice was bright, excited, even playful.

"Hey, Papí! Thought you’d forgotten about me. How was Tokyo?"

Rio felt the familiar warmth of her voice but forced himself to keep his tone steady, detached. “Productive. Got what I needed done,” he replied, his words clipped, almost rehearsed.

“Productive, huh?” she laughed softly. “That’s all you got for me? I was hoping for a little more than that.”

“What else is there to say, Piff? It was business,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he stared out the window, his mind still buzzing with the images he’d seen.

There was a brief pause on the other end before Epiphany’s voice came back, softer, cautious. “...Is everything alright? You sound… off.”

Rio swallowed, feeling the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. “Just been thinkin. A lot can happen when you’re away, yea?”

Epiphany’s laugh was shaky. “Guess I can relate. You’ve been gone almost a month. I’ve… missed you.”

“Yeah, it’s a long time,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hollow. He’d thought he’d feel better being back in the same city, but the doubt gnawed at him, sharper than ever.

Her tone softened, laced with concern. “Chris, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

He was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I just have a lot on my mind, Piff. We all make choices, don’t we?”

A beat of silence hung between them before she spoke again, her voice trembling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his voice guarded. “Just a reminder that trust isn’t something to take lightly.”

The hurt in her voice was unmistakable. “You’re talking in riddles. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

Rio clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the phone. “I will. Soon. But for now, I need to think some things through. Without distractions.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, a hurt edge seeping through. “Am I a distraction to you now?”

The question caught him off guard, slicing through his resolve. He fought to keep his tone even. “I’m just saying I need space. Clarity.”

“I thought we were clear, Rio. I thought we were solid…” Her voice broke slightly, and he felt a pang he couldn’t shake, but he forced himself to ignore it.

“I thought so too. But things change. Like I said… people make choices.”

“Then just say it,” she whispered, barely audible. “If I did something wrong, just say it.”

Rio exhaled, trying to keep his voice steady, his tone neutral. “Let’s meet next week. We’ll talk. Figure it out.”

The line was quiet for a moment before she responded, her voice low. “Yeah… alright. Be safe.”

“You too, Piff.” He hung up, the hollow echo of her words lingering in his mind.

TAGGED

@ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @nobodygetsza @lovedlover @fvckthisbxtchup @hausofmamadas

@secretlifeofmarii

[robsdiary]

GOOD LOOKIN’ GIRL

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

INCLUDES: loser!ellie, black!reader, masc!reader, fluff, ellie has NO game

You’d been working under your uncle, Seth. Ever since the pair of you arrived in Jackson. The late hour shifts of you two fooling around making new recipes. He had a knack for sandwiches. It was mind blowing how he’d be able to make a turkey sandwich different from the next ten times.

He wasn’t truly your uncle. He’d found you on your lonesome years ago. You were malnourished, one hand broken and damaged, the other clutching on an empty pistol like your life depended on it. Your nose bloodied, all you had to your name was bright yellow rain boots and a jacket large enough to be considered a dress on you, and your thick curls in a frizzy uncared for bun. It was astonishing you managed to last that long.

Deciding to take you along with him in pursuit of finding a place of his own. You were a tough case.

You never talked, face always holding a blank stare. You’d seen things, Seth knew, and he didn’t pry. Your eyes carried a haunted shine, something you could never shake. Being alone most of your life is just what you’d gotten used to. Your parents had decided to flee from the Louisiana Quarantine Zone. They’d been shot in the process. Your father killed on impact and your mother lasted long enough to get to the next town over. You were only ten.

You wondered in solitude with your fathers pistol. Slowly making your way into Arkansas. Being forced to use your fathers pistol for your own safety. Gunning down two runners and a man that’d been charging at you. Five bullets.

It’d been about a week. You ducking behind buildings, scavenging for anything edible. Having to narrowly escape hungers or hordes, surviving off pure perseverance and fumes clearly didn’t prove helpful for a 10 year old. You collapsed, face up at the scorching sun, you didn’t cry, just stared. Staring at nothing in particular you stomach felt as if it were twisting itself inside out. A soft groan leaving you lips as you slowly faded into unconsciousness.

Eyes opening one last time to see a figure with a beer gut standing over top of you.

So here you were. Wrapping your hundredth sandwich of the day. Handing them off to people preparing for patrol. That’s how you met Jesse.

Over a while, you began to break from your shell. You kept a small circle, a few people who volunteered to work in Jackson’s theater, putting on plays and performances when the movies available got stale. And Jesse. He mocked you for your accent, you mocked him for his, you’d sneak him extra food, have arm wrestled over the freshly polished wooden counters, and banter. You couldn’t ask for a better friend that understood you.

Your uncle seemed to think the opposite.

“You and that Jesse seems to be getting along swell.” He muttered quietly. Peeling potatoes hurriedly.

The Tipsy Bison was quiet. The wooden floorboards creaking intermittently whenever someone took a step. It was just the two of you. Prepping for open, you’d rather be doing anything else.

“He fine.” You shrugged dismissively. Washing the used cutlery and beer glasses.

“Look out for that boy. You know their type only want one thing.” He huffed. Wiping his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, continuing to peel the dirty skin.

You bit your cheek. Keeping quiet as a soft exhale left your lips. Blinking slowly, divulging into thought. Jesse was an alright guy, they got along, had fun hanging out. But you never considered him in such a way. It made you snarl and cringe at the thought, gross.

The door to the establishment opened slowly. Your head quickly wiping to the entrance. Ready to cuss out the same alcoholics that kept entering every ten minutes to question if you were open. But it was someone completely different.

Taking notice of the shorter girl who’d found her way inside. Short auburn hair being put into a lazy low bun, clothes randomly mismatched, and impressively dirty converse, soft freckles peppered her face. Her eyes quickly flickering from your face to look down at the polished table.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. Your brow furrowed in confusion. Waiting for her to state her business.

“Can I help you?” You questioned snappily. Cocking your head to the side, coming off more unpleasant than intended.

Her head swiftly came up. Seeming to come up from whatever daze she’d been in. Gulping and nervously clearing her throat.

“Two sandwiches, please?” She asked quietly, sounding more of a question than a order. Her voice cracked and brittle, a clear anxiousness on her face. A shake in her tone. Looking down at her hands as she played with them.

“We’re clo—”

“Nah it's good. Maria gave special orders for them.” Seth interrupted from the kitchen.

“Ellie.” A pale hand met your field of vision. Apparently so, you were left with her.

You returned the shake. Exchanging names with her. Returning back to your duties, a look of disinterest on your face. Scrubbing away at the cutlery.

Clearly, the situation was somewhat awkward. Ellie nervously shifted on her heels as your eyes bored through her soul. You weren’t one to catch onto social cues.

“So you’re friends with Jesse?” She piped up. Returning your gaze, anxious to look a way.

“We hang out time to time.” You responded dismissively. Unsure as to why she cared, specks of water from your scrubbing splashing onto your cheeks and the table

“Yeah. I see the two if you together all the time.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

You questioned. A stern look on your face as your jaw clenched. Head tilted as you watched her body language. Watching how her eyes nervously darted around the room to avoid yours. Taking a long exhale.

“I’ve just seen you around, I dunno, you seem cool.” She shrugged, a light tinge of pink on her cheeks

“I am?”

Time felt impossibly slow. Seth was able to make a sandwich in less than three minutes. It felt torturous as to how long it was taking him.

“Some friends and I were planning on sneaking out..” Ellie whispered, wide eyes peering up at you with hope.

“Jesse’ll be there…”

You choose to stay quiet. Not used to being around much people. You weren’t the social setting type. But that and spending your off week peeling potatoes and washing dishes. The choice was clear.

Uneven footsteps could be heard from behind you. Seth lugging two sandwiches in his hands. A thin lipped smile as he handed them off the the auburn haired girl.

“Two steak sandwiches.”

“Thanks, Joel will love ‘em.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Ellie biting her bottom lip, Seth standing wide with both hands on his hips, and you, straight faced and stiff.

Seth looked between the pair of you. Analyzing the both of you, Ellie’s poker face subpar at best.

“Right. Well, best get back to work.” He smiled at Ellie, softly patting your shoulder and turning away.

Ellie watched intently as Seth hobbled away. Turning her attention back to you as he turned the corner. A shy smile on her face as she looked up at you expectantly.

“Think about it. Alright? You could bring your boyfriend or whatever, and it’ll be fun.”She nervously stammered, voice slowly trailing off. Waiting for you to acknowledge her not so subtle inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” You questioned, tilting your head cluelessly. Your tone dull.

It was hard for anyone to truly have a conversation with you. A difficult girl to crack. The tension between you was palpable. You on the other hand, none the wiser.

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. A dorky grin etching across her face. A soft uncontrollable giggle leaving her lips

“Alone.” You clarified. Arms crossed against your chest defensively, for what? You weren’t sure.

She smiled like a child. Feeling giddy enough to race around the bar. Settling on controlling herself.

“Okay, i’ll see you around— tonight! I’ll see you tonight and around.” She placed an emphasis on the ‘and’. A blush creeping across her face as she slowly crept towards the door.

“Bye..”

“Bye, Ellie.”

She pushed open the door. Scurrying out of sight. You watched from the windows as she walked to the stables. A small pep in her step.

You felt.. odd. Blinking irregularly, you’d never interacted with a person like this. It felt nice, enjoyable even.

Hearing familiars rough footsteps heard from behind you. A calloused hand landed on your shoulder. Seth’s eyes following yours.

“I know a cat fight when I see it.” His voice rasped. Eyes narrowed as he watched Ellie practically skip away.

“Don’t fight over that, Jesse. There’s better guys here, you’ll find the one.” He gently patted your shoulder, walking off.

You shook your head in amusement, Gripped the dish rag tightly. Brows knit together. Something that could be considered a smile etching across your lips.

You looked forward to tonight.

[meownotgood]

let us live, if we must die. / chapter three: eclipse

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 15.3k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, reader has many Thoughts, hurt / comfort, aki comforting reader, angst, but don't worry they're figuring things out

notes: thank you for patiently waiting for this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!! the next chapter will be long as well, so I appreciate your patience again... love you and appreciate you

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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You always knew Aki was royalty. 

In the time since you first hid away in this forest, you've learned to take necessary precautions. You track the whereabouts of demons each time you go out, drawing them away with spells, and watching for fresh footprints. You learned to attune yourself completely to the magic circle you created, to be sure you'll catch the faint waves of an unfamiliar aura the moment it enters. 

Spells can summon certain books from a handful of easy to find materials, and those books can then be used to summon more. Your mother's grimoires, the few you managed to take with you when you fled the city, became your gateway into a world you'd never once known. 

Deciphering magical tomes takes patience. It's a lengthy process, but it's worth it. You've learned the means to make valuable potions, and you've mastered spells that could save your life: invisibility, hypnosis, spell-shields. With so much time on your hands, and with the unbound freedom to do so, you have no reason to ever stop honing your magic. 

You can always learn more, you can always be safer. You must be prepared for every situation, and you need to take all outcomes into account. No-one can be trusted; no-one but yourself. In the moment of truth, you can't afford to make any mistakes. You need to be ready. For anything, and everyone. 

And so, when an inexplicable, elven, injured stranger comes knocking — and promptly passes out — at your door, the first damn thing you're going to do is check all his pockets. 

It doesn't take the wisdom of a thousand year old wizard to know he was from the city. The kingdom is the only notable settlement for miles. There's small towns here and there. Farmland you'll pass if you're making your way to the gates. No offense to him — to Aki, right, you still need to learn his name — but he doesn't seem like a farm boy. Or an adventurer. Or royalty, for that matter. 

You couldn't have known. Obviously, he'd be from the city, but royalty? An alleged demon-hunter and a man of royalty, how does that make any sense? 

Staring up at the shadow-filled ceiling of your bedroom, you pull your blanket up to your chin, and rub your pained temple with two fingers. You can't seem to get comfortable, no matter how much you've been tossing and turning in your bed. The living room has been silent. Aki is probably asleep now. Your mind can't seem to stop racing, either, and perhaps that's why you can't catch any sleep. 

The clothes he showed up in were simple. Racking your brain and snuggling into your bed, you bring yourself back to the moment you met him. You recall the discomfort in his expression, the crimson on his palm. The way moonlight framed him with dark hues and fuzzy edges. 

You don't know enough about jewelry to be able to tell if the earrings on his pointed ears are the expensive sort. They're simple, black, and made with smooth metal. You remember seeing a gemstone you couldn't recognize, delicately placed in the center of a hanging star. Now that you're thinking about it, they could be worth more than your life, if you're unlucky. Or maybe they're worth nothing, you suppose. Just the sort of imitations they sell for substantial mark-ups at early morning markets. 

After the mysterious stranger passed out on your doorstep, you dragged him inside and out of the rain. You didn't have a choice in the matter at the time, really. He was already limp and Gods, was he heavy. Setting up the cot and plopping him onto it was the true challenge. 

Miraculously, you found no other major injuries once you inspected him. And thankfully, most of the plant life you collected that day is perfect for healing. 

Thankfully for him, at least. You weren't exactly thrilled to spend your entire stock on someone else. You'll have to put your plans to practice potion-making on hold, you suppose. In any case, he came at just the right time. Thank the Gods for that. 

The gash on his side was as dire as you thought. It was a jagged, clearly painful slice, no doubt made by the trained swipe of a demon's talons, and enough to make you wince when you removed his shirt to examine it. Demons usually aim for the throat, whenever possible. Aki is lucky he managed to throw one of them off its aim. 

You tended to the wound quickly, cleaning it with fresh water, and salving it with herbs. Finally, you wrapped his torso in makeshift bandages, tearing off parts of your cape when you began to run out. 

You rinsed his shirt, scrubbing what stains you could out of the fabric. Upon further inspection, you noticed his hands were covered in scrapes. His fingers are long and thin. Pretty, almost. His palms were calloused, rough to the touch. Dried blood was caked into his skin. Carefully, you scrubbed the blood from his palms and his knuckles, while you tried to keep your gaze from drifting up to his face. A pointless endeavor, in the end. 

His hair fanned out around him, still slightly-damp. His brows were pinched as he slept. Warm firelight danced softly over his features: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, messy bangs. You forced yourself to look away, your face growing hot. You can't get distracted. Before he wakes, you have more important things you need to take care of. 

Once you were all finished patching him up, you leant close to make sure he was still sleeping; his chest rose and fell steadily, he exhaled in slow, calm breaths. Then, you proceeded to rummage through what he had on him. If you couldn't pick his brain yet, your best shot at discerning who he is or what he's after would be to search his belongings — and that you did. 

His pants had no pockets on the back, but two in the front. The left pocket was empty, save for one silver coin. Money means nothing to you, and so you returned it, right where it was. A promise to get out of your hair eventually was the only payment you needed. 

The other pocket, however, did carry something. Something very, very terrible. 

In the right pocket of his trousers, you found a small, gold medallion. It was smooth, circular, with a sparkling blue gem in the middle — reminiscent of the sea, and the color of his eyes. Intricate engravings surrounded the stone: runic text you couldn't quite make out in the low light, and the sun, the moon. Along with a winged dragon, curled around the empty space. 

Your heart sank so deep in your chest you just about let it drown, and that's when you knew you were absolutely doomed. 

This is the kingdom's symbol, the kingdom's royal crest. Commoners and knights are allowed to carry similar motifs, but only someone of great importance would have a medallion with this stone, and these exact symbols. 

Sapphires are only meant to be worn by descendants of royal families. They're priceless. Imitations can rarely capture their luster, although creating them is punishable with prison time — and Gods, with the way this gem sparkles when you hold it close to the fire, your head is practically spinning. 

You hold the medallion in shaky, unsure hands, unable to tear your gaze away. The room begins to twirl around you, and the gem inside shimmers, with a depth unlike anything you've ever seen. As though worlds upon universes are hidden inside it. Your throat feels as dry as a desert, and your heart won't stop hammering. You glance up. None the wiser, the man you've saved is still sleeping peacefully, his features soft, and his lips parted slightly as he lets go of faint, steady breaths. 

Oh, you've really done it this time. Could you have crossed paths with anyone worse? 

Perhaps he's a thief. He could have stolen the medallion, snatched it right out of the pockets of some oblivious royal advisor, and now he's hiding out here to avoid getting caught. As much as you want to believe that, as much as you want to imagine you don't have a man of importance in your cottage right now, that conclusion hardly makes sense. 

This man, a thief? And one skilled enough to steal a royal medallion, of all things? With the way Aki came stumbling into your magic circle and onto your doorstep, you doubt he'd know subtlety if he was hit over the head with it. 

He doesn't talk like how you imagined royalty would — Granted, how does a royal person talk? You always imagined some sort of overly flowery, fancy speech. Like the kind in the books you've read, about places and tales you'd much rather escape to. 

Aki. You've never heard a name quite like his before. Just a few syllables, just a few letters. Kings and princes and squires usually have much fancier names, don't they? The knight in the book you've been reading is named Heinrich Vincent, and the princess is called Miss Edith Violet. Perhaps only the most important people have important names. Or perhaps, those books are just as you assumed they were: fairytales, and nothing more. 

Aki is someone special then, he must be. That's your assumption — it's the only assumption you can come to, despite how the very thought makes your chest ache. He's probably a royal guard, someone with a bit of fighting experience, who thought he could stand a chance against a forest full of devils. Maybe he's some duke's distant cousin. He could be a mere knight, accepted as royalty after he became a princess' suitor. 

Honestly, he could be anything, for all you care. Your magic is what caused him to nearly die out there. It was your spell, your doing that drew the demons together. You, heralding demons with your magic, like you're one of the archmages the history books warn about. 

Your magic. Damn it all. The predicament you've found yourself in is so much worse than you ever could have imagined. 

As the night stretched on and the rain battered your cottage, your more present problem helped to keep your worries at bay. You kept busy, preparing his medicine, and tending to the roaring fireplace. He mumbled in his sleep, occasionally. It wasn't really anything of note, merely fragmented sentences that barely made sense. Mumbled swears and slurred, barely-there apologies to no-one in particular. 

When the man awakened, you held your resolve. You ignored the skip in your heart when his soft eyes met yours. You kept your unpracticed voice from wavering, and didn't shy away from any conversations. 

It's been a very long time since you've heard someone else talk, especially this much. Those knights from ages ago only spared you a moment and a handful of words. Your own voice is comfortable, a melody your ears would gladly be wrapped in. You hate this, though. You despise the way you sound when your tone is threatening to wobble. The lump in your throat is all his fault; you can't think when he's speaking to you, can't focus on anything but the firelight as it flickers over his face. 

And Aki's voice is smooth. Ridiculously smooth. He sounds assured when he speaks, his tone deep, words careful. You can't help but be hung onto everything he says to you, your spine tingling and your heart racing. It's strange, to hear a voice besides your own for once, and to have someone else filling the empty space in your quiet little cottage. 

Aki's voice holds the ocean, every word plunging you into deeper depths, until he has warm waves rolling gently over your shoulders. Heat and exhilaration engulf you whole at the simplest of sentiments. Thinking to yourself, you toss and turn again, your worn, wooden bed creaking slightly from your movement. Even now, you can't help but think of him. You picture his voice, quiet and calm. You imagine the soft smiles he gave you, and your veins surge with a feeling you can't possibly describe. 

You could listen to him speak forever. But Aki and forever are two luxuries you aren't afforded. 

If he ever discovers who you are or what you've done, you won't even get a trial. He would hate you. You could never be allies, not with the secrets you hold. Not when he is royal, and you are a witch. 

A man with such important ties to the kingdom, royalty or not, could make your fate whatever he wished. They'd schedule your execution for the very next morning, surely. The sooner you're disposed of, the better it is for the land. Hundreds would crowd the square to gawk at the witch a nobleman captured. Your poor mother would be frowning upon you from the heavens, as she watched her only child suffer her same fate. 

Even as your eyes met those of your executioner, your hands tied behind your back with your wrists rubbed raw from the rope, and your head rested over a thick piece of wood, you wouldn't fight back. None of them would see an ounce of your magic, for better, or for worse. It would die with you, and everything would be your fault. You should have been more careful. Less kind. 

Would Aki want to dispose of you himself? Could he be the one to bring his blade down on your neck? Would his normally-gentle expression be contorted in disgust, guilt, or conviction, as he whispered a deathly quiet I'm sorry to you, before his hands tightened on the hilt? 

You aren't sure, nor do you want to know. If he ever proves dangerous, in order to survive, you would have to take matters into your own hands. He seems to trust you now, but if you became enemies, if you were ever forced to —

Aki's soft, slight smile drifts through your mind right then. In your dark bedroom, you can't help but groan, and cover your face with your hands. 

No, you couldn't, you wouldn't. And it isn't just because it's him. It isn't simply because Aki is inexplicably kind and intriguing and the first person to speak with you in years. When you imagine him discovering the truth, learning who you are and deciding he hates you, a metaphorical knife twists into your gut. You'd rather he just take you to the kingdom and have you dealt with there, because even with your life on the line, you know you couldn't hurt him. 

This man could very well lead you to your end. So why, why did you tell him to stay? 

Death has always scared you, always haunted you. You've heard the stories they tell of mages, tales painting them as wicked beings who crush those who stand in their way under their feet. You want to be better. Pin you as soft, weak, or everything in between, you hardly care. Magic was meant to help, not harm. One day, perhaps far after your lifetime, magic and death won't walk hand in hand. One day, you hope you might be free. 

And Aki — he would have died without you, you're sure of it. He might not be an adventurer, but you can buy that he's an experienced fighter. His body is covered in scars, in slashes left by devil claws or teeth. His palms are rough and calloused, which would make sense if he often wields a sword. He claimed to be a devil hunter, and when he spoke, the clearest sense of desperation present in his voice, you couldn't help but believe him. 

You are a mage. A terrible, less than human blight, according to those in the kingdom. And Aki might be royalty. If you ever wound up following him to the city like he offered, you could be punished for even laying a single finger on him. 

But were you just supposed to let him perish? 

When you stood frozen in place at your door, clutching your heart as thunder broke through the night sky above, you were reminded of the kingdom. Of the death you witnessed there: the deaths of strangers, your acquaintances, your family. Your mind whirled with the image of the man you saw through the door's peephole. Chest heaving, blood dripping over his fingers; dull crimson, like the blade of an executioner's sword. 

You've seen the way one looks when light is slipping from their eyes, with no hope left of clinging onto it. You imagined the sapphire spark to Aki's eyes fading into nothingness; crushed, and crumpling. Right then, your mind must have made itself up. 

Aki doesn't deserve to die. Royalty be damned, he doesn't deserve to be eaten by those demons, left behind in an endless forest, afraid and alone. Trusting him here might wind up as the worst, most regrettable decision you've ever made. And yet, he has already trusted you with his life, hasn't he? 

Your heart just needs to take the first, fatal step. Perhaps you need to let yourself trust. 

Fucking hell. You need to stop your incessant thinking and let yourself sleep, that's what. Honestly, you've never felt this stressed in your entire life. How in the world are you supposed to handle this? Handle him? 

He won't discover you're a mage, you'll make certain of that. You can't afford to be naive, no matter how you might be feeling. It doesn't matter how fast your heart is pounding right now as you lie in bed, sleepless, unable to keep your steady stream of thoughts from flowing back to him. Simply put, it's your fault he's in this mess in the first place — and you're going to be the one to fix it. 

With a few small adjustments, you can make sure all of the magical items in your cottage are properly hidden away. You could heal him faster, if you were allowed to use magic. A potion would have him feeling better in no time, a healing spell could seal his wound almost immediately. Though, obviously, you'll have to work with the old ways for now. You'll need to make sure you're waking up early tomorrow to gather the necessary materials. 

His wound will need to be tended to frequently, to keep it from getting infected. You'll prepare a concoction of herbs for him to take twice a day, and that'll help to keep his energy up. Rest will be important too, of course. There's plenty of normal, boring books strewn around your cottage, if he needs something to put him to sleep. As long as everything goes to plan, he should be fine to leave in a couple of days. 

Right. Just a few days, and he'll be gone. The stranger you met by chance, who you saved on purpose, will fade into the forest until he becomes a fuzzy, unimportant blip in your memory. 

Somehow, the thought doesn't fill you with the relief you would've expected. 

In your cupboard, you still have some white-hazel left. Normally, the small, thin-petaled flowers don't grow during this time of year. You've decided to start keeping some extras as of late, just in case. White-hazel makes the mind foggy. The dried petals have to be sealed carefully in a jar, because the smell alone can get into your head. You would use small batches of it to ward away demons, before your distraction spells were perfected. 

You doubt you'll ever be able to forget him. However, with a potent enough dosage, if you gave Aki some of those petals, you could erase every memory he has of you. 

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover. Once he's healthy, you'll send him on his way with a filled flask — a potion, infused with a hint of your magic. He'd only need to take a sip or two. Then, everything up until the moment he entered the forest would be lost. He wouldn't remember you, or your cottage, or the pain the demons brought upon him. It's better this way, really. 

In the meantime, you must avoid growing closer to him. Revealing even the smallest of details could put you at risk, before you have the chance to make good on your plan. He doesn't have to know your name. Nor anything about you. 

Aki is nothing more than a stranger, an unlucky coincidence, an empty promise. Ultimately, he will stay that way. 

When you eventually drift off to sleep, it isn't until hours later. Your heart stays tied up in knots, and you dream of nothing but a cold, shuddering darkness. 

— 

One thing's for sure, if Aki is a man of royal blood, he certainly doesn't act like it. 

He isn't… uncouth, as a fancy nobleman might call it. Actually, he's pretty damn polite. He always keeps his space in the living room tidy. His voice is gentle when he speaks to you, dripping with a thick sense of kindness you aren't at all used to. In the few days since he first started staying with you, he's been nothing but patient and respectful.

He's kept to resting, mostly. After the first night, you managed to move all of your spellbooks and magical items to your bedroom. By the second, you had properly concealed everything behind magic that should be impossible to detect. Although you weren't about to give him a reason, you finally made sure to mention he should continue sleeping in the living room, and avoid entering your bedroom under any circumstances. 

