#Dump him in mud and blood and I’m happy

[bluedillylee]

Now he’s perfect 👍✨

[ID photo of Liam Geralt then a comic of a figure kicking his feet out from under him, rolling him on the ground, kicking dirt on him, lifting him onto his feet and then leaving him with a thumbs up. End ID]

[laequiem]

Cheek to Cheek in Hell - Chapter 17

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 3,517

He feigns being insulted, gasping loudly. “Is there no other royal who could give you a position in court?” I roll to face him. A strand of Cardan’s hair falls over one of his eyes. Without thinking, I brush it back and tuck it behind his ear.  “You?” I can’t help it—I snort. “Are you telling me you would want to be king?” “Never,” Cardan exclaims, laughing at the idea. He’s gorgeous when he laughs genuinely, his plump lips stretching in a smile hiding no cruelty. “I don’t need Mab's crown to pull some strings for you. I could bargain with Balekin.” “I don’t trust him,” I reply. “You don’t trust anyone,” he admonishes.

read it on ao3

Chapter 16 • next chapter • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

Jude POV

Night has fallen since we left my family’s home. Cardan and I keep to the shadows, sneaking around though we don’t exactly need to. Fae are usually rowdiest at dusk, yet there is no one around. The palace grounds are eerily quiet, no sound of revelry or courtly mingling. I should be glad, because I am exhausted and need to sleep, but it’s unnerving. The air is heavy, like the land is in wait as the kingdom stays kingless. 

When I see the royal stables in the distance, I realize where Cardan is headed.

We’ve slept in awful places in New York City, but this one might take the cake. No matter how clean it looks, the smell of manure and ammonia is ever present. Saddles hang from hooks on the walls, different sizes for the many beasts the fae ride. Elk, deer, the occasional mini-horse and…

“It’s been a while, huh, Daisybell?”

The giant toad whirls on Cardan, its pudgy body twice the width of the caribou in the next stall. Cardan doesn’t so much as flinch, choosing instead to get closer and lift his hand for the toad to inspect. Its split irises focus on Cardan’s hand, as if wondering if it’s edible. 

“A moth, and now a toad,” I say, keeping my distance from the beast. “I didn’t know you had so many pets.”

“Daisy’s not a pet,” he says. “We go way back.”

“When you slept here,” I guess.

Cardan nods tightly. “It gets… cold. I gave her food, she kept me warm.”

“It’s cold-blooded,” I tease. “How can it keep you warm?” 

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Jude dearest,” he croons. 

I shake my head at his nonsense and watch as Cardan grabs an empty bucket next to the toad’s trough. He leaves the stables to refill in the pond. When he comes back, he dumps half the bucket on the toad itself, then fills the trough. The toad lets out a happy croak and jumps in the mud, splashing some onto Cardan.

I take a step back. “I’m not sleeping next to the toad.”

“No need, I’ll keep you warm,” Cardan replies, his voice filled with flirty promise. 

We find an empty stall and lay a blanket down on the straw. Cardan plops himself down, stretching his tall body on the blanket. His feet stretch past it, hitting the hay bales on one side of the stall, so he curls himself up to fit. I take out the other blanket and lay next to him, pulling the blanket over both of us. It’s uncomfortable, some stray wisps of hay poke at me through the blanket, it’s warmer than I expected.

“Are you sure no one will find us here?” I ask. 

I could use some sleep, but I don’t want to wake up to find Cardan with a sword to his throat. My question goes unanswered for a beat too long.

“These were Rhyia’s stables,” he says tightly. 

It’s answer enough. His siblings might have been awful to him, but they were still family. I swallow. “Sorry about your family.”

Cardan turns to look at me. I glare at him, knowing that he means to mock me for my human quirks. When I see his face–there is none of the teasing I was expecting. He might be smiling, he might want it to look mocking, but his eyes are blank. 

“Is this when you reveal that you’ve kept another secret and secretly killed all of them while I was sleeping?” Cardan says.