When you told him this morning, Aki didn't question it. He flashed you a slightly amused look, while he tugged on the laces of his boots to tighten them, and plainly, he answered, Of course. It's your bedroom, obviously I wouldn't go in. Do you take me as rude? 

Huh. No, he's far from rude, even though you never wound up formulating a response. He doesn't complain about the bitter herbs you have him take. He barely winces or grumbles while you tend to his wound, rewrapping his bandages. 

Sometimes you'd find him pacing around the living room to stretch his sore legs, but otherwise, he's been getting plenty of rest in his cot — just as you'd instructed. He's so quiet some days, if you're reading or tidying things in your bedroom, you'll tend to forget he's even there. Aki is different from what you were expecting, that's all. 

He's a good sort of different, though. Maybe it's your fault, for having such silly expectations in the first place. You thought people from the kingdom — especially people of royalty — were supposed to be stuck-up, selfish, boring. Overly-posh, and with nothing interesting to talk about besides themselves. 

You admired those from the castle when you were younger. You wanted to be noticed by them, or maybe you wanted to be them. Now, you can only imagine royalty as bland and heartless. They spend their days cooped up in their castles, tending to dull affairs. And for their nights, they attend such fancy dinners and parties, while the commoners in the kingdom are left to rot. 

Aki serves to defy all of those expectations. 

Granted, the moments you've spent together since the night you first took him in have been few and far between. He didn't seem to notice how you initially avoided him, and he didn't protest when you'd leave for the entire day to forage. He doesn't comment whenever you stow away, the door to your bedroom shut tight, while you keep to yourself for hours at a time. It's difficult to find words whenever he's near. You get choked up inside, your heart pounds in your ears like that of a frightened rabbit, and you aren't sure if it's because of the lingering fear, or perhaps the proximity. 

Tending to his wound shouldn't be the event your overthinking brain makes it out to be, but Aki sits so close, closer than anyone else has ever been. You can hear the echoes of his breathing, can feel his soft and scarred skin underneath your fingertips. His muscles tense as you press gently to the sore scrape on his side. 

Can he hear the quickened edge to your breathing, too? You wonder if Aki knows he's already killing you from the inside; no-one has ever trusted you like this, just as you've never trusted another. It's relieving to know your foolishness is mutual. 

Your conversations while you're patching him up are pleasant, albeit brief. They're space and silence fillers. Still, it's the only time where you truly get to talk to him. Where you can exchange more than a couple of words, at least. You know you only have yourself to blame, but you don't want him to realize you know more than you're letting on. You try to keep your time together and your questions to a minimum. 

Aki explains that although he's found himself in plenty of scuffles with devils before, he hasn't been wounded like this in quite a long while. Weaker devils rarely faze him, but this time, he was distracted. It'll be relieving to finally recover, he says. He wants to be able to move, to fight again. He's been growing a little stir-crazy here, apparently. 

In a hurry to leave, are you? You mumbled, while you carefully pressed a damp rag to his skin, your gaze focused on the task. The fireplace crackled from beside you, warming your limbs and chasing away the cold chill of the night. You miss the kingdom that much? 

I don't miss it at all. Aki answered, not missing a beat. He shivered from the coolness of the cloth, a fire-lit glow pooling over his slightly-tanned skin. I just feel like I could be more useful. I'm not accustomed to… to this. You're the first person I've ever owed my life to. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can begin finding some way to repay you. 

You wanted to reassure him repayment won't be necessary. In the end, you held your tongue. 

Aki continued, and with nothing else to fill the air, you listened. He's quite a good story-teller, in your opinion. As your fingers curiously felt the ridges of another deep scar on his stomach, Aki recounted the tale behind it: he was far from the city. Miles and miles, in fact. The devil he encountered was three times his size. It had a body made of bone, with a wolf-like, hollow skull, illuminated only by red eyes that shone like glowing, flickering flames. 

And you defeated it? You hum in slight disbelief, a brow raised; this time, you're looking up at him, bandages held loosely in your hands. All by yourself? 

Yes, all by myself, Aki answers, tone smooth and unflinching. His expression can't be read, but you swear you catch a hint of a barely-there smile on his lips. 

Defeating it was the easy part, He says, pointing to the jagged scar, Save for the blow it landed right here. I followed its trail into the mountains, and by the time I tracked it down, I was utterly lost. I slept out there for three days before I finally found my way back to the closest town. I showed up exhausted, hungry, and covered in every kind of scrape and bruise you can picture. 

You smooth out his bandages and secure them with a tight knot. Sounds like how we met. 

Yeah. Those townspeople weren't as kind as you are, though. They fed me river snails. 

Right then, you can't stop yourself from laughing. You're chuckling through your words — he sounded so damn serious — and you're gazing up at him with a rather playful grin. 

Snails? You question, Did they taste disgusting? 

Aki is smirking slightly, a potent spark burning in the back of his sapphire eyes. They were awful. Way worse than any medicine you could ever give me. I guess the people there thought the snails had healing properties- It took me a whole week to recover, by the way. And the inns were out of rooms, so can you guess where they had me stay? 

I'm not sure. Where? 

A brothel. 

When you freeze, your eyes going as wide as a full moon, Aki clears his throat, and he nervously glances between you and the fireplace. It was uneventful. Very, very uneventful. Definitely nothing like what you must be imagining- sorry. We should save the rest of those stories for another day. Right? 

You remember rolling your eyes, before you breathed an amused exhale, and proclaimed that yes, it certainly sounds like a stupid story, but you would like that. 

The logical side of you says you probably shouldn't. Aki isn't your ally, nor could he ever be your friend. Looking forward to the few moments you spend together is pointless, when the both of you will be forced to forget them in a few day's time. 

Aki's experiences are enthralling. His voice is like a damn vice, lulling you into getting lost in him. You haven't been anywhere but the kingdom many ages ago and this forest. But Aki has seen towns, oceans, and mountains. In pursuit of the devils he's set out to slay, he's been to places you could only dream of. He is a dream you cannot have, a friend you must not make. 

As the days stretch on and on, and as your forgotten dreams meld with the intricate stories Aki recounts for you, those little talks seem to stick inside your mind. 

If only things were different. If only you weren't you, and he wasn't what you know him to be. A man of royalty, conversing with a witch. 

Darkness will always be ruined by light. 

For now though, you have to focus on the present. Aki has been healing well from his injury. In only a few days, he's recovered most of his energy. Although he still needs a bit more time before he can put a true amount of strain on himself, he's fine to walk, at least. Fine to leave the cottage, as long as he isn't wandering far. 

And he's well enough that he can finally join you, as you venture into the depths of the forest to search for the belongings he left behind. 

— 

"Do you think my bag is still out here?" 

Staring down at your feet, you breathe a light tsk at that, and you kick a pebble with your next step forwards to send it skittering in front of you. "Possibly. Demons don't tend to mess with human junk. What did you have in there?" 

Aki hums in thought, his brows pinching. He attempts to count by using his fingers. "I had a notebook, a pen, some ink, some gold… some clothes, I think. Nothing too important." 

"If they got into your bag, maybe they'd take the coins," You answer methodically, "But otherwise, everything should be right where you left it. Keep an eye out, and let me know if anything starts looking familiar." 

The bright rays of the sun warm your bare skin, shining onto your arms and shimmering over the rippling, shallow water. You've been following the river's edge for a while now, walking along the path it creates while occasionally veering closer to the forest to look around. Aki couldn't recall exactly where he was attacked; not that you can blame him. That night was dark, stormy, and either way, every tree and bush and field of grass looks exactly the same. However, he did remember hearing the babble of the river nearby. Following it gives you the best chance of finding his things, you suppose. 

Today, the sky is bright blue and cloudless. Gravel crunches under your boots. The river laps at the rocks, and morning songbirds chirp from the distant trees. With your hands shoved in your pants pockets, and your gaze focused on your feet, you make sure to take careful steps over fallen logs and twisted roots. Aki keeps pace beside you, following you more than he's following the river. 

His hair is half-tied up like the day you met him, showing off his delicate earrings and pointed ears. He looks much different in the sunlight. More handsome, surely, spotted rays shining through the forest's canopy to paint amber patterns across his skin. The sleeves of his tunic have been rolled up to expose his scarred forearms. 

He keeps a healthy level of distance from you, not straying too far or walking too close. He's glancing between the path ahead, the forest, and sometimes to you. You're glad. If he was any closer, you doubt you'd be able to keep your thoughts clear. 

Demons — or devils, as he calls them — are few in number during the early morning hours, so you made sure to leave with Aki just after dawn. By now, you likely have two or three hours at most, before the devils start appearing from their dens. 

You're already halfway along the river's trail. You should be able to finish searching, and you'll have plenty of time to head back to the cottage. You'll plan to collect some herbs and mushrooms on the way back. That way, locating Aki's belongings or not, this trip won't end up a total bust. 

You'll find his things though, hopefully. This side of the forest was where you placed your distraction rune. 

Aki has to walk a bit slower than you. Clearly, he's trying not to let the pain still left in his side show; he doesn't wince or falter much from the pace you've set. Although you don't mind, you aren't used to having to wait for someone else to catch up. You fall into a rhythm of skipping ahead, hopping over stones, and then stopping once you get a short way in front of him. Aki gives you an entertained look when you wait, turning back to glance at him. You decide to deliberately slow down to keep yourself at his side, and you try to ignore the heat you feel budding at the back of your neck. 

The sun's warmth is calming. It shines sparsely through the trees, evoking a heavy feeling in your veins when it hits your skin. If it wasn't for Aki walking so close beside you, you'd probably have fallen asleep standing up. You roll your shoulders backward, and stretch your arms to the sky. Then, you yawn, trying to blink away the fuzziness in your vision. To no avail, unfortunately. 

"Tired?" Aki pipes up. You hadn't noticed he was looking at you until his voice startled you awake. 

You rub your eyes, shrugging. "Kind of. But I'll be fine." 

If you instead were honest with him, with yourself, you are very tired. Your head feels weighed down by thick stones, as large and cumbersome as the ones in the river bed. Your limbs feel weaker and more sluggish than usual, as though they're actively working against you. Since Aki started staying in your cottage, you haven't slept well at all. Last night, you kept tossing and turning, thinking just to think some more. Your mind won't keep steady. 

You hate not knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. You hate that you can't figure him out, no matter how much you think or try to pry information from him. Your messy plan could go awry a thousand different ways because of a thousand different things and — 

Aki is still staring at you. Blinking, you turn away, hoping he didn't notice you zoning out. 

"You sure?" Aki asks, a brow raised. Okay, he totally noticed. "That's probably the fourth or fifth time you've yawned in the past five minutes. We can take a break, if you'd like. I wouldn't mind pushing our search back to tomorrow." 

"I'm okay, really," You scoff. You kick another pebble, and watch as it flies into the river, pushed by the current for a bit before it slowly sinks to the bottom. "Let's just hurry. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be safe from demons." 

For a couple of moments, you both fall into silence. The only sound to echo between you is your boots crunching the gravel. But still, Aki's gaze is on you: astute and sparkling. Even though you're staring at your shoes, you can clearly see him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, his mouth pressed into a focused line. He's pondering. Was it something you said? 

You didn't mess up, did you? 

Aki breathes a small hmm, and he calmly concludes, "You aren't familiar with devils, are you?" 

Suddenly, you're stopping in your tracks. Aki freezes beside you. His expression is unreadable as you turn to face him, giving him a particularly annoyed look. 

"What makes you say that?" You retort, hardly trying to hide the bit of harshness laced through your tone. You've been fighting the stupid creatures for almost your entire life, of course you're knowledgeable about them. Knowledgeable enough, at least. 

"Well, you call them demons," Aki replies, sounding indifferent. "Pretty sure my great grandparents were the last ones to call them that." 

"It's the same thing." You turn back to following the river, and continue walking while you speak. "I've survived out here for as long as I have, with demons lurking in every inch of this forest. And you think I know nothing of them?" 

Demons. You couldn't recall what your parents might've called them, or what those in the kingdom knew them as. During your earliest days in the forest, you remember summoning a book on, to quote the book's title: Formidable Demons and Magical Creatures. The book must have been centuries old. At the time, you didn't have enough experience to decipher it. You flipped through the pages and memorized the illustrations of "known demons", before tucking the tome away on your shelf, to be read at a later date. 

Damn. You have plenty of first-hand experience, but if most of your knowledge is sourced from some dusty old book you never actually wound up finishing, maybe he's right. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," He apologizes, speeding up a bit so he can continue walking beside you. "I'm not knocking how resourceful you are, it's impressive. Perhaps I should have worded it differently. You're familiar with devils, yes. But I think your perspective of them might be much different from mine." 

Your eyes narrow. Thinking, you cross your arms in front of you, and your gaze drifts back to the path ahead. 

"Okay, so," You start, your words a bit less assured this time, "I know demons- devils- come in multiple forms. They feed off of fear, they're always carnivores, and they can only be slain, they'll never die of old age. There. Promise you'll cut me some slack if I missed anything." 

"Don't worry," Aki hums, "That was perfect. Devils grow stronger in the presence of fear. I'm sure you already know as much. They become drawn to the fear people have for them, like a moth to firelight." 

When you find yourself absently glancing back towards Aki, your eyes wind up meeting his own. Holding his gaze feels soft, as though you're falling into clouds. You examine the distinct, pointed shape of his ears. His earrings shimmer once they catch the sunlight, and sway slightly with each of his steps. 

"Correct me if this isn't right, but I've heard demons love elves." Your brows form the slightest pinch. "Supposedly, their blood is ripe with magic." 

Aki laughs. "Those stories about elves are just tales. My blood is no more delicious than yours. And either way, even if it was true, I'd wager devils haven't done a very good job at making me their prey." 

"Makes sense. I guess those creatures don't care whose blood they're spilling, as long as they can get their fix of it." 

"What else do you think of them?" Aki asks, his head tilted slightly in your direction. "Of devils, I mean." 

You fall silent. Cautiously, carefully, you attempt to figure out what sort of answer Aki is wanting to hear. 

The oldest tales, just as old as the ones you once read about elves and kings and long-gone magical creatures, say devils were born jealous of humanity. They envied the magic humans were capable of using — and so, they sought to extinguish it. Your current understanding would tell you devils don't care for magic, or humanity, or jealousy. All they desire is destruction, for common folk and mages alike. 

The relationship between humanity and devils is reciprocal. Humans and elves are the only ones capable of destroying devils, but devils need people in order to grow stronger. Devils need their fear, their torment. Weaker devils will go after whatever they're capable of hunting, but intelligent devils know how to bend people to their advantage. They excel at manipulation. And as senseless as it might seem, devils do possess plenty of things humanity does not. 

You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, running your thumbs over the smooth leather and gold buckles. In response, you can only think to offer the most simple, obvious of statements. 

"I think anyone who chooses to make a deal with a devil is a fool." 

Aki goes quiet. Then, he grins, and breathes something of a half-laugh, half-sigh. The gentle sound does well to put you at ease. 

"Yeah," He replies, "Foolish, greedy, or desperate. Or perhaps all three. Careful-" 

Nearly tripping, you stop when he does. You almost walked right into a large log, where the river bends and breaks upon the mossy wood blocking its way. Aki briefly extends his hand out for you to take, but you hop over without his help, taking a large step over the log before returning your hands to your pockets. 

He's making that same endearing, pondering face again. 

"You've probably already heard this story, but," He begins, speaking while you both walk, "They say devils came into existence the day the elves cast their first spell. Mankind was impure. The Gods made devils our punishment for casting magic ripe with impurities. When elves first discovered healing spells, devils began to appear with the ability to heal themselves of any attack inflicted upon them. Humanity discovered fire magic. Then came devils with fire-drenched skin. Their bodies melted metal, and they scorched the ground they touched, leaving an ashen trail in their wake." 

You like the way Aki tells stories. He recounts them in such a deliberate way, as though he's reading directly from one of your fairytale books. This story is grim, and certainly one you've heard before. Yet, you can't stop the smile that begins to tug at your cheeks. 

"Mhmm. And then, the devils slaughtered everyone and left the world in ruin," You tease, glancing towards him playfully, your hands at your hips. "Do you enjoy scaring children with that old story?" 

"Occasionally. My version of it usually ends with humanity defeating the devils, though. You know, happy endings and such." 

"Right. A happy ending sounds nice. Don't want to scare them too much." 

Aki hums in agreement. "We could have one- a happy ending. That story isn't over yet." 

His story, or yours? 

You swallow, thickly and heavily. The trees above you whisper in the slight wind, and the river babbles, flowing steadily downstream. You try to keep your focus on the path ahead of you, instead of Aki walking beside you. 

"It's just a story," You assert. "Maybe magic was the source of demons a thousand odd years ago, but it hardly matters now." 

Aki's mouth forms the faintest pout, and he glances down at his shoes. "I'm sure it isn't much of a surprise, but I've never actually seen magic." 

"You probably never will," You answer, your voice turning somber, resolute. "People believe magic and mages to be dangerous. As long as they continue to think anyone capable of casting magic is a devil themselves, you won't even hear an utterance of the word." 

"Do you agree with them?" Aki asks flippantly, a brow raised. 

"Huh? What do you mean?" 

"Do you think mages are dangerous?" 

Out of everything he could have said, everything he could have possibly mentioned, why would Aki ask you such a question? 

Right then, you're sure your heart must have defied gravity and reason to drop directly into your throat. You nearly choke. Your spine prickles, unease running rampant through your system. You aren't sure how you manage to come up with any words in the first place, but somehow, you decide to talk without thinking. 

Your shoulders feel tense. "Obviously. Magic could be used to level a city, to mind control a king, to win any war. Or to start one, for that matter." 

Aki hums. For once, his smooth, persistently calm voice grows close to getting on your nerves. "It's difficult. Magic has already done so much harm, but it could do just as much good. When I think of mages, I just see… people. People who want to survive. They aren't monsters or devils." 

You stop in front of him, and he stops with you. Aki's head tilts slightly. As though he knows you want to speak, he's just waiting for it. 

"You know," You're starting, brows pinched, arms crossed, "Those sorts of statements could get you strung up for heresy." 

"Good thing we're far from the city then, right?" 

Nearly, in a hazy mix of confusion and exhaustion and fear and admiration, you almost form a rebuttal. Your arms drop to your sides, and your hands become clenched into fists. Your lips part slightly, to say something your mind hasn't quite decided on yet, just to close at the tightening of your jaw. He's messing with you. He must be. 

Mages aren't people — You aren't like him, you are fundamentally different. Surely, he knows what mages truly are as well as you do. You were born with a spark in your veins and a fire at your fingertips. Humanity, and perhaps the Gods themselves are afraid of you. No-one can stomach you but yourself. Aki is but a man; a foolish, stupid mortal. And you were promised a cage. 

Aki's gaze on yours appears to soften, his arms crossed loosely, his gaze flickering from the conflict on your face to your stiffened posture. Nervously rubbing your arm with your palm, you can't meet his eyes anymore; you can only look away. Your vision chooses to focus elsewhere, on anything but him. Fortunately, just beyond where Aki is standing in front of you, if you squint, you can spot something at the edge of the trees. A leather bag, partially torn open, resting in a patch of grass and tiny flowers. 

"Hey, is that your stuff?" 

Aki's eyes widen, before he turns to look in the direction you've started pointing towards. 

"Well, shit." 

— 

The scene surrounding where Aki's bag lay discarded is true to what he previously described to you. 

As you approach, and as Aki kneels down to gather his things, you glance around the area. You find his sword amongst the grass a foot or so away, steel separated from hilt, the blade tainted with dull blood-stains. The steel is chipped — from gradual wear or from a devil's fangs, you aren't quite sure. His bag is crumpled. A medium-sized hole has been torn into the side, certainly made from a devil's sharp teeth. For now, you slide your pack from your shoulders, and allow him to put his belongings inside. 

There's no gold in his backpack, nor could he find any in the grass surrounding it, of course. There is, however, some rations, a spare tunic, a quill pen, and a notebook — still in his bag, so thankfully, the pages were kept dry from the rain. 

Aki fussed over losing a jar of ink, but you assured him it wouldn't be a problem. It'd be best to head into the woods anyways, to find herbs for him and food for the both of you. Black Dragon flowers are common in this area, and when crushed up, they can be used to make ink. If either of you could find a few blossoms, you'd be glad to make some for him. 

"In return," You said, as Aki rose to his feet, matching your gaze with a curious one, "See if you can find me some wood. A few branches might've fallen during the storm. I need something thick and sturdy. About this," You gesture with your hands — "Big." 

"Ah." He dusts the dirt from his knees with his palms, and hands your pack back to you when you reach out for it. "For firewood?" 

"No, silly. We have plenty. It's for carving." 

Aki smiles, perhaps considering, or perhaps recalling the little sculptures made from wood that are strewn throughout the shelves in your cottage. "Right. Deal." 

With a plan now in mind, you crammed what remained of Aki's bag into your own pack — to use for scrap material — and you ventured through the trees, and into the forest. 

It's much easier to keep your mind from wandering with a task to occupy you. Gathering some mushrooms for eating and finding the flowers you mentioned doesn't take too long. Together, you and Aki head a short ways into the forest, staying careful to keep far from where the devils often make their dens. This area is relatively safe regardless, but it's still good to be on your guard. You let yourself forget about your previous conversations, while you quietly show Aki the difference between the herbs he needs and the fauna he shouldn't touch. 

You don't talk much, only a few words at most, until you're busy gathering the last of what you need. 

Aki comes over, a smooth piece of wood held in his hands. Rested on your knees, you grab the stems of a handful of herbs, and swiftly tug to pull their roots from the ground. You glance up at him as he leans down to hand the wood to you. The canopy of trees is much thicker here. Shadows dance across his face, his arms, his palms and his clothes — still dusted with dirt from searching through undergrowth with you. 

Hardly befitting of royalty, isn't it? Isn't he? 

You smile to yourself, and chase away the thought. 

"Will this do?" Aki asks, turning the piece of wood over, while he runs his fingertips along its rough surface. "It's the best I've found so far." 

"Mhmm, that's perfect. Thank you." You take it from him, and reach for your pack beside you, flipping it open to stuff the wood inside. There's little space left, but eventually, you're able to fit it carefully beside a few small pouches of mushrooms and herbs. 

Aki stands. He hesitates, before he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his palm. "This… might be a stupid question. But it's still okay that I'm staying with you, right?" 

"Of course it is- It's fine." You shrug, your focus kept on the foliage. With more carefulness, you gather a few of the thickest leaves. They'll be good for sealing his wound, for guiding it to fully heal. "Why? You want to leave that badly, huh?" 

Aki tucks his hands into his pants pockets. "I don't want to intrude. That's all." 

"I already told you, you're staying until you get better. No protests." Your tone seems to carry a familiar lilt of annoyance, but to his surprise, when you stuff a bundle of herbs into your pack and glance up at him once you're finished, your gaze is warm. You're donning the slightest, softest smile. 

"And just so you know," You mutter, glancing between him and your backpack as you snap it's buckle shut, "Your company isn't unpleasant." 

"Huh." Aki breathes a light-hearted huff. "Is that a compliment?" 

"Partially." 

Glancing away, looking towards the forest, he can't help but mimic your smile — shyly, almost. It's stupidly endearing. You hate how endearing he is. 

"Your company isn't unpleasant either. I mean-" He stammers, "It's nice. I enjoy talking with you. I was thinking, if you'd like, when we get back, I could-" 

Still staring into the trees just beyond you, Aki stops. An abrupt, nerve-wracking pause follows, long enough and silent enough to have your gaze flickering over him. His jaw is set. His eyes are wide, his face is slightly panicked. You swallow, freezing up. Slowly, without moving a muscle, you follow where Aki is looking — just in time to see the bushes a fair distance in front of you rustle. 

The trees sway, whispering dark promises as the wind picks up, a sharp breeze gliding over your bare skin. It's probably nothing. No, it's surely nothing. The chance of a demon- a devil- traveling all the way out to this side of the forest without outside influence is slim. You know this, and yet — 

You're fine. You have to convince yourself, you need to remember that no matter what, you're going to be perfectly fine. If it is a devil, the most important thing is to keep your cool. Level your head and breathe deeply, just as you've learned and practiced, like the books you read have instructed. In, and then out. You need to breathe. 

It's fine. It might not detect you if you're able to stay calm. Perhaps you're panicking for no reason. You're exhausted, you're seeing things. Your weary mind is playing cruel tricks on you. The longer your stare lingers on those thick, rustling bushes and shadow-filled trees, the more your breath sharpens, the stronger your heart begins to thump — Fuck, why can't you just stay calm? 

Stay calm, stay calm. This is stupid, you're acting stupid. There's nothing, there has to be nothing; no danger, no devil waiting to attack and tear the both of you in two. You won't need to defend yourself, you won't have to blow your cover. What if he already knows? With the way he brought up mages earlier, maybe he's going to run and leave you to be ambushed, maybe he planned this, maybe — 

A gentle palm is placed on your shoulder, and you practically jump out of your own skin. 

You whip around to look at the man you nearly forgot was even there; Aki eyes you with concern, never tearing his gaze from you as you scramble to unsteady feet. Standing close beside him, closer than you should be, you're focused on the forest again. Stress is present in your features, while an obvious shake lingers in your limbs. 

"Aki-" You mumble, speaking on the edge of an anxiety-ridden whisper, "We need- Shouldn't we-" 

"We're fine," Aki answers calmly, quietly. He reaches for your hand, and he grabs it softly. His palm brushes your knuckles. His fingers caress your skin as he squeezes faintly, and your heart pounds so hard it displaces your ribs. "Look." 

He points, and you allow your hazy vision to come back into focus. Through the trees, approaching cautiously while hopping among the shadows, you spot the thin legs, patterned coat, and small horns of a baby Great Elk. 

Aki hums, "I've never seen a baby one before." He murmurs low enough for only you to hear, in pleasant disbelief. "They never get this close. Sorry, are you-" 

Suddenly, as he is turning towards you, you're pushing away, and yanking your hand away from his. 

"I'm fine," You answer, taking a few steps back. At the sound of your voice, no longer hushed, the baby elk runs, scampering back into the trees. Aki watches uselessly as you retrieve your backpack and sling it over your shoulders. "Let's just go."

Your voice is unsteady. Your gaze is focused on your shoes. You clutch the front of your cape, the space closest to your heart, and you press one hand to the back of the other. Idly, your palm runs over the shape of your own knuckles, as your teeth nervously find your bottom lip. 

You understand what it feels like to let fire dance in your palms, to have spell-spawned sparks flickering underneath your skin. This is far worse. The hand Aki touched feels as though it's burning. 

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, "For a second, I really thought it was-" 

"I said, let's go." 

You're already turning, walking in a direction he'd never recall if you left him to be lost out here, and so Aki has no choice but to follow. 

He sighs defeatedly. "Okay. That's alright. We can go." 

As you and Aki walk back to your cottage, you make your way there with the most distance that's ever been between you. 

— 

"Hold still." 

"Shit- Sorry. I'm trying." 

Aki flinches as you carefully press a cool, damp cloth to his side. Squinting, using the dim light from the fireplace and the flickering candles to illuminate your task, you focus on cleaning what remains of his wound. 

These past few days, although still a bit sore, it hasn't been bleeding much. What was once a large, gnarled gash has healed into a faint, red scrape. It probably won't leave much of a scar after all. He has your medicine to thank for his quick recovery. You weren't sure how the wound might fare after he spent the day traveling through the forest with you, but aside from a hint of discomfort, he seems relatively healthy. Still energized, even. After setting the rag aside, you grab a handful of fresh bandages, which you made from the scraps of his old, stained tunic. 

"It's healed well," You comment plainly. You and Aki are sitting on the wooden floor, cross-legged, close to the fireplace. Close in proximity. The persistent heat of the fire flutters across your arms and your back, chasing away the cool night air. 

Reaching into a wooden bowl, you use two fingers to smear a thick herbal mixture onto the inside of the bandages. Then, you swiftly begin to wrap them around his bare torso, taking note of the way his muscles flex. 

You breathe a low, inquisitive hum. "Still seems tender, though." 

"It is. A bit." Aki supports his weight with his palms, leaning back to give you more room. Firelight curves over his chest, his shoulders, his collarbones. "But I'm doing alright, thanks to you. I'm sure I'll be fully healed soon." 

And soon, he'll be leaving. 

You try not to think about it as you focus on the precise movements of your hands. There's far too many stressful things you still need to mull over, and now isn't the time. 

Wrapping his bandages is a careful, but quick process; at this point, you're used to it. Aki keeps as motionless as he can manage while you tie the bandages off to keep them in place. You collect the wooden bowl in one hand, before promptly rising to your feet. He watches you snatch his spare tunic from where it hangs over the edge of his cot. He catches it once you toss it at him. 

"I'm going to make dinner," You remark, "Stew probably, same as last time." Already, you're turning on your heels, heading into the kitchen. You set the wooden bowl aside, and Aki scrambles to pull his shirt over his head. 

"Wait-"

He's rushing to come stand beside you, still straightening his tunic and fitting his arms through the sleeves, while you're plopping your backpack onto the counter. Aki reaches back, fixing his hair and pulling it from beneath his neckline. Busy focusing on opening your backpack, you give him a raised brow, a perplexed side-glance. 

"Let's make it together," Aki says — and with how ridiculous his preposition sounds, with how unheard of it is to you, you can't help but laugh. 

"That isn't necessary." You shrug, and turn back to your bag. You root around inside for a moment, before you find a small leather pouch, containing several bonnet-shaped mushrooms. 

"I know," Aki replies; he's already reaching into your cupboards, wasting no time finding a couple of bowls and a cutting board. His mind has been made, apparently. "I want to make it with you, though. Can you teach me?" 

Your eyes narrow. Your hands are shuddery as you pull the pouch open, briefly counting the mushrooms inside. Inevitably, you breathe a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping from the weight of it. Aki sets the cutting board down, his gaze flickering over you, and you dump the mushrooms out onto the counter in front of him. 

"Chop these up into small pieces. Knives are in the drawer to your right." 

He doesn't need to be told twice. 

Silence falls upon the kitchen as you and Aki prepare dinner together, side by side. His knife — your knife — echoes rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as he carefully chops mushroom after mushroom. You grind herbs to use for seasoning with a mortar and pestle. The fireplace crackles, and your foot taps against the floor just slightly. Too slight for him to hear, and not enough to calm your nerves. 

Any slight lull makes you think too much. About devils, about the kingdom. About him, and what you're going to do once he's gone. At the very least, this silence is much more comfortable, compared to the prickling stillness that befell the both of you on the way back to your cottage. You're grateful you haven't yet ruined things. 

Since then, you've barely managed to regain the faintest sliver of your composure. Your heart isn't pounding anymore, thankfully, despite how close the two of you need to stand to work together in the kitchen. You designed your space for one, not for two. The stove is in the middle of the counter, and in order to reach to dump ingredients into a pot, you need to lean so close to him your arms nearly touch. 

Instead, your heart aches, twisting and pulling at your chest, sending blood rushing to your fragile hands and making them shake each time you remember the way Aki touched you. He grabbed your right hand. It still feels warm, in a way. Haunted by a touch softer than a flower's thin petals. Your mind swims, your grip on the pestle faltering slightly. 

Gods, you're ridiculous. A more composed version of yourself would surely be scolding you right now. 

First, you let a man you hardly know into your cottage, a man who happened to be royalty, of all things. Then, you panic over nothing, getting all freaked out over a harmless baby elk. Now, you're allowing yourself to nearly lose your damned mind over such a small, inconsequential, useless touch. Over Aki's touch. 

Aki, who's life exists in a universe far removed from your own. Who is going to leave, who has a few days left before he will have to forget about you. You really, seriously need to get a grip. 

"I'm sorry," You mutter, breaking the silence, your voice barely loud enough to be heard. Aki stops though, glancing in your direction, making it clear that he did notice. "Normally I wouldn't get scared like that. You know, when we were in the forest. I just- I'm stressed, that's all. Or tense, I guess. And exhausted." 

"I knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier," Aki concludes, reading you correctly. He scoops a handful of chopped mushrooms into his palms, and places them into the already-boiling pot on the stove. "There's no need to apologize. I must have startled you. I was… scared too, for a moment." 

Aki's knife swiftly hits the cutting board as he cuts the rest of the mushrooms, and you prop your head on your palm, your fingers drumming against the counter. 

He's only partially paying attention to the task at hand. His eyes continuously and not-so-subtly keep drifting away from the cutting board, and back to you. You really wish he wouldn't. Your heart is already beginning to skip again; you don't need it running and tripping over itself while you're trying to thinly cut up some parsley. 

"You're going to chop your finger off." 

Aki stops at your words. Your gaze is focused on your bundle of parsley and scissors, but he still looks towards you anyways, breathing a slight, playful laugh. He elegantly twirls his knife in a circle before returning it to the cutting board — only this time, he makes sure to watch what he's doing. 

"I cooked for my family a few times when I was a kid," He starts, chopping a mushroom carefully and slowly. "That was ages ago, though. I think I forgot everything I once learned." 

You still remember your mother's cooking lessons like she taught them to you yesterday. Keep your knives sharp. Watch the stove, try not to use too much firewood. You can add, but you can never subtract. Were those moments the last time you shared the kitchen with someone else? 

It's a bit difficult to get used to. You keep expecting to have more work, you still feel surprised when you turn to see someone standing next to you. But it feels calming. A crisp, fluttering feeling you can't quite put your finger on — not that you want to, you'd rather not face it. You've decided it's nice to make dinner with him, simply sharing your space, even though you aren't doing anything too special. For the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone. 

Perhaps you should be savoring this. 

"I did too," You reply, pausing the movement of your scissors for a moment. "But when I was a kid, I hated cooking. I cut my hand once, the first time I tried to peel potatoes. My mom bandaged me up. From there on out, I would cry every time she asked me to cook with her." 

Aki breathes a slight hmm, and he reasons, "You were scared of getting hurt again." 

"I suppose so." 

"Did you ever end up cooking with her?" 

"No. I remember some of what she tried to teach me, but… I mostly taught myself," You answer, briefly hesitating. "This is the first time I've tried to cook with someone else since then, I think. I like it. I like your company." 

Too honest, perhaps. Your mother might have told you to keep on your toes in this situation, to avoid giving away too much information. But your heart is already beating fast, and the words have already left you before you've thought about them. 

Aki glances at you, your gaze staying focused on your hands, on your work. You seem lost in thought. He finds it difficult to read the blank expression on your face. 

"I understand. I think I get how you feel, honestly." His voice is smooth, calm. Drifting through you, until it sparks within your chest like a brand new star. "My mother never got the chance to teach me much. She was busy working, or busy tending to my younger brother." 

"Your mom," You answer quietly, "Do you miss her?" 

"Yeah. And you?" 

Your jaw tenses, your teeth uncomfortably grinding together. You place the parsley into the pot, and dust your palms over the counter. "Of course. You always miss the family you've lost." 

He's long since finished chopping up the remainder of mushrooms, but Aki's grip tightens on the knife, and he idly taps the tip of the blade against the firm cutting board. He hums a slight mhmm in agreement. 

"My mother always said cooking was one of the most important skills one could learn," Aki continues. "I thought she'd have more time to teach me. She would tell me, 'You need to be prepared if you go off on your own, you won't always like what other people make for you.' Something like that. I'm not sure I believed her, at first." 

"Uh-huh," You raise a brow. "And then you were forced to eat river snails." 

Oh. Realizing your change in tone only after the fact, you look at him immediately, your nerves prickling, your skin heating up with embarrassment. Truthfully, you haven't had much practice with conversations; Aki is the first. You've said more to him in the past few days than you think you ever have. 

Perhaps you should've thought more before you spoke. It's one thing to say something you might regret, it's another to raise tensions with him. He was serious, and you just made some stupid joke that sounded flat enough to be a rude comment — 

But Aki smirks, he laughs wholeheartedly; the sound rings through you, tender and burning. You feel a reassuring wave travel all the way down your spine. 

"Okay, I think I would've had to try those regardless," He hums, exhaling another amused huff of breath. He drops the rest of the mushrooms into the stove pot, and with nothing else to do but wait for the stew to be ready, he swiftly reaches for a rag, and begins wiping down the cutting board. 

"They were supposed to make you heal faster, or not get sick- or something, I'm not sure," He continues, "They never actually did anything. Trust me, if I was cooking for myself, I wouldn't have opted to include those." 

"At least you tried them," You reply, shrugging. "Now you've got a good story to tell. Besides, there's plenty of things that might look awful even though they taste pretty good." 

"Truffles," Aki says through a groan, "Gods, how I refused to eat those. It drove my parents up a wall." 

"What's that?" 

Propping your head up with your arm once more, you glance at him, diligently looking at him up and down, giving him all of your attention. Aki smiles, and he sets down what he's holding to turn towards you fully. Matching your gaze, he rests his elbow on the edge of the counter. 

"They're these shitty little black mushrooms," He says straightforwardly, and you can't help but chuckle. "Apparently, they're hard to find, so… my parents would be furious with me for wasting them. My dad, he was the one who taught us to be frugal. He made me try this chocolate. Super fancy, expensive chocolate. It was similar to the mushrooms, and my dad decided to tell me they were the same. He said, 'You know those are truffles, the mushrooms you hate, right?'"

Aki lets go of a small, breathy laugh, and he glances away as he recalls the rest of his story. "It wasn't. They're only called the same thing, but they're completely different- the chocolate, and the mushrooms. He got me to try some the next time we had them, though." 

"Hm," You reply, "Did you like them?"

"Nope. I didn't finish my first bite, I spat it out." 

Smirking, your gaze meets his own expectantly. "Your dad was probably mad, then." 

"Definitely. But I was expecting chocolate. Those mushrooms are good, but you're supposed to savor them. They are the complete opposite of sweet." 

"What's chocolate?" Your eyes squint as you think, trying to remember if the name is something you've heard before. In a book, maybe. It certainly sounds familiar. "Is that a mushroom too?" 

Aki stares at you, surprised. "You've never had chocolate?" 

"Nope." 

"It's- damn." His hand comes to hold his chin, his brows pinch with faint frustration. "It's sort of difficult to describe. It's sweet. It melts in your mouth, if that makes sense. There's a lot of vendors who sell chocolate in the kingdom. When we get there, I'll buy you some." 

Suddenly, as he seems to catch himself, Aki clears his throat. He stutters and glances away, "Er- if you wanted to go with me, that is. There's no need to make any decisions right now. It was just a suggestion." 

The room grows silent. Aki's gaze flickers to check on the stove, before traveling back to you. To your eyes, to your mouth. When your gazes meet again, you find it impossible to look away, despite how much your quivering heart desperately begs you to. 

Finally, you look down at your hands, and mumble hesitantly, "You'll be leaving soon." You press your thumbs together, nervously fiddling. "Right?" 

"That depends," Aki answers, "When do you think I'll be healed enough?" 

"Soon. Probably within the next few days, at the earliest. Your wound looks fine. You should keep resting, once you're feeling energized and no longer sore, then…" 

You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. Aki doesn't fail to notice how you're no longer looking at him, your voice becoming uncertain and much quieter. 

Aki takes a deep, long breath, and he speaks calmly, gently. "Whenever you tell me you're ready, I'll leave. There's no pressure to come with me, and I won't force you to make a decision. I don't have any problems with leaving alone. I'll be alright, you won't have to worry about me. Please, don't forget that." 

It should be fine, to let him leave alone. You'll follow your original plan. The next time he's asleep, you'll prepare the potion to alter his memory; you could have it done by tonight, easily. If he follows your directions, he shouldn't have a problem with making his way out of the forest safely. As foolish as he is, Aki is resourceful. He wouldn't let himself get caught out again. This is what should happen, to keep the both of you safe, and apart. 

So why do you feel so hurt? 

For longer than necessary, you're silent. In the corner of your vision, you catch the way Aki peers at you worriedly. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, his words taking you a bit off guard. 

Reflexively, you nod — but oh, how he is making this so much harder. You're fine, you were fine, until you heard his soft voice check up on you. Now, you feel like a dam on the edge of bursting. He noticed, of course he would notice. You're standing close enough for him to see your little tremors, for him to hear when your breath starts to hitch. You had made up your mind about your future long before you met him, but Aki had to go and change it all. 

Perhaps you hadn't realized how much it truly hurt until he'd spoken. Those are words you haven't heard before, you've never felt a sensation so suffocating. Your throat is dry, your heart is encased in thorns — but you're alright. You have to be. You have to tell him you're fine. 

"I'm alright," You answer quickly with a swallow, leaving it at that. 

"You sure? Your hands-" Aki murmurs, his gaze flickering down to them, and then back up. "You were doing that earlier." 

Ah. You were, and you are. Both of your hands have moved to timidly clutch the front of your cape, your thumb running over the grooves on the shiny front button. 

Sighing, you forcibly let your arms fall. You still can't look at him, so instead, you keep your focus on the dirty ends of your shoes. "I promise, I'm fine." 

You're sure you don't sound very convincing. 

The pot on the stove bubbles, the stove top's low, orange flame flickering faintly. Aki stays silent, considering his next words carefully. 

"You still don't trust me," He decides, his voice quiet and assured. It's a statement more than anything; he knows you do not trust him. He knows it's a fact he cannot change. "But if there's anything- something I did, or something you want to tell me, you can. I'll listen." 

As if you could ever tell him. 

It'd be foolish to let him see this different side to you, regardless of how much you already trust him — more than he realizes, clearly. More than logic and everything you've learned should dictate. Unfortunately, you can no longer keep your thoughts quiet. You've got a battle raging within you, and those aching waves of stress are pulling, pushing, and growing closer and closer to drowning you underneath. 

Aki can't stay. You shouldn't even entertain the thought; what the hell are you thinking? Aki is a stranger, he's dangerous. If he truly is royalty, you could be punished for ever thinking you were allowed to look at him, let alone speak to him. 

The kingdom isn't as far as you'd prefer it to be. His wound is healing. You are helping him get back on his feet. You're guiding him closer to leaving, little by little. 

Deep in your foolish, pounding heart, you want to believe Aki would trust you as much as you want to trust him, regardless of your best-kept secret. Yet, if anyone questioned him upon his return, if he was at all seen as suspicious, they could find out about you. His intentions wouldn't matter then. Protecting you or even himself wouldn't be an option. There's only so much he can do to bend the rules around witches. Royalty or otherwise. 

You hate this. You hate that Aki could discover the truth at any moment. He could look at you differently, with less kindness and more revulsion, once he realizes he's supposed to hate you. He is fucking supposed to, to hell with thinking mages are people, those words can't be trusted, he isn't meant to be trusted. With how distracted you've been, he could kill you, if he truly wanted to. But would he? 

The pit of your stomach swirls with a shadowy sense of dread and anxiety. You hate how you've become closer to him, you hate yourself for letting your guard down, even though you swore you wouldn't. Above all else, you hate how these sharp, never-ending feelings are becoming far too much. 

It hurts. There's a hundred thoughts gnawing at your mind, a thousand rapid beats of your heart to keep track of, and a million pins and needles under your skin, running up along your spine with a painful, oppressive intensity. 

You're worried. You're scared, scared of what will happen, scared of him, and everything. Scared of losing him, as awful as it sounds. Your cottage would become so lonely. You would fall into suffocating silence once more. Aki is different from the men you met before, from the people you've learned to fear. He is someone worth keeping. 

Each sensation — the stress, the longing — pushes at either side of you like two stone walls closing in. Closing and crushing and swallowing you; your hands are trembling, and Gods, you're exhausted. When was the last time you slept properly? Was your mind ever working as it should be to begin with? 

And why can you never seem to stop thinking about what it felt like to have your hand in his? 

In the end, it doesn't matter. 

None of it matters, your attempts to hang onto yourself and your wavering composure are rendered useless. He blends out of your focus as the world grows blurry around you. You grip the front of your cape tighter, your shoulders tensing before they tremor. Your breath is short, your throat feels tight, and your thoughts are fatigued like a string pulled taut. Fragile tears are beginning to fall down your cheeks, and you can do nothing to stop them. 

Aki freezes up completely, eyes wide, gaze locked on you. 

"Sorry," You're babbling, shaking your head, willing the tears to stop — although you know they most certainly won't. Your chest aches, your throat hurts. Small droplets fall from your face to hit your fingers and knuckles. You're so stupid, so weak. "I just- I don't want to-" 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Aki shifts closer. He's slow when he reaches out to you, giving you plenty of time to move away if you'd prefer to. You don't. Glancing down at you, his warm palm finds your cheek, his touch slight and delicate, as though he's still expecting you to flinch away. Carefully, his thumb swipes underneath your eye to catch a tear before it falls. His touch caresses you softly, far too softly. And finally, you break. 

He could hurt you, he could destroy you if he knew what you truly were. Instead, the fear all melts away, because he chooses to be gentle. 

Your shaking hands hold onto your cape as tight as you can manage, while your tears turn into hard sobs that shake your entire figure, and make his heart want to splinter and shatter. Aki mumbles something low under his breath, words you barely catch despite how close you both are: an earnest mixture of shh, and it's okay. 

In this moment, you have never been weaker. Not since the day you first left the kingdom behind you, and began to cry, when you believed you were meant to be alone. It's been years of isolation, since then. Is it so wrong for you to know you have needed this? 

For once, leaning into his touch feels right; it doesn't burn, it isn't nerve-wracking. It's everything you've ever needed — it is so much more as you press your hand to the back of his, keeping him in place so he won't pull away. You focus on the warmth of his touch, tenderness surging all around you, your heart pounding to a fierce, unsteady rhythm. 

It could be wrong, it could be reckless, to believe this is the safest you've ever felt. To know that if you were to pull him close like you've been wanting, you might not be able to let go. You want to embrace him, to have someone hold you, after ages and ages of feeling nothing against your skin and at your back but the whispering wind. 

Aki's arms around you would be far too overwhelming — to have him hold you tight while you breathe in the scent of firewood on his clothes, and listen to each beat of his heart, your head pressed to his chest. No, you wouldn't let go, not until you've memorized the sound. The thought alone could bring you to tears, if you weren't already breaking down in front of him, sniffling and holding onto your cape with a grip tight enough to make your fingers ache. 

"I scared you earlier, didn't I?" Aki says, his voice low, as calming as it always is. His breathing is slow, and yours tries to calm down to match. "I'm sorry." 

Maybe he did, but you've already forgiven him. Aki can't know the true reason why you're crying, or any of the multitude of built-up reasons. They'd be impossible to say, far too difficult to talk about. You can't tell him you might miss him if he leaves you behind, even though it's what you planned to let happen in the first place. Even though someone like you has no right to want to follow someone like him. To the kingdom, no less. You'd be shunned. Imprisoned. Or much, much worse. 

Aki is kind and thoughtful, his presence alone makes you want more — your tides pulled in his direction, an ocean of uncertainty reaching up to a bright, brilliant, unreachable moon. His touch is warm light, shining through thick darkness. Your darkness, illuminated wholeheartedly. 

"You're safe," He murmurs. His voice barely registers. "I wouldn't let anything hurt you." 

He couldn't, he has no idea you're a terrible, filthy liar. Aki is a good man. He reminds you of those knights in your stories — unwaveringly good, no matter the danger they're presented with. And you? You are nothing more than a witch. 

Thankfully, Aki doesn't need to know. 

He doesn't have questions, he simply continues to brush his thumb over your cheek, tenderly and rhythmically. His touch is slight, overly gentle in an attempt to keep you comfortable, but it's more than enough to gradually help you relax. You can't recall the last time you cried like this. Nor the last time you let anyone touch you, you never planned to allow this. You can't become overtaken by emotion, holding your focus is much more important. Perhaps you needed a way to finally let go of your budding stress. 

Aki seems to think so. He holds your face in his palm as you cry, never pulling away, grounding you with his presence. Ever-so patient, he stays, while you fully succumb to everything washing over you. Until the waves slowly subside, allowing you to breathe again. Your sobs begin to calm, your tears start to dry up. Your whole body tremors as you breathe a long, shaky sigh. 

Still, he keeps his pretty palm on your cheek. It belongs there, you think. 

"How are you feeling?" Aki says softly, after a few beats of silence. "Mad? Upset?" 

At first, you don't answer. You try, although you know it's futile; your mouth opens, but your voice is weak, your throat is sore. No words come out. You're feeling a thousand things, even if you could voice them, you aren't sure where you'd start. You swallow, and to your disappointment, Aki takes his palm away from your cheek, abruptly reaching for something. 

In a rush, he hurries to turn off the stove, swearing quietly under his breath. You hadn't realized how much time had passed — how long have you been crying? Long enough to make your nose stuffed and your throat sore, and enough to let the stew boil over, evidently. 

Aki leaves it, for now. He reaches over you to grab your backpack, briefly putting your bodies unbelievably close. He roots around inside until he finds your flask, still half-full with fresh water, and he sets it on the counter, allowing you to move at your own pace. You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand first, before you grab it, unscrewing the cap, taking a few sips. 

You want to tell him. You want to feel his soft touch again, you want his words of reassurance, and his trust, and his kindness. How could you fear him, when Aki is tenderness incarnate? As soft as the sky, as earnest as an echo. And as necessary as it is, you're already sick of lying; you don't want to hear his voice, look him in the eyes, and know you are lying to him. 

Though, you can't say a thing. Your voice is weak, your body and mind are exhausted. And so, this time, you resist. 

Aki breaks the silence first. "You're allowed to be mad at me. I wouldn't blame you if you were." 

"I'm not mad," You answer, screwing the cap back on the flask, setting it down on the counter right where it was. You aren't meeting his eyes, but your voice sounds clearer, less strained. "I'm okay. Just tired." 

Your shoulders shrug weakly. Aki's next breath seems to shake, his arms crossing around his chest frustratedly, his gaze traveling down. 

"I shouldn't-" His jaw clenches, before he lets go of an exasperated sigh. "A devil wouldn't have snuck up on us like that. We would've known- they aren't small, and they make much more noise when they're approaching. I shouldn't have worried you. If you think I should… head for the kingdom, I will. I could leave tonight." 

Your throat feels dry again. "It's fine." 

"No," Aki counters, his voice wavering; it never wavers, "This is my fault. To see you hurting so much, when I know that I- maybe I just-" 

"Aki." 

You glance up at him, and your abrupt utterance of his name forces him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are still red, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your cheeks damp from tears. Your expression is earnest, hiding a thousand emotions he couldn't begin to make sense of. But he wants to try. 

"Don't go," You murmur, softer this time. Close to breaking once more. "I've already forgiven you. Thank you. For being here." 

For showing you a kindness you aren't used to, for comforting you without asking questions. For finally making you realize that you aren't meant to be alone. You want to say his name a thousand times more. 

Honestly, you aren't sure what Aki takes away from your words. He seems to hesitate, but after a moment of thought, he reaches for the bowls he'd grabbed for the two of you earlier. One for you, and one for him. 

"You should get some sleep after we eat," He suggests, his tone nice and gentle, laced with concern. He places your bowl in front of you, on your side of the counter. 

"Mhmm…" You nod in agreement, and search through a drawer on your left to find a wooden ladle. "My head hurts." 

Completely serious, Aki replies, "Do you want me to stop talking?" 

Genuine and soft, you break into a laugh — a sound he is more than glad to hear — and you smile to yourself, while you pour some stew into your bowl. It warms your palms, steam brushing against your face. When you pass the ladle to him, he's instantly caught on the faint sparkle in your gaze. Hook, line, and sinker. 

"Absolutely not." You hum playfully, an eyebrow crooked. "It would be far too quiet. Besides, I like your voice." 

Aki fills his own bowl, and with the warm, pleased look that encompasses his features, you swear he almost seems flustered. "I hope you aren't implying I talk too much." 

"Nope. If anything, it's not enough." 