“No!” I scowl. Then I wince and look away from him. “I was one of Dain’s spies, though.” It’s easier to admit the depth of everything I’ve been hiding when I’m not looking at him. “I swore allegiance to him. He’s dead, and my chances of a position in court died with him.”

“And who holds your allegiance now?” He whispers it so softly, I’m not sure he meant for me to hear it. 

He is right to ask. Everyone has ulterior motives around here. Madoc’s loyalty used to be to Dain, and now Dain is dead. I assume he has some truce with Balekin, but… My father has his own plan to overthrow Balekin. I suppose his allegiance lies with our family, like mine does. Yet, I don’t trust him. 

“Myself,” I end up saying. 

He feigns being insulted, gasping loudly. “Is there no other royal who could give you a position in court?”

I roll to face him. A strand of Cardan’s hair falls over one of his eyes. Without thinking, I brush it back and tuck it behind his ear. 

“You?” I can’t help it—I snort. “Are you telling me you would want to be king?”

“Never,” Cardan exclaims, laughing at the idea. He’s gorgeous when he laughs genuinely, his plump lips stretching in a smile hiding no cruelty. “I don’t need Mab's crown to pull some strings for you. I could bargain with Balekin.”

“I don’t trust him,” I reply.

“You don’t trust anyone,” he admonishes.

I can’t deny that. But what would Elfhame be with Balekin as High King? The kingdom would be in the hands of someone who raised Cardan into the awful, cruel fae prince that he is. That’s out of the question. And Oak… Oak is too young to rule. Madoc would surely rule as regent. Madoc, whose tales of strategy and slaughter lulled me to sleep throughout my childhood. I have no doubt that, under his rule, war would be constant, that he would resort to violence at the slightest provocation.

If I could get my hands on the crown, though, there is another heir who might rule. An heir I do not trust fully, who has been wicked and irresponsible for most of the time I’ve known him, but who hides a kernel of humanity behind his cruel mask. A mediocre king, for certain, but the least of three evils. 

“Stop plotting,” the least of three evils says, as if sensing my thoughts. “Go to sleep.”

I curl myself against him, sliding my hand under his shirt. He hisses at the bite of my cold hand over his skin, but then his arm wraps around me and I rest my head against his chest. I listen as the rapid beat of his heart slows down until he falls asleep, his breath steady. 

You’ll never be a knight, Taryn’s voice—my voice—repeats in my head. 

Having a twin is like looking at a distorted mirror, an image of who I could be if I made different choices. It’s always wondering which one of us made the right choices. Killing the fae, or marrying them. Pledging allegiance to the court, or being part of it. 

Princess Jude, Taryn repeats spitefully in my head. 

What would I become, if I put Cardan on the throne? Consort? Girlfriend? Perhaps Cardan will remember who he is, and I will be no one at all. He would go back to dallying with pretty fae lovers. With his True Name, I have power over him, and I’m not sure he wouldn’t order me killed to rid himself of that vulnerability.

I toss and turn, thoughts spiraling and body aching from laying on a bumpy, straw-covered floor. These are the conditions Cardan slept in as a kid, the wind barely buffered by the low walls of the stall. We share body heat, but I can see where Cardan’s cheeks are red from the cold wind. He pulls me closer to him, his fingers digging in my hair and slightly scratching my scalp.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Being in Elfhame and trying to sleep at night feels wrong,” I whisper back.

It’s only part of the reason. It’s true that my body is on alert, knowing that I shouldn’t sleep while the Fair Folk are awake. More than that, my brain keeps whirling with the details of the scheme it’s cooking up and my fatigue has vanished.

Cardan hums in agreement, and I have a feeling he might fall asleep again at any moment, though he fights it. Every few seconds, his hand feels heavier on my head as he sinks into sleep–only to remember he is trying to stay awake and hide the jerking of his hand with a stroke of my hair. Seeing him bouncing back and forth over the threshold of sleep gives me an idea, one that will make sure that he will stay awake–and that we will both sleep peacefully afterwards. I let my hand trail down his chest and trace a finger along the waistband of his pants, slipping only the tip of my fingers under it.

“I could use a distraction,” I drawl. 

I feel him grin against my head. He tightens his grip on my hair. 

“What kind, exactly?” he asks, feigning innocence.

I dip my hand lower and cup him. He’s already hardening, like his body started reacting as soon as it heard the word distraction. Does he ever tire of being constantly ready? I can’t exactly judge him, though, as I feel the wetness growing between my thighs just from his grip on my hair. 

“The one you’re good at,” I reply. 

“Are you implying I am only good for—” Cardan starts, but I wrap my hand around his length and he inhales sharply.

I tentatively move my hand down and wince, my rough calluses catching against the soft skin. Cardan doesn’t seem to notice—not only that, but I feel his cock hardening under my grasp. The hand in my hair twitches and he lets it fall by his side, a deliberately slow exhale escaping him. He tips his head, baring his throat and I lean in. I let my teeth graze his neck like he does so often to me.

“Jude. My Jude,” he murmurs.

His eyes flutter close. I suck on his neck, refreshing one of the hickeys I left there a few days ago. 

“You will have to cover the marks for the coronation,” I whisper before pulling the lobe of his ear with my teeth. 

His voice is almost too low for me to hear as he replies, “Never.”

“Depraved,” I purr against his neck as I resume kissing him.

I pump him once, my hand firm on him, before retreating. Only when my lips leave his neck do his eyes crack open. I hold his scorching gaze as I move down his torso. His skin burns under my touch, the contrast between it and the cold air making me crave his warmth more than ever. As I reach for his waistband again, his tail curls around my wrist, stopping my movement. 

“Let me pleasure you first,” Cardan pleads.

“No,” I answer. He almost looks hurt. “I’ll let you, if you’re good.”

“I’ve never been good,” he replies, his upper lip pulling up in a scowl. “You know that.”

“Then I suppose you won’t get to pleasure me,” I tell him with a mocking pout. “Shame.”

He whines, his tail uncoiling from my wrist and falling to the bed of hay. 

The line between entitlement and greed is narrow—I always assumed that Cardan was the former. A spoiled prince who pulled his position to get his way. It’s clearer than ever now that he’s simply greedy. He does not expect anything, but he wants with desperate intensity.

“Not a sound,” I whisper. 

I watch his Adam's apple bob. He nods tightly. We both know he won’t be able to keep silent, but Cardan is fae to his very core. He cannot resist a game, no matter that the odds are against him.

You made up the rules. You can change them, I told him weeks ago. 

That would be cheating, he had replied.

But the Fair Folk always make sure the odds are in their favor.

Cardan bristles as I grab his tail. 

“Open your mouth,” I order.

He obeys. I slide his tail between his teeth and his eyes widen. 

“Try not to bite too hard,” I croon. 

I push his pants down and his cock bobs free. He’s fully hard now, the skin usually protecting his glans completely retracted. I look up at him as I lick a hot stripe up the underside of his shaft. When I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, his gaze speaks of agony, his dark eyes wide as he stares down at me. His hand comes down to brush a lock of my hair behind my ear and I shiver as his fingers trace the curve.

Even when (mostly) silent, he is so easy to read. It’s a blessing, in a way. The only other time I took him in my mouth, he was ordering me, so I take any hint he gives me as guidance. At first, it's subtle—a hitch of his breath when I flick my tongue against his slit, his teeth digging lightly in his tail when I pump him with my hand while sucking his head. When I manage to take more of him in my mouth, his cues become more obvious: a muffled moan, a shift of his hips, until I can tell that he’s restraining himself from pumping into my mouth.

I never thought I would enjoy giving oral and yet… In this moment, though I give and he takes, I’m the one in control. The more he reacts, the more my body reacts. I crave his sounds, the slight changes in his demeanor that prove he’s affected. I alternate between sucking and teasing him with light bites and prolonged eye contact.