You reach into a drawer to grab silverware, and Aki heads over to the dinner table. He's already sat down across from your usual seat, and once you're able to follow, you notice your chair has been pulled out for you. 

Your conversations lull as the two of you eat together, once again enjoying the simple comfort of company. The warm stew soothes your throat. It has your body and your limbs relaxing, calming. You exchange a few words. Aki compliments your cooking, and you politely thank him for his help. You comment how you rarely see baby elk, they're normally so skittish. It was cute. It would be nice to see again, under different circumstances. 

Everything returns to normality. The same way it always was, when words shared between him and yourself become as natural as breathing. Once again, it feels right. 

The next time you speak, it's after you've stood and both rinsed your bowls, just before you're about to head into your bedroom. 

Aki clears his throat. He sits on the edge of his cot, his hands placed uniformly in his lap, the fireplace's low flame flickering over the sharp angles of his face. 

"Do you really want me to stay?" He asks, as he already has. Perhaps he's expecting the answer to change. 

You consider, drumming your fingertips over your bedroom's door handle. Then, at last, you answer. "Is it so wrong if I do?" 

"It isn't. I was thinking, actually, I… I don't think it's a good idea for me to leave," He says, glancing at you. "My wound is- it could reopen. It'd be better not to take any risks, to rest for another week or so. Or maybe two weeks. Or- I don't know. We'll see." His next words are entirely unsure, a shot in the dark, a question and a plea wrapped into one: "What do you think?" 

As one would expect, he'd leave it all up to you. 

Your hand grips the door knob tighter. You take a slow, gradual breath, and hope he doesn't notice your newfound reassurance. 

He isn't leaving. Not yet. Thank the Gods. 

"Of course," You murmur, without turning to look at him. He'd see the small smile on your face if you did. "You can stay." 

[mpregandproud]

Isaac II (Part 3)

Although it may seem otherwise, resting is anything but easy. I love being at home, watching a movie, taking a little walk in the garden, sunbathing on the terrace… but by the fourth day I don't know what to do. And in my case it's not just four days that I have to be like this, it's 30 weeks.

On the other hand, I kill boredom by eating more and more every day. I eat breakfast… twice, because I'm hungry again as soon as I end eating for the first time. Lunch portions have multiplied. The snack, instead of being something small to kill hunger until dinner, has become a small feast. And although all the doctors recommend otherwise, my dinners have become very copious.

Pregnancy anxiety, I get hungry, so I eat. The fear of doing something that could lead to losing the babies makes me more anxious, so I eat even more. So much eating makes me put on weight at an exaggeratedly fast rate. The weight gain worries me, so it makes me anxious and this leads me to… yes, eat more. I'm in a circle that never ends.

And to top it off, Isaac and I have stopped fucking like we used to. We've gone from being two rabbits who feel like having sex at all times to abruptly entering our era of monks with a vow of chastity. It's all for a good cause, I know, but if my sexual needs before I got pregnant were already exorbitant, now with my hormones revved up I'm horny 24 hours a day. But my husband has decided not to give in and to arm himself with unprecedented willpower not to visit my hole every night. Just my luck.

This situation keeps me awake at night, so I get out of bed a thousand times. Sometimes Isaac wakes up too and accompanies me for a little starlight walk in the garden. He gives me kisses and caresses me. The bastard of him has such a self-control that I hate him. I want him to fuck me in the middle of the lawn, among the geraniums, like that night when the condom broke and we ended up where we are now. But no, even though he knows that his way of giving me love and support makes me horny as hell, it doesn't go any further. I want a time machine to jump seven months ahead in a second and to fuck again with him. I can't take it anymore. I need sex NOW.

Other nights I wake up alone and wander around the house. I usually open the door to our children's rooms and watch them sleep peacefully. That night Dylan and Nate were out, it was Saturday, so they were out partying with their friends. Sandra was out with her boyfriend Cal as she was every night, and the rest of our children were still away on vacation. There is something about the solitude of home, the silence and darkness of the night that gives me peace. Although I'd rather be riding my husband like a cowboy with his horse, I'm happy to walk around slowly.

My little walk around the house, more waddling than walking, took me to the bathroom we have down the hall, it's the bathroom that Sandra, Cristina, Charlotte and Ivana use, the girls' bathroom, as my boys call it. A light was coming from under the door, had Sandra left the light on before leaving the house? I went over to turn it off and at that moment the bathroom door opened and Sandra came out looking like she had been crying. I was paralyzed, what has happened to my daughter, why has she been crying, why hasn't she woken up Isaac or me to tell us what was happening to her.

“Honey, what's wrong, why are you crying”, I asked her and rushed over to her to give a hug. She started crying even more and didn't answer my questions. She started crying louder and louder. Isaac appeared where we were and asked the same questions I asked before. I told him I didn't know what it was, and he suggested we go to the kitchen to sit there and talk.

We took Sandra into the kitchen and she and I sat at the table. Isaac brought some tissues for Sandra to dry her face, and a tub of chocolate ice cream for me. This damn man knows me better than anyone. He knew perfectly well that I was getting anxious about seeing our eldest daughter like this, and that if I was already awake it was because I was hungry again. He has stopped fucking me like he used to weeks ago, but now his biggest passion is to satisfy my every craving. I always forget how much it turns him on to see me fat and very pregnant. He is my ultimate downfall, and one of the reasons why I'm putting on weight like crazy. But I couldn't blame him, I love making him happy.

Isaac sat down at the table, and with a smile and a calm tone of voice asked Sandra again what was wrong. This time, with the girl more comforted than before, she began to stammer out an explanation. “I am so sorry, I have disappointed you. I'm not the daughter you expected”, and she began to sob again.

“What? No, nothing like that, my love. Why do you say that? Your father and I are very proud of you”, Isaac said her after he jumped up from his chair and walked over to her. I was no longer agile enough to get up so quickly with this belly, but I reached out to her to give her my arm and let her feel my support.

Sandra reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small white stick. It was a pregnancy test and she handed it to me. I turned it over and looked at it, “Oh, wow. Honey, I'm so sorry”, and that's when I really got up to hug her. “It's going to be okay, these things happen, believe me”, I told her. If anyone in this house knows what it's like to get pregnant by accident, it's me. It happened to me twice with Isaac, and if we count the time I got Sandra's mother pregnant, that would be three times.

“Does Cal know yet?” asked Isaac.

“Yes, I took the test at his house this afternoon,” she said wiping away her tears again. “He says he wants us to have the baby, he wants to take care of the child and me. He says it was his mistake not to wear a condom. He assured me that he was in control, that he would use the reverse technique, but it was too late by the time he realized,” she told us. “Why did I have to say yes? Why did I make this mistake? I've sent my life to hell for letting myself get carried away in a night of sex”, she blamed herself. “I know he didn't do it on purpose, because his shocked face was like the one dad Dan made when he saw me in the bathroom earlier, but I don't know if I want to have this child, I don't see myself ready. I don't know if being so young we are going to be good parents”, Sandra said.

“Whatever you decide, we are going to be with you, and apparently that is the same thing he told you. I don't know what he will be like, because I don't know him very well either, but apparently he is willing to fight for you and your son. He seems to be a responsible man,” Isaac said. “That's right, take the decision calmly, but know that here you have a family ready to support you in everything. We are going to be together no matter what,” I told him.

“While you're deciding, I'm going to bring you a present,” Isaac said. Sandra and I looked at each other in surprise, not understanding anything. And immediately he came back with a jar of strawberry ice cream. “It works with your father, why wouldn't it work with my favorite girl”, Isaac said to Sandra with a wink.

It's because of details like that that I'm still in love like the first day with this man. He is able to bring a smile to our faces even in the most complicated moments. He has been an exceptional lover, husband and father, and if Sandra decides to go through with the pregnancy, he will be the best grandfather ever. I love him.

Go to Part 4

[queenmuzz]

Five Stages of Grief: Chapter IV

Depression

Read it HERE on Ao3

It feels a bit strange, Emmrich thinks, to have so many people in his quarters.  Even before Tearstone, when there was light and hope and love in his life, very few people entered his study, save for when they needed his services.

He was fine with that, after all, he was used to solitude.  He was perfectly happy living his own life by himself with only Manfred as company

…And then Rook came along and changed everything.  It wasn’t just that she was a fellow Mourn Watcher, well versed in the ways of the dead.  It wasn’t just that she was kind, thoughtful, selfless, willing to befriend and aid anyone.  She held no judgments on the possessed assassin, she enjoyed listening to Bellara’s conversation on ancient elven artifacts despite not understanding any of it.  She somehow managed to endear herself to Taash, even with the latter’s obvious dislike of necromancy.   She was brave… oh so brave.  At Weisshaupt, when she had willingly placed herself in the line of danger to take down the archdemon.  At the Blackthorne Manor, where she shielded him from the monstrosity’s deadly aura. She could have had her pick of any of her companions, but she had  chosen him. Even now, he still does not know why she chose him.  But now… he would make himself worthy of her.

Manfred places the bar of pure raw lyrium upon the desk, the only being able to touch it without suffering from ill effect (He forbade even Harding to touch it, he couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt).  

“Do you need help?” Neve asks, but he shakes his head.  He cannot afford to have any distractions.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins to channel the mana at his fingertips.  

Begin the infusion.

It’s like making a cake, measuring the magic in precise amounts, layering it as he folds the bar a specific number of times.  Creation Magic first, allowing it to shape the blade into its rough shape.  Entropy Magic, to modify its magical absorption.  A hint of Primal Magic to provide the ‘spark’.  And lots of Spirit Magic.  He’s thankful that his training had him specialize in it, as many other countries’ Circles shy away from it, confusing it with blood magic.  He sandwiches each type of magic between layers of lyrium, cross hatching so that every surface of the blade is equally suffused.  His focus must not waver, any mistake could render the blade useless, or even worse, cause a backlash that could kill him.  He feels drops of sweat drip down his brow as channels more Spirit Magic, infusing the blade with the fade itself.  

She would love to have seen this, she always loved the way his hands moved as he did a corpse whispering. Focus…

His mouth is dry, and he can hear Harding whisper, “Can you hear that?”

“Nope.” Taash’s voice.  “Hear what?”

“It sounds like a song… but a sad song”

“Perhaps it's the lyrium you hear,” Neve’s voice is soft, “you’re more sensitive to it than the rest of us.”

The blade needs more Entropy magic, to balance it out, and his fingers flick.  

Her eyes full of wonder and admiration as he showed her the depths of the Fade.

“Emmrich… that was… amazing! I wish I could see the world of magic as you do all the time”

FOCUS!

“Emmrich, are you alright?”  Lucanis’s voice is concerned, and he senses his approach.

“I’m-I’m fine.” He insists, as he begins the final infusions, a large amount of Spirit Magic flows from him. His entire body is trembling from the exertion.  This is taking more out of him than anything he’s ever done.  He keeps his eyes closed, but he can picture the green twinkling lights that always occur during these rituals.  

He sees her delight as she reaches for one light, holding it in the palm of her hand like it’s a snowflake.

Emmrich Volkarin, FOCUS!

The blade is almost finished, but is missing something.  He can’t put his finger on it.  There’s a presence the original blade had that he can’t replicate.  Still, he presses on, mixing a touch more Primal magic to help keep the lyrium malleable for the last adjustments.  No, that’s not it. “Something’s wrong, the song is changing… it’s getting angry”  

He can feel a strong pushback now, something that he attempts to ignore, pushing himself to his utter limits to channel every last bit of magic he has into the blade.  He cannot fail.  He MUST not fail.

“Emmrich!”

A blow of energy blasts him back, and he blacks out.

He comes to, as something is poured into his mouth, tasteless yet chalky.  He feels the grit settles between his teeth and he tries not to cough it up as it irritates his throat.

“Easy Emmrich…easy…” Lucanis’s voice is calm, yet tinged with worry. “Get me another Lyrium potion.”  He blinks as Manfred hands the assassin a flask, who uses his teeth to remove the cork, spitting it to the side, before bringing it to his lips.  “Drink.”  

He resists. He’s not a child.  He won’t be treated like one, but even the act of trying to push it away takes energy he realizes he doesn’t have. SMELLS LIKE ROCK AND BLOOD! He hears Spite with his ever so helpful commentary as he reluctantly allows the liquid to flow down his throat.  He blinks, trying to figure out how he ended up in this state.  It’s been decades since he’s drained his mana reserves to the point of exhaustion.  It takes a few moments to remember what he was doing that would take so much energy…

“The Blade!”

He tries to sit up, but that takes up so much of his energy, that if it wasn’t for Neve on his other side, supporting his shoulder, he’d probably collapse on the floor.  But his own condition doesn’t matter, what he needs to know is if the ritual was a success.

“It’s here…” Harding kneels down by his side, holding it reverently, like it’s being presented to an Orlesian Chevalier at his induction.  It looks exactly the same as the original, bright azure that contrasts with the lingering green sparks that linger in the air.  He takes it,  feeling its weight.  To an untrained eye, it’s like he’s holding the very same  blade Solas created untold ages ago.  The same shape, same weight, same texture..  But holding in his hands, using his dwindling reserves of magical energy, he peers deep within it, trying to sense if that amalgamation of magical energies has combined to create a sustaining deep well of power.

He senses…

“Shit. Is he gonna be okay?”

“Professor, are you alright?”

“Breathe, Emmrich…breathe”

“Mierda.  Don’t scare us like that, Emmrich.”

There’s something there, small, barely detectable. The ritual was a success…but a failure all the same.  The dagger will never be able to kill a God.  At best, it may be able to rip open the veil, once… and for only a brief moment.

 All his work… all those sleepless days and nights.  The research. the note taking.  The mathematical calculations. The countless cups of coffee.  The depletion of almost every scrap of magical energy in his body has resulted in…

A fancy Lyrium paperweight.

Where had he gone wrong?  Had he mixed the Lyrium too quickly?   Too much Entropy magic suppressing the flow?  Not enough Spirit energy? Had the original included some ancient ingredient that was unknown to mages nowadays?

 Had his momentary loss of concentration been the deciding factor?  

That last thought is what almost breaks him.  That he caused this all to fail.  He holds it against his chest, embracing it as if it was her as he takes shaky breaths.  He’s falling apart at the seams, that carefully maintained facade is beginning to show its cracks.  But even now, in front of the rest of the companions, he must remain strong.  So he shoves the self hatred, the anger, the sorrow down, its glass like shards ripping down his throat, before settling down into his stomach, along with the blood of an ancient wronged people.

“I- we… still have work to do.”  is all he can say.  He can’t bear to tell them that he’s failed them, that he’s failed her.

--------

The next week and a half is a blur to him.  He tries to start from scratch, to look for other ways to break the impenetrable prison she seems to be held in, but the books Manfred retrieves for him about pocket areas of the Fade are nearly unreadable.  He can’t seem to focus on anything, save for his failures.  The only straw he can grasp is that if he can find out where she is located, a place where the veil is very thin, he may be able to cut through to her with the almost worthless knife. But only once. So he must be certain that it’s the correct place. 

Lucanis brings him food that he makes a show of eating, if only to satisfy the man that he’s not wasting away.  Neve checks up on his progress, but as it's all under a guise of checking up on him specifically, so he resists the urge to snap at her.  Not that he has the energy to feel much emotion anymore.  Taash and Harding drag him out of his room for a walk, every other day, the latter asking about the nature of dreams, the former remaining silent, solid, and supportive as a tombstone. It helps, a little, the way they care for him, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

He thinks back to the words the Dread Wolf said, although he never wants to hear that voice again

“The Rook had to be sacrificed so that the King would not be captive in a prison of regrets”

Perhaps he wasn’t speaking in metaphors.  Perhaps that prison, the one capable of containing a GOD, needed chains that were stronger than even the veil itself.  He knows how hard it is to escape regret, as he’s struggling against it right now…  The only way Solas was able to slip past its impenetrable walls was a bait and switch maneuver.  But Zea is not just some chess piece that can easily be taken off the board.  She must be fighting with all her might to find a way to get out.  So for her, he keeps researching, keeps studying, keeps himself running, both mentally and physically, as he searches for the way to reach her.

-----

He must have drifted off, he thinks.  Because he’s not in the Lighthouse anymore.  In fact, he’s never seen a place in the Fade like this.  The Fade is a strange place, with some areas covered in rapidly growing trees and flowers, others a cacophony of horns and trumpets as eternal wars are waged.  He’s seen libraries that contain every thought ever conceived, even a slimy bog where the world's fears congregate (He hates that one in particular, that’s where there is constantly falling masonry, and a tombstone with his name carved on it).

This place is bare rock, no vegetation, no spirits. It may have once been a thriving city, he thinks, as there are remnants of paved walkways and columns, but there’s a constant wind that howls like a wolf that has worn down most of the features.  He’s been told that the Necropolis was dreary and dark, but compared to this place, his home is a verdant flower garden. He’s never felt a place so lifeless, and never has he felt alone…

That’s probably what makes the figure in the distance stand out crisply against the grey horizon.  His pace picks up as he approaches it.  He’s still far off,  and  her back is turned to him but there’s no mistaking who it is.  He can see her greathammer slung on her back, her shield on her arm when she’s not fighting, but not certain that she’s safe.  There’s the way she stands, favouring her left leg just like she was at the end of the battle.  He’s now running towards her, but the ground is treacherous, and he stumbles over the rocky terrain more than once.  And now he can see that she’s not alone.  There’s a figure with her, shorter and stockier, at first he thinks it's a child, before realizing it’s a…. Dwarf?  That confuses him, as aside from Harding, he hasn’t heard of any dwarves entering the Fade.  

“ZEA!”  He screams, but the wind takes his words and blows them back in his face.  Still, he keeps running until he skids to a stop. In front of him is a crevasse so deep, and so wide that there’s no way he can cross it.  Countless stone hands reach out on both sides, as if they are trying to make the crevasse wider.

She’s so close, and yet so far.  If he yells her name out louder, she’ll hear him, she’ll turn around and see him, he can tell her how much he loves her, that he will stop at nothing to bring her back.  But the howling gales rip the words out of his throat and cast them into the abyss.  He hears a creak, and the once stable rock he’s standing on shifts, then slides into the darkness, leaving him to plummet along with it.

She never turns around.

----

He blinks his bleary eyes, and the side of his face feels cool.  There’s another creak, and then an embarrassed gasp.

“Oh professor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!”  He sits up, realizing he’s passed out at his desk, a stack of scrawled notes, the last trailing off into an illegible line.  There’s something on his shoulders, and he realizes Manfred must have placed his coat on him like a blanket.  It's small little things like this that keep him going. 

“It’s fine,” he admits truthfully, not wanting to go back into that hellish landscape of his dreams.  He forces a polite smile on his face, “What can I do for you?”  

“I wanted to go into Rook’s room…” she hesitates as she studies his face for any reaction.  He doesn’t really have the energy to do anything but remain passive.  “See if there was something in her room that could help us. But…” she kicks her feet, “I didn’t feel comfortable walking in someone else’s room uninvited, and since you were the one closest to her…”  

He slowly gets up, feeling his joints protest, and nods his head.  He’s been dreading this moment, but with Harding at his side, the pain might not feel so bad.

The room still smells like her.  There’s hints of her perfume that lingers in the air, of jasmine and tuberose that she only wore when she wasn’t intending to go out to battle.  Her blue cloak that shielded her from the bright sun lay hung over the chaise lounge, as if she had thrown it off after a long day of shopping in the market.   Even her pack, where she carried all of her necessities when they travel, is still here, leaning against that nonfunctional eluvian they found while out in Alathan and had stored in her room.  He can’t help but look at his reflection and notice how haggard he looks.  He’s lost weight, and if he felt he was too old for Rook on the night before the battle, he certainly looked twice as old now, with the bags under his eyes, and the sunken cheeks now covered by an ill maintained beard.  He looks closer to death than the corpses he’s attended all these years, or like one of those evil necromancers that play the villain in those ridiculous tales in the south.

“Oh… I found something!”  Harding picks up a carefully folded series of pages, set beside a stack of journals and romantic literature,  sealed with red wax, along with an envelope. He can’t make out the words, but he can see at a glance it’s Zea’s distinctive Nevveran writing, highly formalized with strict angles, no doubt from learning to read and write by studying tombstone engravings.  “It’s addressed to us, and this…” she holds out the envelope to him, “has your name on it.”  He doesn’t want to take it, doesn’t want to know it exists, because he knows exactly what the letter contains.  Hadn’t he been writing a letter that night before their argument?  Where he had prepared for things in case he did not return?  Of course, he had burnt that letter as soon as he had gotten back to the Lighthouse, as he did any of those types of letters.  But to have hers in his hand… that meant accepting something he could not bring himself to do.  Still, he forces himself to reach out and take it with trembling hands and study her handwriting, the wax seal whose impression looks so familiar… it takes him a few moments to realise its the impression of a skull, specifically of the brooch she once wore.

“Oh…” she gasps, and he can hear the grief in her voice as she comes to a realization at what she has om hands, “It’s a… will. She looks up at him, and even in the dim light of the aquarium, he can see her eyes are glassy with unshed tears.  “Should I open it?  I mean… she’s not dead… but she’s gone…oh, I don’t know what to do.”

“Open it, share it with the others,” he gently advises her, placing a hand of support on her shoulder, “when we get her back you can laugh at whatever confessions she made.”  

She looks at the letter he holds, “Are...you going to read yours?” 

No is what he wants to say.  He does not want to break that seal, to go down the first step of healing from the wound he has taken.  He’s afraid of what words she wrote down.  Perhaps she wrote them right after their argument, and she scribbled them out in anger, that the last words he had from her were words of hatred.

But instead, as he makes it back to his study, he slips a finger under the edge of the envelope, trying his best to damage the seal as little as possible.  He will accept whatever words she has given him, spoken in anger, or sadness, or love.  

My Dearest Emmrich:

I’m so sorry about that argu

Of course I would open my big fat mouth and

I know nothing I will say will take the pain away.  No apology, no self-deprecatory joke will bring relief.  I know this, I’ve seen it happen many times as loved ones interred their dead.  It is a wound that only time may close, and even then, there will be scars.

So instead of dwelling on how and why I am no longer with you, let me bequeath you this:  Who I was and what you mean to me.  You know the basics, of me being an infant foundling left on top of a pile of bones.  It was the bedrock of who I was. That from the very start, I was unwanted.  Unneeded. To be discarded when inconvenient.   When the magic talent I was certain would manifest eventually never came, I fell deeper into despair.  I would never be a proper necromancer.  At best I could be a weapon, a bulwark to protect the living and the dead.  And Maker, how I tried to find my place in the Mourn Watch, tried to earn the respect of my peers.  Only to be cast out when I could not even do that.  Yes, Varric and the others helped in their own ways, but I still felt like I was not worthy of anything.

And then, I met you.  You, a man of exquisite talents and grace.  A man who saw the world of the living and dead as I did,  a man of incredible empathy and intelligence.  You did not look down upon me, nor did you even pity.  Instead, your words were of admiration and respect.  You were like a mirror being shown to one who had never encountered one before.  You saw me as I could not even see myself.  That I was worthy of your love and affection.  And slowly, you chipped away at the self loathing that had accumulated, and made me realize the truth.  That I was not only worthy in your eyes, but in the eyes of everyone else.  The only regret  is that I had not met you sooner.  Perhaps if I had gone to the memorial gardens to enjoy the ambience more often instead of viewing it as another chore to tend the graves, we may have encountered each other, and had more precious moments to spend together.

When you stated your desire to become a lich, I would never stand in your way, as who was I to tell you otherwise?  But secretly, in my deepest thoughts, I desired you to remain mortal, not because I preferred flesh to bone, but because I knew that you would lose something essential to you.  When you gave up your dream to bring Manfred back, and I saw the delight and joy in your eyes, I loved you even more. There, I said it. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Like I said, I cannot take the pain away, nor your fear of death, but I say one thing now:  That no matter how long it takes, I will remain on the threshold, waiting for your arrival. I can only pray that it gives you peace to know that we will find each other again.

Yours in eternity, Zea Ingellvar

He reads it.  Then he reads it again.  And again.  And again.  He reads it until a splash of water drips on it, and he quickly pushes the letter away, lest he damage her precious handwriting any more. He’s secretly thankful he’s at his desk because had he been standing, he would have collapsed to his knees.  There’s a sound in his throat that’s been begging to be released for the past few weeks, and he can’t hold back any longer, he lets the pain, the anguish, the fear, the torment of the better part of a month to be poured out in a torrent of sobs and tears.

His shoulders shake uncontrollably as cries, holding himself.  He has not felt like this since he was a child, curled up in a ball to protect his mother’s prized teapot from breakage.  But this time, he can't stop what he holds, his heart, from breaking.  She had every right to be angry, to be furious with how stupid he sounded that night, with his damn stupid fears.  Here he had been so concerned about what his eventual death would do to her, that he never even contemplated what would happen if their positions were switched.

And yet, instead of being upset, her last words to him were of love, compassion, and hope.  The only hatred she reserved was for herself.  That she had borne these undeserving  thoughts of self-loathing under a mantle of gentle smiles, humour, and empathy had never crossed his mind until this moment. She had deserved better than the man that had attempted to push her away because of his petty fears of his mortality.

He sobs dejectedly, letting every emotion drain out of him.  It’s a lance to a boil, draining the infection so the healing can attempt to begin.  It oddly gives him energy, now that he releases everything that has been damming up inside him. And after what feels like a good hour, he sits there, still weak, but oddly refreshed.  Like a sick man whose fever is broken and who is attempting to get out of bed.  His mind is clearer.  His Zea would not want him like this, he knows.  It would break her heart to know that he’s been wallowing in self hatred for all this time.

He picks up the letter and reads it one last time.  He’s already beginning to memorize some of the lines as his finger traces the geometric script.  

One word sticks out to him.  Regret.   

‘The only regret  is that I had not met you sooner’

Followed by: 

‘Perhaps if I had gone to the memorial gardens to enjoy the ambience more often…’

He thinks back to the gardens, on how they were the source of his greatest sorrow, his parents gravesite, and his greatest joy, his first kiss with her.  The veil is naturally very thin there, allowing spirits to pass to and from the fade as they please, and yet is peaceful enough that demons rarely show up.  His heartbeat races at the realization as he pulls out the dagger from the locked drawer where he placed it, safe, yet unable to mock him for his failure.  