You’re beautiful, drooling on my cock. His words from the last time we were in this position come to me unbidden along with flashes of memories. His hand slick with my drool, coating his cock with it. The mesmerized look in his eyes as he watched his spend dripping down the slope of my breasts, like he was committing the sight to memory. And our first time, when he wantonly commented on how wet I was.

He likes it messy, I realize. 

The next time I take him deep in my mouth and retreat, I let a trail of drool hang. I see a flash of his teeth as he bites down on his tail and immediately lets go, wincing. He whimpers as I do it again and again, deeper each time.

When his crown hits the back of my throat, Cardan makes a sound not unlike choking. His breaths are heavy and I realize he spat out his improvised gag. His hand comes to tangle in my hair, pulling lightly.

“Jude,” he gasps, a sense of urgency in his voice. 

 I hollow my cheeks, pushing deeper until my lips meet the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” he swears. “I’m going to come. Jude—”

Even if I wanted to, I don’t have time to pull away. Spurts of warm, salty cum spill in my mouth as he comes, his hand pulling my hair as if trying to get me to retreat. I swallow it, trying not to wince at the unfamiliar taste. 

I pull away, keeping my eyes on his as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can’t help but smile with pride at the sheer shock on his face, at his mouth hanging open. 

“You didn’t stay silent,” I say, lazily tracing his length with a finger. It twitches.

“I didn’t want to surprise you,” he says meekly. “But—”

I shut him up with a kiss, hard and quick. A groan erupts from his throat as my tongue strokes his. 

“No buts,” I tell him when we part. 

His face drops and I grin. Slighting Cardan will always come with a sense of triumph, no matter how close we get. I might have come to appreciate his presence, but he is still Cardan, and I still hate him. He has hurt me plenty of times before, and I relish retaliating. He must be immensely uncomfortable right now. It is not in his faerie nature to receive something freely. In the rules of his kind, he owes me—and I have refused to let him pay me back.

His gaze follows me as I lay back next to him. He turns to face me, every muscle in his body taut, from the cords of his neck to the tip of his tail. A basal part of me screams to stay still until the threat is gone, but I have long ago stopped heeding this kind of warning when it comes to Cardan. There is a rawness in his face, and I feel… powerful. As I ought to. I have power over him, over a Prince of Faerie. With his True Name, I could order him to do anything I like—though one look at his face and I know I would not even need to use it. 

I slide a hand in my pants, over my underwear. Cardan’s jaw tightens as his eyes dart between my face and my hand. I let go of a breath as my fingers graze my core, even the slightest touch setting my blood ablaze.

“Jude,” Cardan whines.

There is no mask here. Only his endless devotion, that ardent desire to please me like I’m the most important person in the Kingdom. This, more than his predatory gaze, is what scares me. I want to shake him and scream at him not to trust me, remind him that we’re enemies, that I’m a liar—anything to soften the blow of my inevitable betrayal. Betraying him would be easy, but it would be much easier if I didn’t have to break his heart as well. 

“Make me come,” I order. 

Cardan all but lunges at me, deft fingers dragging my pants and panties down with practiced ease. He parts my leg and settles himself in-between, inhaling slow and deep. I thought he would make a B-line for his prize, but Cardan is infuriating from head to toe. He takes his sweet time, trailing his nose up my thigh and stopping to suck marks in my skin as he goes. His tail curls around one of my calves, lifting my leg up and spreading me open further for him. 

"I love how you smell," he praises.

We both gasp as his lips touch my skin, swollen and sensitive. I clap a hand against my mouth as his tongue delves between my folds, prodding at my entrance. He doesn’t linger, his wicked tongue moving up to flick my clitoris.

“I love how you taste,” Cardan whispers in-between licks.

When he whispers things like this against my skin, I believe him. When his soft mouth is on my skin, I lose myself in his praise, in the absolute truth of his love. In this moment, more than ever, I know he would not order me killed. I have power over him not only because I know how to command him, but also because he loves me. 

“I love how you feel,” he continues, two slender fingers inching their way into me.