Perhaps…

No, not perhaps.  He knows where to go now, what to do.  First thing tomorrow, when everyone else is asleep, he’ll go.  Alone.  He only has one shot at this, and there is also the possibility that the prison will require an exchange.  He cannot afford to have any other distractions.  He cannot afford to fail.

He folds the letter and places and the daggert in the drawer as his mind whirs at top speed.  After weeks of setbacks, dead ends, and more bad news from the outside world, a ray of light and hope shines.  He, and only he is the one who can shine it into the darkness. Whatever it takes.

[shaanks]

Hello!! So, for the lovely @quinloki 's birthday request event, I have written a thing!! It's a day later than I intended, but we made it!!

This thing is a monster and it got away from me lmfao, but I genuinely hope you enjoy it. :)))) Even in the short time I've known you, I've found you to be a lovely person and a wonderful friend, and you deserve all the fun and joy in the world. If this manages to be even a little part of that, I will be honored and thrilled.

So, without further ado, please allow me to introduce:

Cabin in the Woods

summary: A break-in, a road-trip, and a mysterious cabin all coalesce on what should have been a quiet Tuesday night in August. The world is changing, and our reader must adapt to a mystery they could not have imagined, and circumstances they could not have foreseen.

cw: op x reader with Sabo, dark content, yandere stuff. (nothing graphic or even violent really happens, but the circumstances are still there). there is a gun, but no gun violence is involved. no pronouns are used, but the reader is mentioned as having breasts and a vagina. there's smut, both explicit and implied. petnames used: darling, love, sweetheart, baby.

I don't think i'm forgetting anything but as always if this kinda stuff isn't your cup of tea, don't read it.

14k word count so it's going under a readmore, but yeah!! Here we go!

**

A bump in the road jolted you awake, head snapping up from where it had slumped against the passenger side window.

“Sorry love,” a soft, familiar voice whispered from beside you, accompanied by the soothing warmth of a palm smoothed over your thigh and you sighed, relieved, allowing your eyes to slip closed for a moment again before you straightened up in your seat.

It was hard to tell how long the two of you had been on the road. Sabo had insisted on driving so that you could rest, but that had been in the wee hours of the morning. It was still dark now, the sky a sickly, bruised grey that could have been dawn or dusk, and you scrubbed a hand over your face, trying to get your bearings. With a heavy sigh, you dropped your hand into your lap again, eyes roaming aimlessly around the car before settling on the dash radio. 5:15 AM.

You frowned, muted worry etching itself across your brow as you shifted your hand to rest atop the back of your fiance’s. He must have read the look in his periphery, or felt your concern seeping into his skin at your touch because he chuckled warmly, turning his hand palm-up to lace his fingers with yours.

“Don’t you worry, okay? I’m a veteran roadtrip driver, and besides...you needed the rest. Last night was…” your lover trailed off for a moment, something vague and inscrutable flittering across his features for a moment.

“...a little hectic,” you supplied, finishing his thought, and that gentle smile returned to his features once more as he regarded you with a wink.

“Hectic. Yeah. S’as good a word for it as any,” He squeezed your hand a little more tightly, rubbing his thumb along the back of it in tender, absentminded circles.

Silence settled back over your little car for a while then, and you turned your attention out the windows again, trying not to let the memory of the previous night, or the reason for your impromptu flight from civilization, enter your mind. When you’d drifted off, it had been on an empty, nondescript stretch of freeway, fallow farmland on either side, no other cars in sight beyond one lonely set of taillights which had bobbed along ahead of you for perhaps ten miles before drifting off down an exit of its own, leaving the two of you to the liminal solitude of late night travel.

If Sabo had pulled off at any stops along the way, he hadn’t woken you for them, but given that the scenery had changed from open farmland to winding, forested foothills, it couldn’t have been more than once. Under normal circumstances you might have chided him for it ‘Breaks are normal, it’s not worth the hour saved to give yourself a UTI trying to do the whole trip in one go,’ but given the circumstances…

You blinked your eyes shut hard, shaking the thoughts away before stretching to the side a little to rest your head on Sabo’s shoulder.

“Want me to take over for a bit, ‘Bo?” You asked softly, running your free hand up his forearm a little.

Sabo leaned over slightly, slumping his cheek against the top of your head for a moment before pressing a soft kiss there, lingering just long enough to breathe the scent of you in before straightening back up.

Nah, s’okay. We’re only a couple hours out from it now, and the side road is really hard to catch. Hell, I used to come out here every summer with my brothers, and I still drive right past it sometimes.” He said, the corners of his lips turning slightly upwards at the memory.

You adored his brothers, boisterous and warm in their own ways. They were the only people on earth that Sabo loved as much as you, and for a moment your heart clenched at the thought. Between the bars of your mental blockade, you hoped faintly that they were holed up somewhere safe, too. That they’d found their way out of the city before--

“Do you think we should try the radio again? See if there’s any news...any updates?” Your voice sounded grave, frightened and thin in your own ears, and you winced.

Sabo squeezed your hand a little more tightly. “...Let’s wait til we’re up at the cabin. If the car radio runs out of signal we’ve got the ham radio, and that old long-range one Luffy’s grandfather left up there.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, betraying the first hint of worry he’d let slip since your departure. “We beat the first wave out, and there’s nothing we can do ‘til we’re safe up there. Won’t help anything to get ourselves all wound up before then, right love?” his voice was low, reassuring, reasonable. He didn’t want you to be scared. You didn’t want you to be scared.

He offered you the out, and you took it. “Yeah. May as well get everything set up before we start taking stock of how bad it is.”

“Brilliant as always,” he crooned, lilting his voice with that cartoonishly syrupy sweetness that never failed to make you laugh. He grinned at the sound, heart fluttering in his chest, and exhaled a long, slow breath. He wasn’t worried about what might be on the radio. All that mattered was that he had you here, had you safe. Whatever else happened, you could weather it together.

**

True to his word, the little road that led back to the cabin was barely visible until the car was almost on top of it; even with the help of the morning light, filtering grey through the thickening cloud cover, the path Sabo slowed and pulled off onto could barely be called a road. You’d already pulled off the freeway maybe 30 minutes before, onto a two lane little back road that veered off and up into the hills and valleys beyond. This was an unpaved, overgrown footpath with delusions of grandeur, that seemed to meander almost aimlessly through the trees. Slowly but surely, the road behind you slid into the foliage and out of view, and though you knew he must be exhausted, you found yourself deeply grateful that Sabo had opted to finish the drive himself.

You could barely imagine picking your way through this on foot without prior knowledge, let alone in a car. At regular intervals Sabo’s side of the road would simply open up into nothing, offering a stunning view of the valley, of the forested mountain on the other side, and what you were sure was likely a precipitous drop off into the river below. The thought of it made you a bit queasy, despite the beauty of the scenery, and you leaned back into your seat, opting instead to watch the high wall of fallen leaves and hillside passing by on the passenger side.

“Just a little bit longer, I promise. The cabin’s just on the other side of the hilltop. You’re going to love the view. Plus it’s got good access to a little lake. The water is always unreasonably cold, but it’s gorgeous,” He said, turning his head only slightly towards you to keep his focus on the road. “Tell ya what, if the old rowboat is still functional, I’ll take you out on it. Tomorrow, after we’ve had some rest.”

You smiled at that, humming acquiescently. The thought of spending time out on the lake with him—spending time out anywhere with him—was wonderful, perfect, of course, though at the moment the only thing you could muster any true enthusiasm for was a long bath and the promise of a comfortable bed. The whole place was probably going to need aired out and dusted off, and while there was a generator Sabo had made it clear that it might need a little TLC before there would be any power. That was fine. If you two needed to spend the first night cooking hotdogs and smores in the fireplace, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

That phrase rattled around in your mind a little, and you shuddered. Sabo glanced at you, before reaching out and flicking the AC down a couple of notches.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. You squeezed his hand tightly, before drawing it up to your lips.

“With you? ‘Course not.” you whispered back.

He smiled, perhaps a little smugly, though that simply made you kiss the back of his hand once again.

**

When the road had finally meandered off the slope of the mountain you were on, following a little rise into a nestled clearing between peaks, you’d sighed in relief and slumped back in your seat, making Sabo laugh good-naturedly.

“The ride in is a little harrowing the first time, but I promise it’s gonna be worth it,” He’d said, letting go of your hand so he could ruffle it through your hair, and down to rest at the back of your neck, soothing the tense muscles with warm, precise little movements.

You weren’t honestly sure what you’d been expecting the cabin to look like. Vague images of a hunting lodge, of a summer camp bunk house, of a better homes and gardens style airbnb, and Rapunzel’s tower had all made their aimless way across your mind on the way in.

What you found was nothing short of magical. Even in the grey, dreary light of what had turned out to be a drizzly, windy sort of day, the little valley nestled between the peaks still seemed to glimmer with the echos of sun-warmed adventures and youthful secrets. The road you were on petered out into the soft green grass of a charmingly overgrown clearing. The hilltop seemed to cup the clearing like a giant hand, curving trees and bushes and delicate little wildflowers inward towards the cabin, more like the framing of a painting than the work of nature.

The cabin itself was larger than you’d anticipated, but not nearly as campish or dilapidated as Sabo had suggested. Dark old wood comprised both stories of the house, with a wraparound porch and swing visible as you approached, and a balcony on the one upstairs room you could see from this side.

The windows were boarded up, sure, but Sabo had assured you that was standard practice every time he and his brothers left the place for the season. Safer that way in case of storms, and it kept most of the animals from scratching around too much.

“We’ll pull the boards off the windows of the upstairs rooms so we can get a cross-breeze up where we’re gonna sleep. Rest of em we can work through tomorrow. No rush. We’ve got time to settle in.” he said, cheerful despite the situation, as he finally pulled the car to a stop, and killed the engine.

You leaned forward for a moment, taking in the place through the tinted blue of the top of the windshield, before unclipping your seat belt and climbing out of the car at long last. Without the rumble of the engine and the whirring of the AC, the place was even more beautiful. Wind swept through the valley, rustling in the trees, stray leaves twirling and trailing in the wind as they fell.

Sabo climbed out of the car too, leaning against the open driver’s side door to watch you, a gentle smile on his lips.

‘It’ll all be worth it. Even if all that ever came of it was this, it’d be worth it,’ the thought settled across his mind like gossamer silk, his eyes growing dreamy and unfocused, as he drank in the sight of your excitement. You seemed to glow in the gentle light that filtered down through the trees, and he knew in that moment that there was no one in the world more perfect than you. His love, his darling.

He could make you happy here. He would make you happy here. Happy, and safe, and loved. As you deserved.

You almost yelped in startled delight when you lowered your head from observing the trees around you to find Sabo directly by your side, lips quirked up into a grin. It was one of the things you loved about him, one of his many fascinating little quirks, he could be so quiet when he wanted to be. Your high little peal of laughter only widened his grin, and in one swift motion he had you lifted up into his arms, cradled against his chest, nestled into a grip that spoke of unfathomable reverence, and a heat that seemed always to be boiling just inches beneath his skin, a hunger that only ever found satiation in your love, your touch, your pleasure.

You looked up into the face of the man you loved breathlessly, the hint of color and responding heat beginning to touch your cheeks, and he sighed, letting those beautiful cornflower blue eyes of his slip closed, poorly feigning a chiding expression as he leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“I see how it is,” he sighed airily, turning towards the cabin with you as though you weighed nothing at all. “What am I, compared to pretty leaves and a mysterious old cabin~” he intoned, hyperbolically mournful, and you rolled your eyes playfully before turning your head to kiss his chin.

“My guide through the darkness, as always,” you returned, mimicking his feigned mournfulness, though just as the words left your lips, Sabo carried you up onto the creaking old wood of the porch, and into the semi-darkness that came with it. The cloud cover was too heavy to throw off the pal of disuse, and you couldn’t quite manage to suppress the shiver that ran through you. Up close, with its boarded windows and unfamiliar shadows, there was something...ominous, about the place. Sabo stilled for a moment, glancing down at you, his playful expression giving way to concern, and something like remorse, as he set you gently onto your feet again.

“Nobody’s been out here in a couple years,” He squeezed your shoulders softly, rhythmically, before pulling you forward into a hug. “That’s all it is. There’s no way that anythi—that anyone would even know to come out this way beyond Ace and Luffy, and they’re out of state. You know that,” his voice was so even, so reasonable, and when he pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours you sighed, and nodded.

“Whatever’s happening out there, it can’t get to us here. I’ll keep you safe.”

You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, and as he stroked your cheek and let you sink into his warmth, you willed the worry to subside, at least a little.

“Yeah,” you whispered, and he nodded with a soft sigh before turning his attention back towards the task at hand.

He seemed to ponder the boarded up door for a moment, brows furrowing thoughtfully. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might have wondered whether you were locked out...but after a moment of “contemplation,” Sabo tilted his head down towards you, and winked.

“We always board everything up when we leave...except the front door. Watch,” Sabo leaned forward, running his fingertips along the outside of the door frame until something gave way with a small click. Without bothering with the visible lock and seemingly independently of the doorknob, the entire boarded up apparatus swung open a couple of inches, and Sabo pulled it open the rest of the way with a flourish.

“Is it...fake?” you asked, reaching out to touch the camouflaged button he had pressed, watching the simple release mechanism punch outwards curiously.

“False front door,” Sabo replied proudly, almost excitedly, as he ran his palm down the old wood. “One of the few good ideas Luffy’s grandfather ever had. The actual front door is on the lakeside of the house. This way, even if someone did somehow manage to approach from the road, all they’d see is what looked like a boarded up old house.”

Something about that felt a little odd. Why would such a decoy be necessary in general, let alone for a place as secluded as this? But beyond what sounded like an old man’s paranoia, you couldn’t quite place why it struck you so strangely, nor did you have time to properly contemplate it, as Sabo was moving ahead of you into the house, striding confidently into the gloom.

You hesitated in the doorway, still gripped by that odd sense of foreboding; distantly, the sound of thunder began to roll through the hills, and it might as well have been night for all the grey light did to illuminate the interior of the cabin. Little slits of feeble light peeped out from impossibly far back in the space, and you noticed, once the rumbling of thunder died down, that the cabin had fallen quite silent. You couldn’t hear the sound of Sabo’s boots on the wooden floor, nor any of his usual stream of cheerful commentary.

It was as though the house had simply swallowed him whole.

Behind you, the wind seemed to be slowly picking up in intensity again, carrying the distant rolling thunder closer. Fat droplets of rain began to plop down through the trees, into the grass, hitting the windshield with intermittent but purposeful force.

The anxiety of the previous night began to creep up the back of your neck again, adrenaline pooling in your lungs as cool as rainwater.

Pat. Pat. Splat.

You’d been dead asleep when it started. The crash of glass had jarred you awake, the sound of screaming shortly after like nothing you’d ever heard. High and ragged and inhuman, like someone burning, like agony and rage and consumption tearing insufficient human vocal cords raw in punishment for attempting to express a pain and hatred so vast.

The sound had frozen you to your core, welding your joints in place, leaving you trapped and horrified in what had only moments before been one of the safest places in your world. There was a moment of quiet, punctuated by gasping, sickened breathing, by the steady pattering of something thick and wet falling to the floor of your bedroom. Shambling steps cracked the glass that littered the floor, erratic, listless...and this time, when that primal shriek ripped through the nauseating silence, you jolted beneath your sheets. Just barely. Just enough.

Something heavy had pressed down on the end of the bed, so close to your frozen legs that any further movement would have brought you into contact instantly. The thick, wet liquid dripped against the blankets as the unseen thing made its unsteady way up towards the headboard where you lay and it stank, rot and decay flooding your nostrils, turning your stomach almost enough to make you retch--

If it hadn’t been for Sabo, if he’d taken even a second longer, if he hadn’t dropped his water glass to shatter in the sink and flown down the hallway like a man possessed, it might have touched you. It might have dribbled that foul bile onto your face, into your mouth, and you would have screamed...you were sure you would have died. But as it was, you never saw it. Mercifully, you never saw it.

The weight had lifted from the bed the second your bedroom door had crashed open, and though you still hadn’t quite been able to make yourself move you heard it, Sabo’s fury and something that sounded suspiciously like metal as it sang through the air, only to crash into the thing with a sickening crack.

When he’d pulled you out of bed, he’d faced you away from the thing. From the mess you were sure must lay just beside where you’d been sleeping. The second he had you standing, the same spell that had frozen you sent you spinning into action, and he followed your lead. The two of you had grabbed what was easiest, throwing food and ice into a cooler, grabbing the first aid kit you usually kept for camping excursions, and you’d been in the car and out onto the road without evening looking back.

If it hadn’t been for several overturned cars, for several houses that stood like guttered ghosts with gaping eyes of broken glass, for the smoke that rose and billowed in the direction of town, it might have seemed like a normal night.

Sabo had turned on the radio only long enough to confirm that they were in range of nothing but the emergency broadcast system. Other than that one set of lonely taillights, you might have been the only two people left on--

All at once, the cabin lighting sprang to life, startling you from your reverie in a moment of mingled relief and panic. The warm orange glow of welcoming old lights filled the previously menacing space, and faintly over the sound of the rising storm, the labored rumbling of the generator could be heard.

“Looks like Ace actually left the thing topped off last time he was here, but we can still cook out in the fireplace if you w—” Sabo jogged back into view from where he’d disappeared—either to the basement or the back of the house—but his triumphant tone sagged into worried silence when he found you, ashen, still standing in the open doorway where he’d left you.

“I’m okay,” you said, though your voice wavered unconvincingly. A gust of wind splattered the steady drizzling rain against the back of your neck and this time you did jump, before stepping over the threshold and closing the door a bit harder than you’d intended.

“I’m okay.” You said again, more an order for your own frightened heart than a reassurance for your fiance, but he stepped forward anyway and pulled you into his arms again.

“We’re okay,” Sabo replied.

You breathed deeply into the warmth of his chest, and believed him.

**

That first day passed in a near constant stream of activity that kept your mind thankfully occupied, either by the seemingly endless stream of maintenance tasks the cabin seemed to need, or the loving, doting, and supportive attentions of your lover.

The storm that had blown in had made getting the windows unboarded and opened untenable, but the downstairs bathroom hadn’t required much to get to a usable state, and with the boiler kindly willing to acquiesce to your request to light, you’d been able to share a hot bath before changing into your set of spare clothes.

By the time you were nestled down in the sea of blankets Sabo had pulled out of their vacuum-sealed prisons and roasting hot dogs in the fireplace, the memory of the night before had slunk back into the recesses of your mind again, like the dregs of a bad dream. Sabo had said something about the storm likely interfering with the radio, and that he’d try to get it working once it had blown over.

You hadn’t argued. Eventually, you knew, you would have to open those floodgates, to see how bad things were...but if you had to wait another night to make it real, that was okay.

When your lover had rolled you gently onto your back in that sea of blankets, in the warmth of the dying fire and the storm raging outside, you had opened beneath him like a flower. He’d made short work of the boxers you’d borrowed, of the t-shirt which had been your only quick option during your flight.

The warmth of his hands as they cradled you to him, as they lifted your hips onto the improvised cushions and angled your body into a comfortable position, burned away, at least for the moment, any worries for the world outside.

Instead you sank into the sight of him, into the way the firelight seemed to dance across every inch of soft skin, every furrow of relaxed muscle, entranced by the way his belly contracted as he shimmied out of his pajama pants.

“Beautiful,” You’d whispered, as you opened your arms to him, following the familiar lines of muscle up over his shoulders to clasp around him, to close the gap between you that kept his warmth so cruelly from you.

“Not like you, love,” Sabo sighed softly, reverently, stifling any possible retort as he licked into your mouth at last, lapping over your tongue, tasting you as much as kissing you until any breath, any thought but desire for him, had been consumed.

Sabo had always been ravenous, had always run you up against the limits of what you thought you could take with, and though he was as gentle and supportive of your pleasure as he was of all aspects of your life, there was always that glimmer. That glint in his eye that suggested he would always need one more, one more from you, to ever properly be sated.

That night, with the outside world denied entry and the distractions of your previous life distant and moot, he was like a man possessed.

Even as the kiss left you gasping, wanting, he’d trailed lower, suckling marks into your throat that would take days to fade, lapping and soothing over each one as though determined to taste every inch of you.

“You know I’d give you all of me...everything I am,” his voice, usually so smooth and even and honey-sweet, came out raw and low, more a sensation against the peak of your nipple than voice before he closed his mouth around the bud, swirling it with his tongue as a promise of pleasure to come. Warmth blossomed through your body and when you whined softly in response, body flexing as you arched your back to press more of yourself into his mouth, he obliged in earnest, his palm sliding between your shoulderblades and lifting you like you weighed nothing at all.

Under any other circumstance he might have teased you. Might have made you ask, might have made you use your words, but the patience required had fled him. He kissed across your chest, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way you flushed and writhed at his touch, and simply could not imagine a world where making you wait could be worth it. At least, not today.

This time, when he closed his mouth over the sensitive peak of your nipple, the fingers of his free hand trailed lower, soothing over your belly, calming your writhing body down even as he worked his teeth into the tender flesh there. This time when you cried out, he moaned sympathetically in return, as though the sudden surge of pleasure had rushed straight from your nerves into his, though he did nothing to lessen the intensity, the sympathetic noise turning into a low groan of need as his fingers dipped lower still, stroking the slick building between your thighs gently.

“Sabo, please,” your voice, thick and heavy with need, with a desperation much bigger than the moment, snapped his gaze towards yours for a moment.

“I know, I know,” he’d whispered, burying the quirk of his lips between your breasts, down your belly, nestling momentarily in the tuft of hair just above where you needed him most. “Gotta get you ready, darling, I—”

Rather than finishing the thought, rather than giving you the opportunity to thrash or beg him further, Sabo had dipped his tongue between your lips, watching you with hazy eyes as the taste of you flooded his senses. He teased the hood of your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely swiping over it in little circles before dipping lower, kissing between your legs, licking and suckling you open.

By the time he’d lifted his head again, chin slick with the evidence of your need, you almost felt hysterical. He watched in mesmerized pride as your clit twitched like a second heartbeat, swollen almost entirely out from under its hood, though only for a moment before finally giving you what you needed. The sound you made when he’d closed his lips around your desperate nub had almost sounded wounded, and Sabo had smoothed his palms up the backs of your thighs, tapping them wordlessly to get you to hold them while he drove you towards your peak.

It took almost nothing for the first orgasm to take you, racing up and crashing against your clit with every swirled beat of his tongue, though he’d given you only a moment to revel in it before slicking two fingers into your spasming cunt. He knew your body better than his own, knew where the little spot inside you was that made you growl and thrash in his arms like a thing wild, and he grinned against your core as your breathlessness gave way to a wail of pleasure that might almost have contained his name.

He didn’t let you rest. The pleasure of the first orgasm never quite ebbed enough to end as he dragged you through the pleasure up, up towards another peak. You were burning in his arms, beneath his mouth, molten desire stripped of more complex concerns, and he hadn’t even filled you yet.

“M’ready, I’m ready, S—aaa, Sabo please, plee-eeeaaa,” your pleas dissolved into another wordless groan as the pleasure began to crest again; this time when you came, your back arched so sharply that it practically lifted off the floor, your legs falling open at your sides as sense momentarily left you, displaced by the sensitive ecstasy he had driven into you.

You’d looked down then, vision hazy and eyes half-lidded through a cloud of bliss, and the small part of your mind still capable of thought expected to see him pulling away, getting to his knees, surely, surely you were wet enough now, pliant enough now...but the gaze that met yours from where your lover still lay between your legs seemed almost maddened with lust. At some point in the fog of your pleasure he had moved, knees spread out in a low crouch, and despite your previous two orgasms arousal twisted low in your guts as you realized he was rutting himself against the blankets beneath him, mindlessly soothing his own need while he drank from yours.

“Awww, I felt that, baby,” he whispered against you, grinning positively lethally in the firelight as you clenched and dribbled around his fingers. “Do you like that? Do you like knowing what you do to me, my love? How desperate you make me?” his voice was low, almost teasing despite all, as he rutted his hips against the blankets in quiet demonstration.

“Yes...fuck, yes,” you hadn’t bothered to hide it, he knew, and even if he didn’t, it wasn’t like your body was capable of covering for your lie. Sabo kissed the inside of your thigh in appreciation, though that hunger seemed to rise in him again when he slicked his fingers out of you only to watch your hole flutter around nothing.

Part of him wanted to simply dive back down into you, to slick his tongue in as deeply as he could and drink until he was full...but that would have been selfish. And besides...he had all the time in the world now worship at the altar of your thighs.

Gently, carefully, Sabo shifted his weight, sitting up on his knees properly again. He rested his cock, swollen and red and leaking, along the entire length of your slit as he leaned over your, taking his weight on one splayed palm so that he could lean down over you, nuzzling his forehead against yours. Beneath all that ferocious hunger, he loved you so, and the warmth that spread through his chest at the way you lifted your watery eyes to meet his almost quelled the need scrabbling between his ribs.

Almost.

He allowed you one last moment to breathe, enjoying the way you rolled your hips against his as he rutted the head of his cock against your clit once, twice, and then he was guiding himself lower, slick with your own pleasure and his slick as he rocked himself forward, fucking himself just barely through the spasming ring of your opening. The heat of you nearly knocked him senseless, and the mingled cry of desperate pleasure and relief was so mutual that there was no way to tell where your voice stopped and his started. His hips stuttered, pleasure surging through him at even this shallow connection, and he only managed to pull himself partially out of you before plunging back down, this time to the hilt.

Whether it was the terror that had driven you here, or the desperation for the normalcy of this intimacy, you might never know, but you would have sworn in that moment that you’d never felt so full in your entire life. Sabo gasped again, the sound sending rippling shocks of pleasure out from where you were connected, grinding himself in deeper still, fucking little spurts of precum against your cervix. When he kissed you it was so soft as to be jarring; a tender lament for what was to come.