He curls his fingers, stroking me in a beckoning movement. I writhe but he holds me tight, his free hand pinning my thigh to the ground as his tail holds my other leg steady. Our eyes meet as I look down at him. His black curls are disheveled, his eyes full of voracious want. I mash my eyes shut in an attempt to protect myself from the scorching eroticism he displays. His tongue is unrelenting, though, and soon, so soon, I feel the tide of my climax rising. 

“Cardan,” I whimper.

Whatever he’s doing, however he’s doing it, Cardan is coaxing me into giving up my control—and it’s working. My legs shake in his grasp. I grapple at the ground to find something to hold on to, anything to ground me to reality.

“Yes,” he breathes against my core. “Moan my name.”

I don’t have it in me to fight him, to fight my orgasm. I moan his name as I come, waves of pleasure sending me drifting away into numbing bliss. As Cardan slows down his ministrations, his tail uncoils from my leg, setting it down gently next to him. His thumb rubs soothing circles in my thigh.

“I love you,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. 

When he said it before, it felt temporary. Conditional. He can only speak truth, but it could have been a partial truth, like I love you for as long as we are in this mortal realm or I love you until I find someone else. Yet when we’re together like this, I feel the true depth of his devotion. 

I love you, too. I should say it back, it feels like the right time to admit it. Yet the words jam in my throat, choking me. 

I can’t reciprocate his feelings, not until I secure myself a position in the Court of Elfhame. 

His heart is mine to break and I intend to break it.

I just hope to do the least amount of damage possible.

-----

tag list: @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @adxmparriish @hazelsheartsworn @zumurruds @inconspicuoussophia @idonotcareaboutyouropinion

[heniareth]

Find The Word (long)

I have been tagged by multiple people and have decided to dump it all into one huge post in no particular order and from all parts of the story. Enjoy the madness! XD XD XD

CW for canon-typical violence and fantasy racism

@wild-houseplant thank you for the tag!! I can show off two snippets from the next section and one with Sten which makes me. Very happy XD XD XD

Wrap

Astala stared at his foot. It was filthy with mud, and through the Dalish foot-wrappings she saw a bit of blood gathering between his toes.

“Why didn’t you put your boots on?”

“Does that matter?” Ilanlas groaned. “The harm is done.”

He looked left and right, wobbling in place. Finally, he sighed.

“I need help.”

“Sure.” Astala stretched her hand out to steady him. Halfway through the motion, she stopped. “Oh. Wait. Now you want my help, huh?”

Ilanlas gave her a glowering stare and opened his mouth.

“Oh no,” Astala hissed. “You’ve been ignoring me for the last few days and now you suddenly want my help. You don’t get to act offended now.”

Consider

“Sten,” Astala said. “You’ve fought in battles, right? What do you do against a large-ish number of foes armed with swords and maces rushing towards you?”

“Shields and spears,” the qunari answered. “Maintain your foe at a distance and slay him before he can reach you.”

“Hm.” Astala considered the idea. “But spears won’t do much against skeletons, right?”

“No,” Sten said. “You have to shatter them. Clubs or axes will be more effective.”

“What if we pair one guy with a pitchfork with another guy with axe and shield?” Astala said. “The guy with the pitchfork holds the skeleton at bay while the other guy hacks it into pieces.”

“You are relying on these men to hold a line,” Sten answered. “They won’t. These aren’t soldiers. They are excitable and impressionable fishers and artisans.”

Scream

Her heart skipped a beat when they found Ilanlas in the town’s square in what looked like a tense argument with a shem. What prevented her from running over and dragging him away was the fact that Mellan, the elven girl from the tavern, was standing right next to him as if supervising the whole operation. And then the shem nodded, Ilanlas handed him something and received something in return. Then they parted ways. Astala approached, carefully.

When Ilanlas saw her, his expression soured, and he marched up to her as if gearing up for a fight. Astala braced herself. Instead of screaming at her, however, Ilanlas grabbed her wrist, pressed something into her hand and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“Now go buy your blanket,” he spat.

Astala looked down at her hand. There was silver lying in it. She counted eight pieces.

“Where-?” She stared at Ilanlas. “How?”