Carefully, purposefully, Sabo moved you, unhooking the leg you had wrapped around his waist on instinct so that he could drape your knees over his elbows. Palms splayed against the makeshift bed as he held you open, letting you feel the way he pulsed and twitched inside you as he pulled halfway out, and fucked down in again, angling his hips to rut over the spot he’d been worrying with his fingertips before.

“Breathe for me, love,” he whispered, tone almost cloyingly sympathetic as he drove his hips downwards, patience finally slipping away as he took you in deep, rough strokes.

The instruction did nothing to stop the way the pleasure rushed into you again, leaving no room for air, for thoughts, for intention. Your eyes rolled back, and Sabo suckled your tongue into his mouth, toying with it the way he had your clit even as he ground his hips down to scrub against the little nub in turn.

You were going to cum again, he was going to make you cum again, and you babbled incoherencies against his tongue as that familiar feeling began to twist and tighten inside you again.

“That’s it darling, that’s it. Perfect love, gorgeous, do it for me, I know you can,” he panted against your lips, and you could feel it too, the way he was swelling inside you, the way his hips were starting to stutter and twitch.

You wanted him to feel good, needed him to follow you over the edge this time, and you knew he knew, somehow, knew he could tell what you wanted like he was living inside your head with you. Some distant part of you wondered if he was. If that would really be so bad.

With a last push of coordination Sabo wedged his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and pressing down against it, rubbing neat, almost vicious circles, and you were gone, that final orgasm chasing away any sense that wasn’t the pleasure he fucked down into you. The all-consuming heat of it stole his breath too, and it was all he could do to rut you through it before he had to bury himself in you, teeth clenched and cock twitching as he filled you with hot, thick spasms of his pleasure.

Time seemed to trickle by, thick and slow as the heat between you as you both tried to settle back into reality. Love seemed to cradle you in all directions as Sabo murmured to you, gentle praise and careful check-ins melding together in your mind into a comforting static of safety.

You weren’t sure when sleep took you, only that when it did it was to the feeling of your lover’s lips against yours, and the soft slickness of his cock softening out of you. Bliss.

**

It almost felt like a honeymoon, despite the circumstances. That first week had been a whirlwind of activities, interspersed with spontaneous, increasingly intense lovemaking that left you dizzied, but satisfied and contented.

Sabo had always been an early riser, and you often found that by the time you joined him—at the oh-so-late hour of 9ish every morning—he had completed some new battery of tasks that left the day open for less strenuous maintenance, or walks down by the lake, or a bonfire in what turned out to be a very lovely firepit in the back yard.

If it hadn’t been for what had driven you from your home to begin with, you might have been content to simply let yourself fall into the routine he had set up for the two of you. Sabo certainly seemed devoted to keeping your mind off things—he hated to see you worry, hated the idea of you ever having to feel frightened—and had it not been for the issue of the radio, you might have settled into this new life without terribly much regard.

Sabo had always been, as far as you knew, an open book with you. Even when you’d just started dating, even when your relationship was fresh and tentative and new, he had always answered your questions honestly, had prioritized open communication and honesty as a core tenet of your life together.

So it concerned you when, after a week of trying to get signal, Sabo had outright refused to let you into the radio room to give it a try.

You’d thought he was joking at first, had laughed and tried to brush past him, but he’d taken your hand and spun you into a little dip, dancing you away towards the stairs that led down to the loft room you’d taken up residence in.

“It’s kinda...unsafe in there, to be honest,” he’d said, when it was clear that simply kissing you wasn’t going to put the conversation to bed.

“What do you mean ‘unsafe,’” you’d asked skeptically, the corners of your lips still upturned in a grin despite all, half-convinced this was all one of his jokes, though the good humor had started to melt back towards confusion and concern when his expression didn’t give.

For a long moment, Sabo didn’t answer. Instead he chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes unfocused, and something in your stomach started to churn.

“Did you hear something?” you asked quietly. Sabo shook his head firmly.

“No no, nothing like that, it’s just. The only room in the cabin that’s not really finished.” He paused again, like he was trying to choose his words carefully, and when he met your gaze again there was something mournful, a little, in the blues of his eyes.

“Luffy’s grandfather set that room up in case of...emergencies. We weren’t even allowed to go into it while he was still alive, none of us had seen it until the deed to the place passed to us with his will. It’s just…” another short pause, and then. “It’s...boobytrapped. Kind of.”

There was a slight pause. Part of you had been tempted to laugh at the suggestion, vague images of Roadrunner and Wil E. Coyote running through your mind, but something in his expression stopped you from doing so.

“What kind of boobytraps…” you asked carefully, rubbing his arms with your palms. Sabo just shook his head.

“Luffy’s grandfather...Garp...got a little paranoid towards the end. He was sure Ace’s biological father was going to show up, that he needed to be ready for some kind of an attack…”

“Was he not on good terms with Ace’s father?” You asked quietly.

“No idea, we never knew him. By the time Garp started talking about this, Ace’s dad had been dead for nearly 20 years.”

Whatever concern or confusion had settled into your heart began to give way to sadness. Sabo’s eyes slid away from yours for a moment before he leaned forward to kiss your forehead.

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, but the guy’s ex-military, special forces, we only figured out there was anything wrong with the room because Luffy stepped on a loose board and almost lost his foot to some kind of wire trap set into the space beneath it.”

You sighed heavily, glancing warily over his shoulder to where the door to the radio room stood partially ajar.

“Sorry baby, I shouldn’t have pressed,” you started, but Sabo shushed you, pulling you into his arms and rocking you gently.

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’d have been curious too! It’s just...tough to talk about. I’ve got it mostly mapped out in there, but I’d die if you got hurt, and it seems safe to assume there probably aren’t...hospitals. To take you to, in any event.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and nodded, and for a time you let the radio room and its mysteries slip out of your mind. If he caught a signal, you knew he would tell you, and until then...it seemed reasonable to give the room a wide berth.

**

The real trouble started when your hastily gathered supplies began to ran low. Clothes weren’t really an issue, the cabin had a washer and a line to dry things on, and enough dry detergent to last the next 20 years, but the food had began to dwindle after the third day, and while the lake seemed to be well stocked with fish, running it dry didn’t make a lot of sense.

Hunting wasn’t an option, neither of you were particularly proficient with firearms, and the idea of killing and gutting anything bigger than a fish turned you both off immensely...which left only one real option.

“I’m going to make a run into town—”

“We’re going to make a run into town—”

“There’s one just about a half hour away back up the main road, and I’ll be back before you can even miss me,” Sabo said, kissing your forehead and then your nose despite the fact that you had crossed your arms rather tightly against your chest and were refusing to budge.

He sighed. You arched your eyebrows and stared at him, waiting.

“Do you think I’m not capable of putting canned food in a shopping cart?” you asked dryly.

Sabo scrubbed a hand over his face, looking helpless. “Of course not, this has nothing to do with competency or ability,” he said evenly, though that mournful look at begun to creep its way into his eyes again.

“Okay. Then help me understand. This is basic horror movie rules, Sabo, don’t split the group, don’t send people off on their own. How do I keep in contact with you with no phones, what if the car breaks down, what if you d—” you stop yourself, wincing, irritated at the tears prickling the edges of your eyes.

Gently, patiently, Sabo pried your arms apart, rubbing and relaxing the muscles until you went limp enough for him to take your hands.

“I’m going to come back. I know it’s horror movie rules, but another horror movie rule is to not leave home base unattended, right?” he asked, kissing the backs of both your hands. You scowled up at him, though the expression was somewhat dampened when you leaned forward to gently bonk his forehead with yours. He laughed, the chiming sound of it wriggling stubbornly into your heart, and you sighed.

“Okay...next time I’m going though. We’ll trade off. Deal?” You asked.

Sabo linked his pinky with yours. “I’ll even bring back walkie-talkie’s, there’s a hunting store in town that ought to have decently long range ones.”

You nodded, placated for the time being, though it made you queasy with anxiety to watch him pulling away from your little safe haven, even moreso to watch the way the little car seemed to vanish into the foliage like it had never been there at all.

Sabo felt it too, nausea churning in his stomach as he pulled away. He knew you’d be safe this far out, but leaving you behind felt awful.

Lying to you felt awful, too. You were so good, so loving, so trusting, and it broke his heart to have to not be honest with you...but it was only for a little while longer. Routine cured a great many ills, and once he had everything settled, your life together would be secure. Unshakable.

Just a little while longer.

**

It had been eerie, a little, that first time, walking back up into the cabin alone. Not quite so ominous as the very first day, but the silence of it was unsettling. Without the semi-constant flow of conversation with your lover, or the sound of hammering, or the promise of outdoor activities, the reality of your situation...of, potentially, the world’s situation...began to creep in at the corners again.

Sabo had made fairly quick work of...whatever the creature had been, that was sure, but he had taken it by surprise. And there had only been one.

What if they moved in groups? What if only some of them were shambling and loud and slow like that that? What if—

You shut the thoughts down, slapping your hands gently against your cheeks until the mental noise started to subside. If you were going to be functional through this, you were going to have to learn to adapt...and to trust the man you loved to keep his promises.

He would come back to you, car loaded with enough soup to make you sick of the prospect, and everything would be fine.

For a moment you had simply stood in the middle of the livingroom, looking around the space thoughtfully. Most of the actually necessary maintenance had been done by now, the only rooms still boarded were ones where the glass had been damaged somewhat, whether by the storm or disuse.

You’d found so many bed linens and vacuum-sealed bags of clothes you’d both wondered how many people Garp had actually intended to have stay at the cabin, despite Sabo’s assurances that to his knowledge he, Luffy, Ace, and the old man had been the only ones he’d ever seen there.

Still, there were two floors and a basement full of closets and storage that it would hurt nothing to sort through, and so you set about that task. In a blind stroke of luck, the first closet you’d gone through in one of the side rooms on the first floor had contained a record player, and five boxes worth of old vinyls. That, at least, was something, and you had chased the eerie silence out of the cabin with The Eagles and Steely Dan while you worked.

By the time Sabo came back—almost exactly an hour and a half on the dot—you had cleaned out several shelves worth of vinyls, card games, and board games, and were feeling in considerably better spirits.

Your lover had laughed when he’d come in to find you sitting in a sea of old school entertainment, blasting classic rock, and you’d dashed up into his arms, kissing him thoroughly once you’d checked to make sure he wasn’t injured.

“Not a hair out of place, just like a promised,” he’d said, cradling your cheeks to kiss you back for a moment before reaching around you to turn the record player off. You’d gone out with him then to find a pretty impressive haul. Canned food, a better can-opener than the rusty old one in the kitchen, what looked like bulk boxes of jerky and dried meats from what was likely backstock, dried beans, rice, a rice cooker, snacks, a much nicer first aid kit, and, as promised, two long range walkie-talkies.

“This should hold us for a month if we’re careful with it, and fish at least once a week,” he said. You blinked up at him.

“Sabo I’m reasonably sure there’s enough soup and rice here to last us to Christmas if we had to ration,” you said, looking at all of it. Nothing was in bags, as though he had hastily loaded everything he could grab into carts and dumped it into the car.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment.

“How bad was it,” you asked quietly, watching his expression carefully.

Sabo exhaled, long and slow. “Not as bad as it could have been, maybe. Mostly it looks like people just evacuated, there’s a lot of places to hide in the mountains, but…” he worried the inside of his cheek for a moment, and ran his hand through his hair. “There were a lot of places that looked...damaged. Windows smashed in, a couple of places looked burned out. I didn’t...see anything. Anyone. But there was blood. In too many places to just have been an accident, I fear.”

Wind swept through the clearing, rustling through the trees, and a small part of your new reality began to settle over the pair of you at last. There was plenty of what had been to scavenge...but it did not seem as though there was anything to go back to.

“If things are that bad all the way out here, then the cities…” you trailed off, eyes focused a little too heavily on a can of chicken soup.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Sabo sighed. “Only thing we can do is stick it out here, and keep trying to find something on the radio.” He paused for a moment before leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Hey, at least we don’t have to worry about paying off those student loans anymore,” he said, kissing your cheek, and despite all you laughed just a little.

“That is one of the perks of the apocalypse. No rent either, credit scores are dead…” you said, glancing up at him with the tiniest grin before tugging him back towards the house.

“At least we’re together,” you added, and he beamed.

“At least we’re together.”

It took both of you, a bed sheet, and three trips to get everything he’d packed into the car in the house, and another hour spent organizing the kitchen into a well stocked and usable resource.

As you’d curled up together to sleep that night, you resolved to set what was out of your mind. There would be time to grieve...forever, perhaps, to grieve...but the first priority had to be keeping each other safe, and your spirits high. All you’d ever really had before was each other, at least on a daily basis, and you could do worse in the nebulous end of the world than having the love of your life by your side.

Sleep took you more easily, and when thunder rolled and rumbled through your little valley, nestled warmly in Sabo’s arms, you didn’t even stir.

**

Months passed, late summer blend into fall bled into early winter, and you and Sabo had fallen mostly into a comfortable routine.

Intermittently, perhaps a handful of times, Sabo had managed to raise someone on the radio. The people he contacted seemed healthy, sometimes scared, but nobody he spoke to seemed to know any more than they did. Occasionally, one of them would be willing to share their approximate location, but according to Sabo this part of the country had never been particularly trusting of strangers at the best of times, and he wasn’t terribly surprised most people didn’t want to give up their safe havens.

The people you did get information out of went up on a map you two had set up. While mostly people wouldn’t tell where they were, they were willing to share info about towns nearby, about the accessibility of supplies, and the levels of...activity that they’d seen.

It had been decided, after a week’s worth of debating back and forth, that given what appeared to be an increasing amount of activity, and given that Sabo was vastly more familiar with this area of the state than you were, that he would do the supply runs. They were few and far between, provided that he found well-enough stocked stores, and with the compromise that he go as early as possible, so that he wasn’t running around in broad daylight for...whatever might be there to see, you had eventually acquiesced.

The cabin was remote, but there was logic to keeping it locked and guarded with at least one occupant, as whatever this new world’s creatures were, they weren’t the only possible dangers that might crop up. While neither of you liked it, on the second big supply run Sabo had returned home with a rifle.

“You don’t have to use it, but I’d feel a lot better if you at least had it.” He’d explained, as you’d looked the thing over on the front lawn, frowning.

The idea of someone just stumbling onto your little refuge seemed extremely unlikely...but so had the world ending on a random Tuesday evening in August, previously. While you’d been mostly opposed in your previous life, it would have been silly to deny the ambient protection having the thing around provided. In the end, you’d agreed to keep it by the front door for emergencies during the day, and by your bedroom door for emergencies at night, and that had been the end of it.

All-in-all, you felt that the two of you were doing pretty well, all things considered. The cabin was comfortable and well-secured, you’d worked out a supply-running system that seemed to be keeping Sabo safe, and while the other people he’d found weren’t...accessible...knowing that the two of you weren’t the only people who had made it out, at least within range of the radio, was comforting enough to keep you both in good spirits.

For better or worse, everything seemed...perfect.

Which was why, when you were sorting through the most recent supply haul, trying to get all the consumables sorted from the toiletries and such, you weren’t exactly sure what to make of the slip of paper.

You’d almost thrown it away without thinking, eyes glazing over it when it dropped from between two bottles of shampoo, but just before it slipped out of your fingers and your mind entirely, you paused. Froze, rather, in the middle of the movement, and turned the paper over to look at it.

It was a receipt. It had been folded up and in on itself multiple times, long enough, perhaps, to accommodate the long list of supplies currently spread out at your feet.

Something acrid and metallic felt like it was creeping up your windpipe. Quickly, you had poked your head around the corner to check where Sabo was, only to find him chopping wood in the back yard, his breath clouded around his face in the cool winter air.

You watched him, your great love, until he looked up and smiled. You smiled back, and laughed a little when he blew you a kiss before going back to work.

You looked at him, and at the folded piece of paper on the counter, then back at him.

Maybe it was old. Neither of you had been the most fastidious people alive in the times before, perhaps this was simply from a long past shopping trip. Maybe it was from CVS, maybe that’s why it appeared to be several feet long.

That horrible, cold feeling lingered in your chest, though. Part of you wanted to look at it, if only to confirm that you were being ridiculous. Part of you felt like looking at it was a betrayal, was suggesting that you didn’t trust the love of your life.

Part of your mind began to turn over the radio room again, the fact that he was the only one leaving the clearing, that you hadn’t seen any part of the outside world beyond the lake and trails and grounds of the cabin in months.

It was absurd. A terrible train of thought. The manifestation of deferred grief, trying one last time to reason its way out of the end of your old life. You took a deep breath before picking up the piece of paper, determined to simply throw it away and be done, but the door opened just as you were about to let it go. On instinct, terrified for reasons you couldn’t imagine naming, you had stuffed it into your pocket instead, grabbing a jar of peanut butter and plastering on a grin just as Sabo came around the corner into the kitchen.

He paused for a moment at the sight of you, brows knitting together curiously as he approached you.

“You alright darling? You look a little pale,” he said, though he still stuffed his chilly fingers under your shirt, making you jump and laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, a little breathlessly, as you forewent the peanut butter in favor of warming him in your arms. “Just trying to get everything edible sorted out from cleaning stuff and meds, I think I’m just hungry,” you said bracingly, and he visibly relaxed.

“Tell ya what, let’s have a bath, and then I’ll get the stove going so we can make dinner, there’s enough wood chopped up to last us through the week I think,” he said, kissing your lips, your forehead, your nose.

You sighed contentedly, leaning into his affections with a nod. “Sounds perfect ‘Bo,” you said, and he grinned before popping off to run the water.

You stood there for a moment, fingertips brushing the outline of the receipt in your pocket, before calling out to Sabo that you were going to grab you both some fresh clothes and then you’d be in to join him. He acquiesced airily, easily, and you dashed upstairs, guilt and fear clawing at your throat.

You hated lying to him. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had. You stashed the crumpled receipt inside your pillowcase, before grabbing the promised clothes to bring down to him.

Next time he left, you’d look. It would be nothing, he’d laugh it off or console you for the misunderstanding...it would be nothing. You had no reason in the world to suspect him—objectively, the world’s most perfect partner—of anything at all. Let alone whatever your paranoid little mammal brain seemed to be trying to put together here.

When you reappeared with comfortable clothes and sank down into the bath with him, he held you tightly, washed your hair, your back, drained the water and refilled it when it started to cool, and made tender, gentle love to you until the water had half sloshed out and you were both laughing and sated.

‘Stupid,’ you’d thought dreamily, sleepily, as your fingers brushed the receipt later, tucked into bed and warm and safe.

‘I’ll just throw it away in the morning,’ you promised silently, as Sabo’s arms drew you into sleep.

But you didn’t though.

You kept it on you, somewhere, at all times. A strange, cursed talisman, unopened and dangerous, Schrödinger’s evidence of something unformed and unfathomable that you couldn’t bring yourself to define.

The winter holidays came and went, a New Year passed, to be spent fully in the new world you’d come to accept. The folded, worn piece of paper burned a hole in your pocket until finally, towards the end of January, supplies had dwindled low enough that Sabo announced he would be going on another run.

If he noticed your tension, or the way you seemed to hover and linger around him while he mapped out the route, he seemed to attribute it to nerves. Which wasn’t entirely an inaccurate, made it feel at least a little less like lying when you wrapped your arms around him and made him promise, as always, to come back to you safely.

**

Sabo watched you in the rearview mirror as he drove away, watched the little wave you raised as he trundled onto the path...and watched you disappear into the house before he’d made it fully into the trees.

Something was wrong. Like a miasma wafting through the air, nebulous, maddening, something had been wrong for weeks now.

It wasn’t always, of course, it wasn’t even often...but it was enough. Every now and again he’d catch you staring into space, eyes furrowed, worrying at the seams of your pants like you were trying not to be sick.

You never flinched away when he reached for you in those moments, always sank into the comfort of his touch...but you wouldn’t talk about it, either. At first, he’d been willing to brush it off as grief; your whole life, your whole world had changed, outside of your relationship with him. It was only natural that, eventually, that that wound would need tended to.

It was the little moments of fear that he couldn’t quite place, that unsettled him the most. Sometimes he would walk into the room and you would jump, startled; you always laughed it off as a moment of inattention, but even minutes later that haunted look would still be there, glimmering in the depths of your eyes…

He hated it. He hated that something was frightening you...and he hated that he couldn’t figure out what it was. He’d made sure everything here was as perfect, as comfortable, as safe and quiet and enjoyable as he possibly could. You had routine, you had fresh air, good food, books and games and music and—not to be forward—as many orgasms as he could give you in a given night.

Everything was perfect. So what had changed? What was different now, that hadn’t been there before?

Sabo pulled to a stop at the opening of the little side road, staring at the depression on the other side of the road for a moment before picking up the walkie-talkie.

“Eagle 1 to Kid Gorgeous, you there baby?” Sabo called casually into the receiver, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

He frowned, his heartbeat starting to falter, to race.

Something was wrong.

You’d never taken this long to answer, not since the first time when you’d accidentally gotten on different channels. Sabo pulled out onto the street wide, pulling back around to head back to the house, when the receiver crackled to life. He stopped dead in the street in his haste to answer it.

“Sorry, sorry hon, Kid Gorgeous was an idiot and dropped the pitcher of iced tea on the floor,” your voice settled over his frightened heart like balm on a wound, and he sighed, almost laughing before pressing the button down to answer you.

“Eagle One’s sorry to hear that, do you need me to come back and take care of the glass?”

“No, no, nothing here broken but a pitcher and my pride. Hopefully they’ve got another one where you’re headed.”

Sabo sighed, willing himself down out of panic mode, and put the car in drive, turning back onto the road again. “Roger that. I love you.”

“I love you, too, ‘Bo.”

With a deep breath, he set the receiver down in the cupholder, and willed himself to let the paranoia go.

If there was something wrong, you’d deal with it together. He had to trust you, he had to, or this was never going to work.

**

Sabo had been gone for maybe an hour by the time you collapsed onto the livingroom couch, annoyed with yourself and sweaty in the heat of the cabin despite the chill outside.

Part of you just wanted to take a shower and lay down, sleep through the empty hours until your lover returned. This time he was going on a run a couple little towns over, having mostly exhausted anything useful from the tiny town you’d been taking things from so far.

Your bed was comfortable, and so inviting after cleaning up glass and spilled tea and feeling very silly indeed...but the receipt was also up there, burning a hole in the innocent linen of your pillowcase.

Unwilling to go up there and face it, even for the reward of a nap, you had picked yourself up, resolved to grab a granola bar and head to the back of the cabin, to start going through the larger storage closet and its contents.

This little organization project had become something of a personal challenge for you, and Sabo had respected it, sitting with you while you worked on it sometimes, but largely leaving it to you. It was nice to have something to be working on ongoingly, nice to have something to do beyond just tidying up and listening to music when you were guarding the fort.

In hindsight, it was a little funny that the one truly unattended thing you were allowed to do here was what unraveled the entire facade.

The back bedroom seemed to have been Sabo’s youngest brother’s bedroom from when he was a child. The bed was covered over with protective covering still—as presumably Luffy had chosen a different room in the oddly cavernous cabin when he’d gotten older—the walls adorned with posters about different insects, the jungle-themed wallpaper adding a little extra fun and whimsy to what appeared to be a large collection of toys, action figures, and little pirate ships along the dressers.

You smiled fondly, but mostly left those things alone, determined instead to make the closet accessible, and to see if there was anything they might find useful inside.

It had occurred to you to ask, early on in your time here, whether Sabo’s brothers might try to find the cabin themselves. Sabo had looked hopeful for a moment, though his expression had quickly turned thoughtful.

“Lu’s off working on that nature preserve, and Ace is out there working with some of his buddies with the firewatch again,” he had said, smiling, if perhaps a little sadly. “They’re way out west...and while Ace has his Jeep, I don’t know that they’d risk such a long ride back. At least not until...or if...this craziness starts to die down.”

And that had made sense. It saddened you that Sabo might be out of range of his brothers for quite a long time, but neither of you had a solution for it, and so, like so many other things, you had simply learned to let it go.

You’d mostly been going through the boxes on autopilot, letting your tired mind drift while you went through what looked like children’s toys, books about beetles, old boxes with parts of expired experiments, a very dead chia pet...but you stopped when, at the bottom of the third box, a hand-crank radio slid into view.

It was pristine, despite how long it had likely sat buried underneath other toys and the remnants of childhood adventures past. You pulled it out of the bottom of the box, and for a long time you just...stared at it.

You glanced up at the ceiling, up towards the vague direction of the radio room that you’d never entered, towards the radio that was your only link to the outside world, the one thing in the house you’d effectively been forbidden to tamper with.

“It’s just a toy...it probably doesn’t have enough range to pick anything but the emergency broadcast system up,” you muttered to yourself, turning it over in your hand. Nothing on the back listed a distance, only a range of frequencies the little radio could pick up.

“Nothing but AM out this far probably, anyway. Maybe some automated church broadcast…”

you swallowed hard, suddenly stifled, like the walls of the cabin were pressing in on you, frozen, waiting.

What could it hurt? With slightly shaking fingers, you pulled the crank out of its cradle, and turned it. The first few times, nothing seemed to happen. Maybe it was broken, maybe it was so old it couldn’t be charged.

You turned it for 30 seconds, nothing. You turned it for another 30 seconds, nothing. You turned the crank for a full additional minute to no immediate response, and just as you were about to give up, to call it dead or broken and put it back in the box marked as unusable...the little front display lit up, and a voice blared out, lively and jarring in the solitude you’d come to accept.

“Annnnd folks we’re at the top of the hour, you’re listening to 43.3 AM, The Buzz. This is Buzz McCallan, comin to you with News on the 8s!”

You sat there for nearly 40 minutes, unmoving and sick. Through News on the 8s, through the update on sports, through a call-in section that seemed to be comprised of mostly disgruntled truckers...and through the Daily Update. A section on the reconstruction efforts, after the world’s brush with death.