@fade-and-loathing-in-thedas I am super super late but these words are a treasure!! Thank you so much for the tags, both of them!

Hope

"Thing is," he continued with what wouldn't even have been a lie a year ago, "I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

The Warden raised her eyebrows so high they disappeared under her dark fringe. The other Grey Warden scoffed and the dark-haired witch even laughed. Only the redhead kept quiet and studied him intently. Zevran made a mental note of that while his heart sank at their reaction. Was his situation this hopeless?

Despair

Astala forced her eyes open to find the king looking straight at her.

“I’m Astala, your Majesty,” she managed. She’d forgotten to bow.

“Pleased to meet you!” The king beamed. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them.”

Unsure what kind of answer was expected of her, Astala nodded.

The king seemed to find that sufficient and went right on. “I see you’re an elf, friend. From where do you hail?”

Perhaps she could find a helmet that covered her ears. Would people take her for a slight human woman if she did?

Beauty

“She deserved it, believe me,” Leliana said, and Astala wholeheartedly believed her. “So don’t worry. We will find someone for you. It won’t even be hard! You’re very beautiful.”

Laughter, unexpected, burst out of her chest. “Now you’re just trying to cheer me up.”

“What? No!” Leliana looked genuinely taken back. “You are very- I’m not saying this to cheer you up!”

“Please.” Astala let her head fall to the side. “I’ve got short hair and the biggest nose in my whole family.”

“I like your nose!” Leliana protested. “It adds character!”

“That’s a very nice way to say that it’s enormous.”

“Stop that!”

Lost (I apologize to all Amells and Suranas out there)

“And here I thought I was the only one to notice our dear Warden’s savior complex,” Zevran said and affixed an easy smile to his face.

“What is there to notice? Even a blind could see it.” Morrigan’s voice was laced with venom and her face was twisted into a sneer. “First, we take this enormous detour to spare one inconsequential noblewoman’s life. Then, we take a detour during that detour to help the Dalish. During this detour within a detour, we “save” a group of powerful creatures and thus render them useless to us. Next, we spend days clearing an already lost tower for some templars incapable of doing their job, and now they want to hunt for a population that should be more than able to take care of itself. And we keep picking up strays!”

Morrigan jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to where the three Circle mages were walking.

Pain

Astala was only dimly aware of being manhandled as her companions as they unbuckled the various pieces of armor. When Leliana grabbed her right arm, pain flared up from the whole thing and Astala groaned.

"Oh Maker," Leliana gasped. "Wynne, look at this!"

Astala winced as Wynne gingerly inspected.

"Maker's Breath. What have you been fighting?"

"Dwarves," Astala muttered.

"But your whole arm is crushed!" Wynne exclaimed.

Astala blinked and coughed. "Is it?"

"I don't want to alarm you," Alistair said somewhere above and to her... she couldn't really tell with one busted ear. "I really don't want to alarm you, but, uh... she just coughed up blood."

Brushed

She knew.

Just as quickly as it had come, the euphoria washed away and was replaced with a freezing, sinking sensation of dread. She knew. Knew what? How much? How much of his hand had he inadvertently shown? He felt sick. He felt dizzy, even. How had he allowed this kind of feeling to sneak up on him, and to fall for her out of all people, and after what had happened to-

“Morning, Zev!”

The Warden brushed past him, smiling brightly and holding her flower-crowned head high for all to see. Through the panic the second voice nudged him excitedly and blabbered incoherent nonsense at the sight of that smile. Before he could realize what he was doing, his own lips formed a smile in response, and once again he was left standing, dumbfounded, as the Warden approached Morrigan for some tea.

Hurt

“You made the right choice,” Zevran said while trying to untangle himself from the memory of his dead lovers. “It is no good to be bound to people that hurt you. Which is why I am no longer a Crow and, presumably, why you are here.”

Leliana stared into the hearth barely illuminating the room with a few smoldering embers. FInally, she sniffed and nodded. “But even so, I still grieve.”