After. The end of the world, as it turned out, had lasted for perhaps 3 weeks of sustained bloodshed and chaos, before the world had figured out how to fight back. It had taken another month after that to take stock of what had been lost, and to begin airdropping packets of a compound that seemed to reverse the damage to the parts of the brain that governed behavior and pain tolerance that the infection had damaged.

Now, nearly 6 months after the initial outbreak, the world, while still recovering...had mostly put itself back together again.

The little radio had finally run out of the charge you’d given it just as Buzz McCallan had finished his rant about gas prices, and when it shut off you simply sat there in the tinny, ringing silence.

Your mind was blank, perhaps mercifully so, as you rose on shaking, numb legs, and let your internal autopilot carry you up the stairs to the bedroom you’d been sharing.

By this point, you knew what you’d find as you fished out the crumpled receipt, and let it fall open in your hands.

Every item, listed and accounted for, dated and timestamped ‘Your cashier today was Marta!’ He’d paid in cash. He’d received $5.29 in change.

You wondered, somewhat perversely, if the people in the parking lot had thought he looked strange, dumping all of his neatly bagged groceries out, bag by bag, into the back of his car. You wondered if they thought it was one of those doomsday preppers, still too affected by the near-miss with apocalypse to think clearly.

You wondered if they thought he was nuts.

The whole world was still out there. Your job, your friends. Chinese takeout and movie trailers and neighbors you had always greeted politely but had no desire to meet.

“He’s keeping you prisoner,” a voice in your mind whispered. You frowned, brows furrowed, and shook your head.

“He’s never tried to stop me from leaving the cabin,” you whispered into the stagnant air.

The voice in your mind, which remembered horror movies and true crime podcasts, tutted. “Not the cabin. But have you so much as touched that car, unless he was there with you unloading groceries?”

You knew you were having a breakdown. You knew it was too much to take in, to understand.

“Something really did happen to us...to everyone, though. Maybe he’s just scared. He’s trying to keep us safe…” you whispered, your throat tightening around panic and tears and anger and grief.

“Sure. And that holds up for the first supply run...but you know he knew by the second. He’s paying in cash. He kidnapped you.”

Kidnapped. The word rocketed around your mind like a meteor, crashing through your rational thoughts, your excuses, battering your wounded and confused heart as it made its way down to lay like lead in your stomach.

Your internal voice didn’t have anything else to add, it seemed; the damage had been done, the illusion shattered. You had no idea what to think, what to do—your phone had been misplaced at some point early on, although now you wondered whether he hadn’t just chucked it into the lake, your purse was where you’d left it ages ago: in the car.

Still...you had to get out. Didn’t you? You couldn’t stay here, you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t know what happened. You couldn’t trust the love of your life.

Hot, stinging tears welled up and began to fall at that. Did you even know him? What was he capable of? Would he hurt you, if you tried to get away?

You shook your head so roughly your neck cracked, leaping up off the bed as you tried to stave off what you were sure was a panic attack.

You changed your clothes into something warmer, changed into a pair of the hiking boots you wore when the two of you went out fishing. The road was out there, you could follow it to the highway. Find someone. As long as you made it off the forest drive before he came back, you could make it. You tore through the kitchen, gathering food, filling your water bottle, getting a backpack you’d taken from one of the closets ready to depart.

You’d leave him a note. With the receipt and the radio. You could at least do that. Despite all, the idea of leaving him with nothing, with no way of knowing what had happened to you, hurt too much to consider.

After a moments thought, you grabbed the rifle from where it sat, primed, leaning against the doorway, and slung it over your shoulder. You didn’t know how far you’d have to go to find help, but walking alone in a world you hadn’t been part of in six months without any sort of protection seemed unwise, somehow.

The adrenaline in your system wasn’t helping the way you thought it should. Your body felt sluggish and unwieldy, like it might give out and drop you to the floor at any moment. Writing out the note felt like moving your hand through cement, comprehending the words to explain felt like sand against your brain. Everything hurt. The lights were too bright, your ears were ringing.

It was hard to hear anything over the sound of your body’s resistance to its new conditions. Which was probably why you hadn’t heard it when the car had come trundling to a stop. Hadn’t heard the sound of Sabo’s footsteps as he’d bounded up the stairs.

You almost screamed when the front door popped open, but when you whirled around with the rifle, at first, your lover had laughed—instinctively, nervously.

“Hey love, wh...what’s going on? You weren’t answering on the walkie,” he asked, raising his hands slowly, head cocked to the side in confusion, as he looked from the muzzle of the rifle to you.

The words seemed locked in your throat, and when you just stared at him, the look on his face changed from confusion to alarm. To fear. You grit your teeth, hating it, hating him, hating yourself.

“What’s going on, sweetheart...what happened here…?” Sabo took a tentative, slow step towards you. Your body, frozen to the spot, only managed to stare back at him, the muzzle trained on his chest still.

Those cornflower blue eyes you loved so dearly flickered between you and the gun again before looking back towards the entry hall table...only to fall upon the offerings you’d left there. The radio. The receipt. The rudiments of a note.

For the briefest flickering of a moment, Sabo’s expression went entirely blank, eyes darkening down to blackened slits of panic and pain that seemed to flash through your own chest sympathetically.

“Luffy’s room, probably, huh,” he whispered thickly.

You nodded, your own voice still trapped in your chest. You wondered idly whether you had truly lost your voice, or whether your body knew that if it let you speak you might never never never stop screaming.

You took a deep, unsteady breath. Sabo took another step towards you, pain and sorrow etched across his face once more.

“Let me have the gun, sweetheart. I swear I’ll explain, I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets. Just...let me have this,” He said softly, earnestly, lowering one hand slightly towards the rifle.

You took a jerky step back and he stopped, raising his hands again.

With a voice that was more breath and pain than sound, you whispered “I’ll shoot you.”

Tears welled delicately in Sabo’s eyes, but he shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

Your hands started to shake. Of course you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. The image of him, bloodied and cooling in the entryway, carved its way out of you like a knife and you whimpered...but held on.

“Why not,” you whispered again. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Sabo smiled gently, sadly, the tears slipping down his beautiful cheeks. “Because you love me...and the only ammunition I brought for the rifle are blanks.”

Dark spots began to swim in your vision then, the panic of the moment, the heat of the cabin, the agony of betrayal and confusion all beginning to wear through your senses. You had no plan for this, no experience to fall back on, the only comfort and safety you’d known in your adult life was standing opposite you, perched atop a castle of lies and coercion that you simply could not understand.

On instinct, you flung the rifle at him, winging it with all your waning strength as you lunged past him for the door.

He caught it with one hand, tossing it to the side as he spun to give chase, pressing something on the key ring as he did so.

Ahead of you, just barely out of reach, the front door swung closed ahead of you, and the odd trick mechanism clicked heavily into place. You ran into it, clumsy and sick with sadness and fear, just as Sabo caught up with you, colliding with your body and trapping you against the front door as the rest of the cabin responded to the panic button he had pressed.

His voice at your ear was so warm, so comforting, so unbelievably sad as he explained to you what was happening.

“Luffy’s grandfather really did lose it in his later years, the radio room actually is dangerous,” he whispered, running his palms soothingly up and down your arms despite the weight he was using to keep you pressed to the door. Just the way he had done a hundred thousand times before, conditioning you with his touch to be calm, to be pliant. Your mind felt like it was fracturing, leaning into the comfort of his touch just as it tried to wrestle your muscle control away from him.

Sabo shifted to make sure you could breathe and then continued. “He didn’t stop at the radio room, though. The doors and windows are all reinforced with steel, the doorframes are rooted into the foundation with concrete and rebar. I don’t know what he thought Ace’s biological father might be coming to do, but he prepped this place for war.”

Tears streamed down your face, frustrated, scared; part of you wished you’d just left well enough alone. That things could just go back to the way they were. Part of you didn’t understand how someone who loved you as thoroughly, as honestly as Sabo did, could do this to you. How anyone could ever do this.

“Why is this happening,” you whispered, partially muffled by the door.

Sabo sighed, sounding more weary than you’d ever heard him. “It was real, at first, whatever happened at the apartment. In the beginning all I could think about was making sure we got out here before it got worse, before people started to panic and the roads closed up. The storm really did interfere with the radio reception, and that little town really did look guttered out when I first made a run for supplies,” he said softly, fingertips lulling your unwilling body, coaxing you to relax. He kissed the back of your head, and it took all your control not to lean back into it.

“And it worked, you know, didn’t it? We got set up out here so fast, and since it’s private property and set so far back in the forest, nobody was able to follow us. Nothing sick made it out this far. You were safe, we were together, and…” he trailed off for a moment, forehead leaning against the back of your head, still trying to soothe you as the tears fell harder.

“...and we were happy. So happy. Happy as we’ve always been...and without any of the drudgery or people or circumstances that ever caused us stress. Remember, you said no student loans? No bills at all. No politics. None of your mean, ugly distant relatives, no more morning commute to work, no more mocking up powerpoints for rich assholes that never even commend you for your work.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, but he continued, his voice steadying into something righteous, something indignant, although it was clear that furor wasn’t directed at you.

“Every day some nonsense or another kept us apart, wore you down, caused us trouble...there was plenty enough in the inheritance to keep us comfortable, if the cost of living hadn’t just kept climbing and climbing and climbing...but then the infection started. Then we came out here, we got away...and I know it’s awful, but part of me was desperate for it to be the end. To be a REAL reset. The whole system is rotten…” One of Sabo’s hands slid down until he could wrap it around your waist, pulling you to him, rocking you carefully back and forth against the door.

It frightened you that he was still trying to comfort you, it frightened you more how badly you wanted him to, how badly you wanted all of this to go away.

Maybe he was right...it wasn’t like rent was getting any lower.

“Stop, please...Sabo, please,” your voice sounded reedy thin in your ears. Sabo splayed his palm out against your belly, kissed the back of your neck softly.

You sighed against the door, warmth blossoming through you. You couldn’t think. This wasn’t right.

When he spoke again, his lips still brushing the back of your neck, it was with a voice so wounded, so desperate, that you almost didn’t recognize it.

“Has this really been so bad?” he asked softly, rocking with you again, fingertips stroking the slight line of skin where your shirt had ridden up. You shivered, and he sighed with you, sympathetic, in sync.

“Is being here...being together...being beyond everything that hurt us before...safe and comfortable...is it really such a bad thing to want?”

Your eyes slip closed as his fingers, blunt and warm, dip beneath the waistband of your pants. Your brows furrow, but the fight’s gone out of you now. Whatever moment there might have been to escape this, to escape back into your body and yourself and the world...had passed you, at some point.

“We’re safe here...we’re taken care of here...we can live for each other and no one else...not many people get to boast a life like that,” this time when he kissed the back of your neck, lips trailing down towards your ear, you leaned back into him, into his touch.

The world stopped, the cabin walls pressed in, anxious, greedy. Waiting.

“No,” you whispered, and this time when you shifted, Sabo leaned off just enough to let you turn in his arms.

When he kissed you, long and deep, you sank into it. Back into the comfort, back into the stability of a world—of a life—that your lover had made so, so simple for you.

Sabo’s body shook against you, in longing, in relief, even as his fingertips slid lower to find you wanting. Needing.

He’d hated lying to you. Hated every moment of it. He’d tell you, he’d spend the rest of his life on his knees for you if you needed it. Anything for you to feel safe.

“You’re perfect,” he mouthed against your lips, your throat, between the valley of your breasts once he’d removed the stupid sweater that had kept you hidden from him.

“I love you,” he vowed as he sank to his knees before you, taking away the winter pants you would no longer need, tossing your hiking boots with them over his shoulder and away.

“I’m sorry,” he intoned, as he slid his tongue between your lips, laved worship and remorse against you, filled your exhausted body and broken mind with pleasure.

“Not like you,” you’d whispered back, to this, and to all, as you let him take the pain away.

He offered you an out, as he slicked his fingers into you, curling forward, giving you everything just like he’d always promised.

He offered you an out, as the pleasure peaked, wracking you with relief far beyond the moment at hand…

...and you took it.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (12)

A/N: This is it babes... the final chapter. I do have an epilouge planned that is definitely... rated R for raunchy. For now though, enjoy!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: None

Taglist: @annatartastic @oakenshielq @perse-cora @eowyn7023 @passionofthesith @zoya-olenko

Word Count: 3.2 K

Previous- Next

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The mountain range ahead loomed vast and ancient, its peaks dusted with snow even in the warmer months. The mages had long called this place home, hidden in their solitude, away from the world that often looked at them with distrust. Now, as you and Adar led the Uruks and your people toward the imposing peaks you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the journey ahead—not just the trek through rugged terrain, but the merging of two vastly different peoples.

“Ered Sûr,” you murmur to Adar beside you, “The Mountains of Silence.” 

The Uruks, stoic as always, walk with purpose. Their dark eyes sweep the horizon, ever wary of danger. Though the threat of Sauron has been sealed away, they carry with them a wariness, as if expecting some new battle at any moment. Behind them, the mages move with quiet grace, their robes flowing in the wind. Though both groups had fought side by side, it is clear that old habits of distrust have not yet fully faded.

As the path begins to ascend, the Uruks raise their heads toward the jagged peaks of Ered Sûr. You catch the gleam in Adar’s eyes—his people have wandered for too long, and now they stand at the threshold of a potential home. The air grows colder as you climb higher, the rocky terrain testing everyone’s endurance, but there is no faltering, no doubt in the steps of either group. This is a necessary journey, and one that holds promise.

Finally, as night begins to fall, the peaks come into full view. The closest summit, which you had planned to offer to the Uruk’s, stood sentinel over the landscape. 

“This is Karn Maug, or the "Red Peak,"" you say to Adar, as you steadily climb. “With any luck, the council will agree that it is perfect for your people.” 

Adar takes in the landscape around him. He nods slowly, “I can see its appeal. Your land is beautiful.” Though you know he is only remarking on the land that will soon be his home, you cannot help the flush on your cheeks at his praise.  

As you descend toward the valley where your council waits, your thoughts churn. Would they understand? Would they accept the Uruks?

The chamber where the council convenes is carved deep into the mountain’s heart. Torches flicker on the walls, casting dancing shadows as you and Adar enter. The council members sit in a half-circle, their faces impassive. Their robes, a shimmering deep blue, mark them as the wisest of your people.

While you regale the council of your journey and your proposition, Adar stands tall beside you, his presence commanding but not hostile. His Uruks wait outside, scattered along the valley as they observe their surroundings, no doubt suspicious of this new environment. The mages, too, watch with silent curiosity, knowing that this meeting would shape the future of their kingdoms.

One of the councilors, an older mage named Erys, leans forward, his piercing gaze fixed on you. “You ask much of us, Your Majesty. These Uruks, they are not our kind. They have lived in the shadows, they have spilled blood. Why should we welcome them into our lands?”

You straighten, allowing the weight of your title to settle in the room for a moment before you speak. “I understand your concerns, Erys. And while it is within my power to make this decision alone, I value your wisdom, your guidance. I have not led us into ruin, nor will I now. Your counsel matters, and I won’t act without hearing your voices.”

Erys frowns, but he gives a nod of acknowledgment. His respect for you remains, even in disagreement. You continue, your heart heavy but your voice firm. “The Uruks have been cast aside by the world, just as we once were. For too long, we’ve shut ourselves away from the world’s struggles, and though we have known peace, it is peace born of avoidance. Now we have an opportunity to do more, to offer a home to those who have been cast out.”

You pause, the words building up inside you like a storm that you could no longer contain. “And I owe them this.”

The room stills. The councilors’ eyes flicker in confusion, waiting for you to explain. You draw in a breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on your chest.

“When we fought Sauron,” you begin, your voice softer now, “I lost control of my magic. In my rage, I sought only to stop him. I didn’t think… I didn’t think about the consequences. In my desperation, I bound him to the volcano in Mordor. I cursed that land, the very place the Uruks had fought to reclaim as their home.”

The councilors exchange uncertain glances, but you press on. “I did this. I destroyed their home with my mistake. And now they have nowhere to go. I feel responsible for giving them a place—a true home. Not just because of my error, but because I’ve seen their strength, their loyalty. They deserve more than to be cast out again.”

The weight of your words hangs in the air. You can feel the tension in the room, the discomfort of the councilors as they absorb what you have admitted.

Another councilor, Mara, speaks up next, her voice carefully measured. “And what if they turn against us, Your Majesty? What if they use that strength to conquer rather than to coexist?”

You meet her gaze, your spine straightening with resolve. “We cannot live in fear of ‘what ifs,’” you say calmly but with conviction. “I am Queen, and if I doubted them, they would not have crossed our borders. But understand this: they have no desire for conquest. I have seen their pain, their yearning for a home. They wish to live, as we do, in peace.”

The council remains silent for a beat, but you can sense their hesitancy. It is then that Adar, who has remained quiet, steps forward. His voice, calm and steady, fills the chamber.

“I will swear fealty to you and your people, if that is what is required. I will pledge my life and the lives of my children to your kingdom’s protection.”

His words take you by surprise. You turn to him, shaking your head. “You owe us nothing, Adar. You and your people have already paid enough. You do not need to bend the knee.”

Adar meets your gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. “It is not about owing, but about peace. I will do what is necessary to ensure that our people can live without fear.”

The council murmurs among themselves, weighing the offer. Erys finally raises his hand for silence, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Fealty may not be enough to ease the minds of our people. There is a way, though, to ensure unity between us...  A marriage.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the entire room seems to close in. You blink, flustered, your mind racing to comprehend the suggestion. “A marriage?”

Mara nods, her eyes observing your reaction carefully. “A marriage between the leaders of our people would serve to quell any doubts of rebellion or uprising. It would symbolize the merging of our kingdoms—both Uruk and mage united by blood and bond.”

You look at Adar, searching his face for some reaction. To your shock, he is smiling, albeit subtly. There is a glimmer of amusement, perhaps even approval, in his eyes. He glances at you, his voice low and filled with a private, secret satisfaction. “It seems… a practical solution.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you stammer, “I—”

Adar speaks again, his tone now more serious. “We are willing to carve our home into the Red Peak. But if you allow us, we will not be a kingdom separate from yours. Over time, our peoples will come together. We will share the land, share the mountains, our resources. Let us build something lasting.”

Erys sits back, considering. “Very well. Should the Queen approve, the Uruks will begin carving their homes in Karn Maug. In return, their armies will be ours in times of need. And we will help them carve out the stone, with our magic and with our hands.”

Relief floods through you. “It will be done,” you say quietly.

As the meeting concluded, the future now set in motion, you linger beside Adar. His presence is reassuring, grounding you in this moment of monumental change.

“You’re… you’re not opposed to the council’s suggestion?” you ask, still flustered by the mention of marriage.

Adar’s dark eyes gleam as he regards you. “Opposed? No. I am not opposed to being bound to you, not in the least. In life or death, I would never wish to be parted from you.”

His words send a thrill through your chest, and for a moment, the weight of all that has passed seems distant, replaced only by the quiet certainty of his love.

As you and Adar make your way down from the council chamber, a familiar sight greets you—his children, gathered near the valley clearing where the Uruks have set up a temporary camp. Their rugged faces, scarred and hardened by years of battle and struggle, soften the moment they see Adar approach. A murmur runs through them, and soon, every eye is fixed on him, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

Adar pauses before them, casting a long glance over the gathering of his people, his family. He has always been a pillar of strength, but today, there is something different in his posture, something that makes the air hum with expectation.

Finally, he speaks, his deep voice carrying across the clearing. “My children,” he begins, and the murmurs quiet immediately. “We have traveled far. We have fought harder than anyone could have imagined. And today, I bring news of hope.”

The Uruks lean forward, listening intently. You stand by Adar’s side, watching as their eyes light with the faintest spark of hope—something that has been a rarity in their lives.

“The Red Peak will be our new home,” Adar continues, his voice steady and filled with quiet pride. “The mountains have welcomed us, and we shall carve out a kingdom here. No longer will we wander the shadows, cast aside by the world. This land will be ours.”

For a moment, there is silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, like the breaking of a dam, a cheer erupts from the Uruks. The roar of celebration is fierce, filled with the raw emotion of a people who have been denied a home for so long. The ground seems to tremble beneath the force of their joy, and you feel the warmth of it settle deep in your chest.

Adar’s children rush forward, some clapping him on the back, others raising their weapons in triumph. The sense of unity, of shared victory, is palpable. The Uruks, so often seen as brutal and cold, now stand together in a moment of pure celebration.

You step forward, raising your hand to quiet them, though your heart swells with the same sense of relief and hope. “For now, make camp in this valley,” you say, your voice carrying over the crowd. “But soon, we will begin building homes. Permanent homes. It will take time, but know this—you are safe. You are protected within these mountains. If there is anything you require, please find one of my people. We know the pain of rebuilding. We will provide what you need. Be welcome, children of Adar, and know peace.”

A second, louder cheer erupts, so fierce and full of life that it seems to echo through the peaks around you. The Uruks raise their fists in the air, their voices merging with the wind, a chorus of triumph and gratitude. Even the mages among them, initially cautious of this alliance, are swept up in the infectious energy, their faces softening as they join in the cheers.

Adar turns to you, his dark eyes filled with something akin to pride. You have both fought for this—together. And now, standing in the midst of your united peoples, you know that the road ahead, though still fraught with challenges, would be walked side by side.

As the night stretches on, the valley becomes a place of celebration. Fires are lit, food is shared, and laughter—a rare, beautiful sound—rings out among the Uruks and mages alike. It is the beginning of something new, something stronger than either people have ever known.

Adar leans in close, his voice just loud enough for you to hear amidst the celebrations. “They cheer for us now. But it is you who gave them this hope.”

You shake your head slightly, smiling. “It was you Adar, you have done well by your children.”

A single tear slides down his cheek. You gasp as he gives you a rare full smile. It changes his face, making him appear younger, lighter, and even more beautiful. You cannot help the smile that stretches across your lips in return.

—--

After the night’s celebration, you retreat to your chambers, longing for quiet, though the silence feels foreign after so many weeks spent among the chaotic, lively Uruks. The vast room, with its high ceilings and sweeping drapery, feels too large, too empty. Every footstep echoes in the stillness, and the luxury of the space suddenly feels overwhelming. You dismiss your handmaidens, assuring them that you need time for contemplation, though as soon as the door shuts, the weight of solitude presses down upon you.

You sit at your writing desk, staring at the blank page before you, but your mind refuses to settle. Without Adar’s steady presence, without the constant hum of voices around you, the quiet gnaws at your thoughts. Your heart aches with a strange, unfamiliar emptiness, one that pulls you toward the one person who has anchored you in this tumultuous time.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you rise and move to the door. You grasp the handle and pull the door open wide, and there stands Adar, his silhouette bathed in the soft light of the hallway.

“I was coming to see if there were any extra blankets,” he says, his voice low and familiar. “Some of the young ones—” he pauses, hesitating for just a moment before continuing, “they’re not used to the cold here.”

You blink in surprise, relief flooding through you at the sight of him. “Adar, you could have sent anyone,” you say, though there’s no edge to your words, only affection. “One of your people, or even one of my guards—they would’ve gladly provided whatever was needed.”

His lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he admits. 

The simplicity of his confession sends a warmth through you, and without another word, you turn to the guard outside your door. “Fetch more blankets for the young ones,” you instruct gently. “Distribute them to those who need them.”

The guard nods, disappearing down the corridor. As soon as the guard vanishes, you turn back to Adar, your heart thudding a little faster now that you’re alone with him.

“Come inside,” you say, stepping back to let him enter.

He moves into the room, his dark eyes quietly taking in his surroundings. You walk ahead of him, showing him the front room where your writing desk and library reside, the shelves lined with scrolls and books of ancient knowledge. You pass by the door to your bathing chamber, the lingering scent of herbs and oils filling the air. Finally, you lead him to your bedroom.

You hesitate there, both of your gazes drawn to the large bed in the center of the room, its sheets pulled tight and pristine. The tension between you, already simmering beneath the surface, spikes. It occurs to you that this is the first time since your meeting that you are truly alone, no armies outside demanding your attention, no fights on the horizon, and no duties calling your names for the rest of the night. Your heart races, and for a moment, neither of you speaks, the air thick with unspoken words and unsaid desires.

Desperate to break the tension, you turn abruptly and lead him toward the balcony doors, pushing them open to reveal the vast terrace that overlooks the mountain range. The cool night air greets you both, carrying with it the scent of pine and stone. Above you, the stars stretch out like an endless sea of glittering lights, brilliant and bright against the dark sky.

Adar steps onto the balcony beside you, his gaze drawn upward. His breath catches, and you see something in his expression that you’ve never seen before—wonder, pure and unguarded.

“The stars,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You watch him closely, the way his eyes shine with awe, as if he’s seeing them for the first time.

“When I was very young,” he begins, his voice low and steady, “my mother used to hold me in her arms on nights like this. She would point up at the stars and tell me stories of the Valar—how they shaped the world and guided the fate of all who lived within it. She said that the stars were the light of the Valar’s love, watching over us, even in the darkest times.”

You listen intently, your heart swelling at the image of him as a small child, cradled by a mother who, despite the world’s harshness, still found a way to pass on stories of hope and wonder.

“She would say that the stars were our ancestors, shining down to remind us that we were never truly alone,” he continues, his voice softer now. “Even when everything seemed lost, there was always light to guide us—if only we had the strength to look up.”

He takes a deep breath, his expression both wistful and sorrowful. “As I grew older, those stories faded. My mother died when I was still very young. After that… the world became harsher, crueler. There was no time for stories, no time for the stars.”

His voice softens, a shadow passing over his face. “During my time with Sauron, I lost hope in them. I stopped looking up. I had no time for them while freeing my children.”

He falls silent for a long moment, his eyes still fixed on the sky. “Now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t remember the last time I saw them this clearly.”