Zevran swallowed thickly around the knot in his throat.

“I suppose you cannot avoid it,” he said. “Not if you gave them your heart, or part of it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Leliana wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “What a foolish thing to do, to give our hearts away when they might be shattered so badly.”

Heat

Astala's ears and cheeks had started to heat up, and they were burning even now. No matter what way she turned, eyes open or closed, all she saw before her was the light flickering along Zevran as he smiled, as his hair as it fanned out when he spun. She could still feel the rhythm of the melody, his feet stomping on the ground in those boots that fit far too well, see his lean silhouette dark against the flames as he danced.

@yukichouji I finally get to respond to your second tag! Featuring some Alistair, some Zevran and some Sten, and an innkeeper worried about her money ^^

Troubling

“Anyway,” Alistair said very quickly, “I’ll fill you in on what we learned while we wait for Morrigan.”

In the chantry, he informed Astala, he and Morrigan had learned troubling news. Arl Eamon was sick and had sent his knights out on a desperate search for Andraste’s Ashes to cure him. The mages were apparently also having problems.

“Some say they have all turned into abominations,” Alistair said. “Which would really not be good if we wanted to ask them for help. So, in short, the quest for allies is going to be more difficult than we imagined.”

Astala started twisting a strand of leather around her finger.

“What did you find?” Alistair asked.

“Well,” Astala untwisted the bit of leather. “There are two paid jobs hung out on the board that I have requested and there might be more if we ask around. There’s also soldiers of teryn Loghain looking for us stationed at the tavern.”

“That’s… bad,” Alistair said.

“It is,” Astala nodded.

Trust

"Hm." Zevran reached for a sock as well. "Why do I feel like it was something I said?"

"It wasn't," Astala snapped. "Stop asking."

A light frown creased Zevran's brow. "As you wish. Should I leave entirely?"

"You should-" Astala swallowed her words and grabbed a pile of folded clothes. "Just… do the laundry."

She didn't storm off. She was just walking quickly, and her ears felt like they had been set aflame. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have known that Zevran would be worse than any shem. Because, unlike them, he didn't have to win her trust. He already had it.

Sword

An unseen explosion shook the earth beneath them. Astala drew her blades in a flash and spun around. There was nothing with them on the shore. Out of the upper levels of the tower of Kinloch Hold, however, rose smoke.

"Oh, that's not good," Astala muttered.

"They're still fighting in there!" one of the patrons called. "I thought they would be done by now?"

Astala could hear Alistair muttering under his breath.

Sten approached her, sword drawn. "We should never have come here, Warden."

"Well, we are here now," Astala said.

Weight

Astala looked at the coin and swallowed. It was strange: not round like the others and it didn't bear the crown if Ferelden. Instead, a strange symbol stood in its middle, and the coin had eight sides.

"I can't take this," the innkeeper said. "I don't know what it is and it doesn't have the right weight. Where did you get it from?"

"From bandits," Astala said quietly.

"Bandits," the innkeeper repeated flatly. "And they gave you coin?"

@bumblerhizal thank you as well for the tag! Some Zevwarden, some of the Chantry being shitty, some plums and some more Zevwarden. Enjoy!

Drink

They let themselves be carried by wave after wave until the water became too cold to bear. They trekked back to the camp with haste, bundled up in dry clothes and blankets, and even so Zevran’s teeth chattered, and the wind chased shiver after shiver down his spine. Wynne received them with open disapproval and two steaming mugs of rich broth.

“I would be very surprised if the two of you didn’t catch the cold of your life down there,” she chided as she shood them to the fire and threw another blanket over them. “Your lips are blue! What were you thinking?”

“Worth it,” Astala muttered into her drink and scooted closer to Zevran.

Zevran had to agree. He took a sip of the broth and relished the way it warmed his insides as it traveled into his stomach. He leaned against the Warden. Purely for body warmth, of course.

Lie

If they had lied about an elf who was close to Andraste, they would’ve definitely lied about the Exalted March on the Dales.

What was she supposed to do with all of this?