His words hit you like a weight, and a lump rises in your throat. You take a step toward him, closing the distance between you. “Adar…” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Gently, you reach for him, pulling him into your arms. His body tenses for just a moment before he relaxes into the embrace, his forehead resting against yours. The silence between you is filled with the soft rustling of leaves in the wind, the distant murmur of the mountains.

“We will bask in their light together,” you promise, your voice steady. “And in the joy of your children. You are free now, Adar. We are free.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you press a soft kiss to his lips, the weight of everything you’ve both endured and survived pouring into the moment. He returns the kiss gently, his hands coming to rest on your waist, grounding you both in the here and now.

When you finally pull back, his gaze is locked on yours, filled with the same awe he had for the stars moments before. There is a quiet peace between you now, the tension gone, replaced with something deeper, something unshakable.

“Together,” he whispers, his voice a vow.

[strawberryys-stuff]

FOOLED || Ao'nung x Sully!reader

part 2 | part 1

change of plans; i'll have to write yet another part for this request bcs i realized i can't write lmao 🥲 i forgot how to do it, so i apologize for this never-ending wait i'm putting u through

enjoy my poor try to write!

Ao'nung could tell the image of the breathtakingly stunning healer was clouding your mind and found your abrupt bursts of frustration whenever she waved at him with a toothy grin decorating her sparkling turquoise skin quite humorous, attractive even.

Mireya was certainly a beauty among the Metkayina tribe but she was fragile. Your sharp glares and silent growls damaged the unguarded shield around her gracious heart, which forced her feet to carry her sobbing frame inside Ao'nung's marui pod every evening. Despite his warnings and frequent eye rolls, Mireya continued to visit the boy who was clearly becoming irritated by her unannounced appearances outside his home.

He was desperately trying to peel her hands off his muscular arms everytime you were passing by with your sisters, allowing his thick tail to show his annoyance. He would gift you precisely wrapped presents almost every week to reveal his tiny attempts to court you - it started with shimmering seashells that eventually turned into luminescent bouquets - but it was never enough for Mireya as she continued to follow him around like a lost puppy.

Ao'nung wanted your undying love, not hers. He even mentioned it to you during your nightly strolls along the shore, stating that he would rather suffer in solitude than experience mating with Mireya, who basically owned his mother's blessing.

Ronal wished only the best for her firstborn and saw rich, successful future in the Metkayina girl. And the fact that you managed to build an unbreakable bond with Ao'nung in such a short period of time was something she just refused to accept. The idea of seeing Ao'nung with a hybrid, someone who had pure demon blood flowing through their veins, disgusted her.

She observed the way her son seemed to be left breathless everytime you walked away from his tall figure after a polite farewell, which often ended up with Ao'nung chuckling and firing some teasing words after your swiftly moving body. She even caught the way her son spoke highly of you during every dinner, lunch, breakfast - you name it.

She noticed how affectionate her eldest child was whenever he had you by his side, how protective he was over you - she noticed how you were able to handle his childish behavior with ease, no evident struggle present, and yet, she still refused to accept your relationship.

"I am not having this type of conversation, mother." Ao'nung pinched the bridge of his scrunched nose, silencing his growl in deepest part of his throat before it managed to roll off his obnoxiously bold tongue.

He was standing in front of you, shielding your defeated spirit from his stern mother with his lean body. His other hand was keeping you close alongside his tail that robbed you of any escape. Ronal was holding her chin high to display her disapproval once more, but all she received from her firstborn was a disappointed sigh.

Ao'nung brought your intertwined fingers up and proudly pulled you out from his cold shadow. Your drastically different form entered the afternoon sunbeams and blinded Ronal for a split second. Your thin tail was flickering nervously behind you as she inspected the position you were in.

It was awfully obvious what happened during the unusually uneventful eclipse last night, she could sense the abrupt change in the middle of her ribcage - you were officially sharing a neural connection with her son.

The woman began to circle the two of you with a creased forehead and allowed her fingers to wrap around the base of your tail. You hissed through clenched teeth when she left a painful tug behind before her hand moved to your tense shoulders. She spotted a bite mark in the crook of your neck, stifling a snarl.

"Not fully mated." She slapped your precisely knitted braid aside and received a warning growl from your lover. "Just marked," Ronal taunted with a huff, quickly placing one of her hands over her growing belly when your tail twitched her way. "Disappointing."

"That is enough." Ao'nung bared his fangs at the pregnant woman as his hand pushed you forward to create some space between you and his mother. You licked your chapped lips and let your ears fall, trying to ignore her harsh words about your mixed blood and the title people had been using to address you and your younger brother for several years. "She is not an outcast, mom! Quit listing her differences, for Eywa's sake! She is a fucking Metkayina now, accept it!"

"Her rites of passage are unfinished," Ronal reminded her son with a click of her tongue, ignoring his usage of the inappropriate language. "She is not one of us-"

"-yet." Ao'nung interrupted her upcoming remark with a growl and temporarily released your hand to point to his mother's rapidly beating heart. "As for now, I need you to respect my partner - whether you like it or not."

Before the spiritual leader could interject, your furious mate captured your hand once again and dragged you away from the cold-hearted woman, muttering an apology to his younger sister who had to witness the conflict. You bowed to Tsireya quickly and followed Ao'nung out of center of the lively village with flattened ears.

part 3 coming soon! i'm so sorry 😭

[five-miles-over]

Since I am currently obsessed with your Tom Hiddleston character headcanons and I noticed requests are open👉👈 Could we get some soft, fluffy Headcanons of the Tom Hiddleston characters on their wedding day to you?

Aaah, thank you so much for your request, @queen-paladin and thank you even more for your patience! This was fun to imagine, I hope you like it!

Multi-Character Headcanons: Tom Hiddleston Characters On Their Wedding Day

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, James Conrad, and Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston.

Will Ransome from The Essex Serpent

On his wedding day to you, Reverend Will Ransome would wake up at sunrise, taking his time to wash himself, get dressed, and make his way to the church for his own wedding

He would take advantage of the early hours of the morning to be alone with his own thoughts, except almost all of his thoughts would be on you. Will would mull over how tomorrow, he would wake up as a married man. Instead of an empty bed, Will would find you by his side as his wedded partner, a gift bestowed upon by God for him to cherish for the rest of his life. Instead of spending the morning contemplating in circles, the reverend would be with his newly wed wife, talking to you about his thoughts and eagerly listening to yours. And instead of retiring alone at nightfall, he would be comforted by your warmth and your love, spending hours in your arms until you both drifted off to sleep.

Heavenly father, hallowed be thy name, grant him the strength not to stray from the path of a devoted husband.

After an hour or two of solitude that would finally come to an end after years of longing, Will would politely interact with the guests while taking his rightful place at the altar as the groom.

As soon as Will saw you enter the church, holding a bunch of wildflowers and forget-me-nots, his heart would swell with joy and gratitude. He would silently thank God for bestowing him this gift of spending his life with you. And before the official vows, he would make his own, silent promise to make you happy as possible for as long as he lived.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get caught in a compromising position right before the ceremony (don't ask me how I know this, I just do)

King Henry V from The Hollow Crown 

On his wedding day to you, King Henry V would remain as stoic as possible in the presence of his servants while they readied him for the ceremony. 

Yet, occasionally his eyes would drift towards the small, intricate portrait of you that stood on his dressing table. Henry commissioned for it to be painted (based on his own description of you) for his personal desire after the first meeting with you. Every morning and every night that he could not be with you, he would look at the portrait and remind himself of the one that ruled his heart, his only beloved. 

And it delighted him to know that one day, that portrait would be replaced with a larger, more grand painting of you and Henry, the rulers of England. Perhaps, if God willed it, you would be holding his future heir in your arms when the time came for your portrait. 

Thinking about the heir would almost make Henry break his stoic facade, not because he would be thinking of fatherhood but because he would be musing over your wedding night. How would you feel after the ceremony? Would you be open to consummating your marriage? 

He would gently lick his bottom lip, remembering the first time he kissed you on the lips. It was on your third meeting, after Henry sweetly asked for your permission to do something so bold as to embrace you. If it weren't for his own restraint, Henry would have been caught blushing like a virgin by his own servants. That would certainly set some tongues wagging about the castle.

"Nev'r has't i seen true beauty until this moment.  How f'rtunate i might not but beest, yond while oth'r men spendeth their whole liveth seeking Elysium, i has't t bef're me", were King Henry's thoughts as soon as he stood in the church, gazing upon you while you entered, wearing a pristine white wedding gown and holding the arm of your father.

(Translation: Never have I seen true beauty until this moment. How fortunate I must be, that while other men spend their whole lives seeking paradise, I have it before me.)

At that moment, all of the royal stoicism the king of England had faded away like the morning dew. He smiled as if he were blessed with everything he could ever want. 

His eyes did not leave you even as you stood beside him at the altar and knelt before the priest. 

Henry recited his vows without flinching or faltering. As soon as the priest gave him permission, the king of England lifted your veil and proudly brought his lips to yours.

Your wedding would be one of the happiest days of the king's life, and one he hoped that you would also cherish

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have a coronation and a wedding on the same day

Prince Loki of Asgard from Thor:

On his wedding day to you, Prince Loki of Asgard would be pacing through the palace in the hours before the ceremony, his hands behind his back

He had already imagined this day more times than he could count, marrying you, the love of his life. And with each day leading up to your wedding, his fantasies would grow so vivid, so exciting, so intimidating that he would hardly be able to sleep

Thoughts would be plaguing his mind every waking moment while the palace was being decorated for the celebrations

Would he be a good husband to you? How would he be able to satisfy you on the wedding night? And what if he displeased you in some way, shape, or form? Would you go to Thor instead and seek comfort in his arms? No…no, no, it couldn't be. Loki shook his head. You loved him. You would never betray him and he would never betray you. 

With a million butterflies in his stomach, he would go to the throne room with Thor by his side, wearing his armor, brand new emerald green robes, and his signature golden horned crown. 

Seeing you standing next to him in a beautiful wedding gown completely took his breath away, and it only strengthened his resolve that he would stay by your side for the rest of his life. 

He would probably struggle to look you in the eye, keeping a shy, boyish smile on his lips the whole time simply because of how much you resembled a goddess of beauty

In the presence of the All-Father, Prince Loki would make his vows to protect you, remain loyal to you, and perform his duties as a husband with utmost respect. And when the time comes, in front of all of Asgard, he would bring his lips to yours, sharing your first kiss as a married couple.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get shy when putting the ring on his bride's finger

Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim from Avengers: Infinity War 

On his wedding day to you, Loki would probably be overly excited about making sure this wedding was one to remember for the centuries to come

Until he met you, Loki believed he would never be able to find true love, let alone find someone to spend the rest of his life with. But all of that changed when Loki had a crush on you and Thor decided to play Cupid, conveniently leaving his brother alone with you in parks and cafés. Loki and you eventually caught onto Thor's plan, and eventually began placing bets with each other about what stupid excuse Thor would use to leave the situation. The result? Loki fell hopelessly in love with your wit, your humor, and your beauty.

And now that he would finally get the chance to celebrate his union with someone so special, Loki decided to leave no stone unturned in making your wedding as wonderful as possible.

With his brother's help, he arranged to have the magic of Asgard brought to your Midgardian venue, complete with a long banquet, floral arrangements with Asgardian flowers, and even a few lute players to entertain the guests while they dined

Loki even had a special tiara made for you to wear during the wedding - a simple yet elegant golden wreath tiara with diamonds and emeralds. He would've had a more extravagant design made, but every other female in his life suggested that he should choose a tiara that would suit any wedding outfit you chose

The moment he saw you, walking down the aisle in your wedding outfit, his jaw dropped. For a moment, he felt like his heart stopped and he went to Valhalla. When you approached him at the altar, he couldn't help but whisper, "You look absolutely ravishing, my dear…My Queen."

After bringing his hand to your lips, he would recite his vows to you

"I, Loki, prince of Asgard, Odinson, the rightful king of Jotunheim, God of Mischief, do hereby pledge to you my undying fidelity. I promise to always keep you safe, to keep you happy, and to keep you loved. You are my everything, and I will never ever stop fighting for us, wherever our journey may take us. And I swear on all that I hold dear in this life, that I shall never betray you, nor let anyone, man or god alike, take you from me. For as long as I live, you will be my wife and my lover."

Possible first dance song: "The Only Exception" by Paramore

Wedding superlative: Most likely to instigate a brawl between two people at his wedding (and do nothing to stop it)

Bill Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout 

On his wedding day to you, Bill Hazeldine would wake up, giddy as a schoolboy (after being unable to sleep last night until he called you on his mobile). His parents would giggle while he darts about, getting ready at a pace never seen before.

It was no secret that Bill was excited about marrying you. He spent weeks planning the perfect way to propose to you, visiting at least six different jewelry stores for the perfect ring and seeking your entire family's permission two weeks prior. And the night he proposed to you, he surprised you with a homemade attempt of your favorite dessert and your favorite film before presenting the ring to you. 

And of course, you said yes, much to Bill's immense delight. Finally, he would be starting a life with the you, the person whom he loved the most. He would be marrying someone who loved him for who he was and made him feel like he was capable of anything.

When it came to the wedding, Bill would be critical of every single thing about himself, bugging his parents and his best man with questions 

"Is this enough cologne? My tie, is it too short? Please, I don't want her to be disappointed."

"Bill, she loves you," his mother assures him. "She's marrying you. She wants to spend the rest of her life with you. Now stop fretting. You'll sweat through your suit."

After about a thousand assurances and countless intrusive thoughts, Bill would be nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet while waiting at the altar.

But as soon as he saw you, coming down the aisle, all of those thoughts would disappear. All Bill would be able to think of is how gorgeous you are, and how he's going to marry you in front of the whole world. 

Your first dance song would almost 100% be "Wedding Bell Blues" by The Fifth Dimension. It was his mother's choice, and once you heard the lyrics, you couldn't help but approve (seriously, if you haven't heard this song before, look up the lyrics because it's about marrying a guy named Bill)

Also, someone would probably need to make sure that Jewel Diamond doesn't show up and seize the microphone to sing "Part Time Lover" or "Like a Virgin" at the reception. But if that's taken care of, you and Bill will probably have a great time celebrating with your family and friends.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to cry when he sees his bride walk down the aisle

Caius Marcius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

On his wedding day to you, Caius Marcius Coriolanus would put on his armor and his military regalia as if he were going to lead a campaign. His mother insisted that it would make him look distinguished, and send a message that his bride - and their family - ought to treat him with respect. 

Many of his army men and his comrades would be in attendance, some of them even bearing gifts. They all knew of Coriolanus's feelings for you, teasing the general of how reluctant he was to approach you when he saw you for the first time and Cupid struck

But instead of rudely telling them all to shut up as usual, Coriolanus would bear it with gritted silence because deep down, it was all true. Coriolanus deeply loved you, and would never wish to live without you or hurt you in any way. 

Too proud to be caught smiling in public, Coriolanus would simply let his eyes speak his adoration for you when you entered the temple of Mars, dressed in fine robes and jewelry with a veil over your head. 

His eyes darkened with lust when you came closer to him. And in that moment, all he wanted was for the priest to hurry up and stop talking so he could kiss you, claiming you before everyone as his wife

After the ceremony came to an end, Coriolanus would keep one hand on the small of your back, determined to keep you close to him while he musters small talk with the guests…and insults some of them.

At some point, perhaps at sundown, he would cut his conversations short and bid his in-laws good night. Tightening his grip around you, Coriolanus would bring you to his home as fast as possible so he could finally drop his guard and…privately celebrate your union

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get into a fight at his own wedding

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

On his wedding day, Jonathan Pine would be extra vigilant, keeping an eagle eye for anything that might go wrong. 

While you were getting ready, he would be pacing along the oceanside and through the rows of seats for a possible threat, or someone who could be smuggling a weapon. Even after Angela Burr assured him that no one knew about his wedding except for the few people in attendance, he would still insist that someone keep a tab on you and give him constant updates while you were getting ready.

Jonathan had already loved and lost someone, and he would never forgive himself if someone took his bride away from him.

Until he saw you, he would not be able to let himself rest for a moment, rubbing the nape of his neck while pacing, adjusting his cufflinks (which happened to be the ones you gifted him for Christmas), and thinking of every single way that someone could sabotage this special day

And the moment you came down the aisle in your beautiful wedding gown, Jonathan would breathe a sigh of relief and beam with pride. At that instant, the only thought in his mind when he looks at you would be how amazing and how happy you look while you approached him. And how every moment leading up to this one was definitely worth it. Nothing would be able to hold a candle to the first time he got to see you as the one he, Jonathan Pine, was going to marry.

Holding your hand, Jonathan would quietly say his vows, knowing that he had already made every single vow to himself when he proposed to you. That in his mind, he had already promised to love you through thick and thin, in good times and bad times, even when the two of you would be miles apart. You would be the one he fights for and stays alive for, every single time.

Possible first dance song: "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls or "The Way You Look Tonight" by Frank Sinatra (Or "Shakespeare" by Miranda Cosgrove)

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have a destination honeymoon

Robert Laing from High-Rise 

On his wedding day with you, Dr. Robert Laing would be thinking of nothing but you, simply put. 

("Ruhi, come now…" "You know what, Robert? Somebody had to say it.")

When Robert originally moved into the high rise, he was disillusioned with the thought of being involved with other people. He wanted to be alone, nothing more. But now, three years after that day? He couldn't picture a day without seeing you, without indulging in your witty banter, without giving you a kiss before going off to the medical school, or without you simply calling his name. It had to be magic of some kind, an enchantment Robert couldn't quite explain with all of his scientific knowledge.

And that's how Robert Laing, a doctor of physiology who lived on the twenty-fifth floor of the high rise, let himself fall in love you and share his life with you. 

Sure, Wilder and a few other guys in the high-rise would be pouring drinks and making crude jokes about Robert finally getting a 'ball and a chain' but Robert knew better. You wouldn't be a ball and a chain to him, but rather an angel. 

With you by his side, Robert could begin a new life at the high rise, one where he wouldn't have to be alone. A life of comfort where he could come home to someone who would care for him, and a life where he would have someone to cherish and protect. It would be a new life with a new purpose, all thanks to you

So when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time, he couldn't help but stare. You looked like an absolute dream, so radiant and so gorgeous. 

He'd continue to steal glances throughout the ceremony, even while reciting his vows. And when the officiant finally says "you may now kiss your bride", Robert would put one hand around your waist and use his other hand to cradle the back of your head, passionately capturing your lips with his

Possible first dance song: "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" by Frankie Valli 

Wedding superlative: Most likely to burn the dance floor at his own wedding (and get quite tipsy in the process)

Second wedding superlative: Most likely to eat more cake than the bride

Magnus Martinsson from Wallander 

On his wedding day to you, Magnus Martinsson would be one of those grooms who makes snarky jokes about his life being "over" but is secretly freaking out on the inside

It wasn't helpful that his colleagues at the station kept making jokes about him being 'tied down' and how you were way out of his league. 

Magnus would find himself in a downward spiral of thoughts about the kind of husband he'd be, and whether you really were making the right choice in marrying him when you could have better. 

His comments might get so bad that even Kurt Wallander would have to intervene and tell him to stop unless he wanted to hurt his bride

Wallander would take Magnus aside and assure him that there are many great things about marriage, and that he is lucky to be spending his life with someone like you. That most men, especially those who joke about marriage being the 'end of their life', would desperately want to find someone who loves them as much as you love Magnus

With those words, Magnus would calm down, fix his curls, and go to the altar to wait for you. And as soon as he saw you walk down the aisle, he would realize how right Kurt was. That he, Magnus Martinsson, was the luckiest man in the world because he was going to marry you. That all of those jokes were false, and the only thing that mattered was how much you loved each other

Magnus might not choose to write his own vows, sticking with the traditional "in sickness and in health, till death do us part", but he would be sure to tell you how much he loved you throughout the wedding

Possible first dance song: "My Girl," by The Temptations

Wedding superlative: Most likely to show up to his own wedding completely hungover

Oakley from Unrelated

On his wedding day to you, Oakley would be the most chill groom ever. Seriously, anything could happen and he'd be the one reminding everyone to calm down. The rings are missing? Don't worry, they'll turn up anyway. 

His chill attitude also means that he would be perfectly fine in getting married while wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants. Somebody might need to drag this cocky handsome bastard into a suit, reminding him it's his goddamn wedding day, not some picnic

Oakley really isn't a fan of formal wear, especially anything that requires a tie

He would probably be joking around with his friends, having a smoke during the hour before the ceremony. 

He wouldn't even be freaking out about the fact that he'll soon be a married man because…this is exactly what he wanted the minute he fell in love with you. He knew that he needed you in his life, that you were the one he wanted to love for the rest of his days, and that the best thing to do was to tell you exactly that… before asking you to marry him

And the moment he saw you standing in your wedding dress for the first time, all of those memories left his mind and the only thing that Oakley could think about…was how he would never forget this moment. And that if the world were to end tomorrow, he would be the luckiest guy on the planet just because he would get to call you - this gorgeous, funny, and kind person standing before him - his wife.

Also, Oakley would totally be the type to make his wedding kiss with you totally epic, either picking you up and spinning you around, or turn it into a dip and kiss (which looks something like this)

Possible first dance song: "Teenage Dream" by Boyce Avenue or "Lucky," by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get drunk during his own wedding and say something extremely inappropriate

Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

On his wedding day to you, Thomas Sharpe would have every detail in its perfect place. From the flowers to the organ playing the wedding march to the seating arrangement, every single thing would be immaculately arranged to your liking.

He would play the part of a doting groom very effectively, almost ignoring Lucille most of the time in favor of talking to your family members. He'd play with the little ones, laugh at your father's attempts at humor, and assure your mother that her child will lack nothing in their marriage

The moment you entered the chapel, a warm smile would spread across Thomas's face and his face would light up as if the in the world darkness was finally gone for good.

As if you were made of glass, he would carefully take your hand in his and lead you to the altar, kneeling before the priest. 

Then, Thomas would make his vows to be with you in sickness and in health, till death do you part, and kiss you slowly, savoring this moment of purity. 

After the ceremony, Thomas would lead you in a waltz - your first dance as husband and wife - with a pace so swift yet so delicate that it would not extinguish a candle

At a specific moment, when the guests are dining, Thomas would lightly tap on his glass with a fork to get everyone's attention. 

"On behalf of the Sharpe household, I would like to thank you all for attending this lovely occasion. I could not be more happier than to be marrying the lady seated right here," Thomas would gesture to you with a proud smile. "She is truly a blessing, and until death parts us, I promise to hold her close and to treasure her always. May our days together be filled with happiness and joy."

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have an eloquent wedding toast that makes everyone go "Awww"

James Conrad from Kong: Skull Island

On his wedding day to you, Captain James Conrad would be silent to almost everyone before the ceremony, pretending to be completely calm about his impending nuptials. But his dark circles and his red eyes wouldn't fool anyone; it would be pretty clear that he hadn't sleeping so well lately

Actually, after he'd finally left Skull Island and settled in the United Kingdom, James had been dealing with nightmares about Kong and other terrifying creatures he'd encountered. Eventually, Preston Packard and Mason Weaver coaxed him to start seeing a professional about his nightmares and traumatic flashbacks. 

That's how James Conrad gained the courage and the hope to start a relationship with you, the beautiful neighbor who lived a few doors from his flat. And now, nearly two years after your first date, he proposed, you and James moved in together, and you were getting married. 

James could not have been happier about your union, but the past week leading up to the wedding had been tough. 

The two of you thought it might be good to have a little separation before the ceremony, and James thought it would make the wedding sweeter, so you agreed to sleep over at a friend's place. 

James found himself deeply missing your touch (and your cuddles - shh, don't tell anyone I told you) and many of the nightmares from his past returned. So after talking to you on the telephone every night, he would hold one of your sweaters like a security blanket while trying to lull himself sleep

When he finally saw you coming to the altar in your wedding gown, it felt like he'd been underwater for hours and was finally coming up for fresh air. From now on, he would never have to sleep alone, or face anything all by himself. Whatever happens, if he ever has to return to Skull Island in his dreams or in real life, he would have you by his side.

He'd be grinning the whole time from ear to ear, just enjoying the moment with you, and would always have his arm around you. Whenever James wasn't trying to stifle a yawn, he would be holding you close and stealing kisses, much to the amusement of everyone else around him.

Possible First Dance song: "Can't Help Falling in Love with You" by Elvis Presley

Wedding superlative: Most likely to never let anyone else dance with his bride because he gets jealous

Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

On his wedding day to you, Thomas would be dressed to the nines and poised like a prince, wearing a sharp three-piece suit (with a pistol concealed in his jacket) and Dolce and Gabbana citrus cologne

To him, this wedding was not unlike any other important engagement. A place where deals could be made and broken, offers could be extended and retracted, and alliances could be tested

Therefore, only the best of decorations could be present. The cake and the champagne had to be of the utmost quality (no cheap, off-brand liquor allowed), and the floral arrangements needed to be elegant enough for royalty

It would also be an opportunity for Thomas to reward his those closest to him in his inner circle; by inviting them, wining and dining them with a gourmet meal, he could reward their loyalty while also keeping them near should they try anything suspicious. 

But none of that would apply to you. No, Thomas may be emotionless and calculating in matters of business, even at his own wedding, but you were not to take part in any of it. In fact, your innocence was one of the reasons why Thomas was so attracted to you. You gave him something worth living for, something that was worth defending and protecting. He could not afford to corrupt you with his dirty world of schemes and plots

During the wedding, Thomas would be your Prince Charming (like always), making sure that you were comfortable. 

He would hold your hand and tell you how beautiful you looked whenever you got nervous. If you were hungry, he'd make sure that a plate of food was brought to you. And if someone dared to make you uncomfortable on your special day? They had better prepared to have the living daylights pounded out of them.

Also, Thomas would never admit this to you until possibly years after your wedding to him, but he secretly bribed the person who showed you your wedding dresses to only show you designs that he approved of. He knew that you would look stunning in anything you wore, but he always liked to be the one in charge

Possible first dance song: "Fly Me to The Moon," by Frank Sinatra or "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King

Wedding superlative: Most likely to carry out a murder at their wedding 

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