“Nobody’s ever tried to take the Dales back?”

Ilanlas laughed. “How would we?”

“You’ve got weapons,” Astala said. “You’re good shots and you have mages! Did nobody ever try?”

“The Dales lie between Ferelden and Orlais, and belong to the latter,” Ilanlas said. “What you propose would result everybody hunting us down like rabid dogs. There is a reason why we do not settle down.”

Warm

The rest of the night passed by uninterrupted, and the morning greeted them with a slightly cloudy sky. Duncan frowned up at the clouds. Astala welcomed them. The sun was already warming up the air, and every bit of shade would be welcome. Besides, she had discovered that the trees in the orchard they had slept next to carried plums. She immediately climbed the first tree and began filling her pack with plums. Duncan told her that this would anger the farmer, but only once, and he didn’t make her come down. And the farmer deserved it anyways. He’d kicked them out in the middle of the night when Ilanlas was sick. A pack full of plums was the least Astala would’ve taken if she’d had the chance.

Cold

"It will be cold again tonight," Astala mused.

"That it will," Zevran agreed. "But it will be the last night in a long time I think. I have been told that the city of Orzammar is lighted and warmed by flows of hot, molten rock."

"Molten rocks." Astala stared off into the distance as she tried to picture a rock in liquid state. She didn't quite know where to begin with. "The things there are in the world..."

"The things there are in Ferelden alone," Zevran said. "You should see the deserts in Antiva, my Warden. That is something worthy of admiration."

"Oh, I don't know, Zev," Astala said with a teasing smile. "Have you ever seen a rock melt? It sounds pretty impressive."

"So it does, if I didn't suspect that I would melt right alongside with it if I ever came close enough to lay eyes on the process," Zevran replied.

Aaaaaand it’s done!! I do hope you enjoyed these ^^ I would like to tag you all back, as well as @oxygenforthewicked @the-iron-lion @castlecousland and @icy-warden to find the words make, sleep, tree and terrible. Have a lovely day all of you!

[bloodycassian]

Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!! 

Prompt -  Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them!  You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person.  Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively.  Cassian grabbed Az's wrist.  He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly.  He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?"   The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning.  + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit.  Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground.  Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower.  You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade.  + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance.  The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it.  "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt.  "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down.  "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb.  "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory.  "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away.  Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics.  "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug.  + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay.  The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child.  The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..."  Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.  You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options.  You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade.  "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air.  "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him.  A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been.  The thought hit you like a well placed punch.  He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home.   His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over.  You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out.  You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader."  Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile.  "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow.  "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again.  He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days.  "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused.  "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped.  + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket.  "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first."  Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps.  "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings.  The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect.  You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips.  You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child."  "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics.  He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering.  He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot. 

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Six

Chapter Six

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: slight smut** angst, spencer's overthinking and anxiety, passing out, plot twist, very understanding reader, happy ending, smut implied but not graphic

word count: 6.2K

from the beginning <3

Derek and Savannah planned to come over on Sunday morning to introduce Hank and Amoreena, his namesake and his honorary daughter meeting felt very important to him.

Y/N and he spent the morning cleaning up the house, making sure all the books were away and the coffee was on so when they pulled in at 11 for brunch they’d be ready.

Amoreena was beyond excited at the idea of a 16th cousin, not knowing about Henry or Michael yet either, bringing her total to 18 cousins.

Spencer learned something new about them and the farm every single day he was there. Which he expected, it had been 8 days and he was all but moved in. They joked just that morning about them moving too fast, shrugging it off and living their lives anyway.

Derek and Savannah were one of the sweetest couples Spencer knew. They had a love he admired, it also blossomed fast and stayed strong through everything Derek went through.

Derek was always going to be his rock, someone he loved deeply and cherished more than he could ever explain to anyone. More than a brother, a long-lost lover, a confidant, his best friend in the whole world. If he could live through everything he’s been through and still be happy, so could Spencer.

Amoreena is out the door and meeting them before Y/N and Spencer are even aware they pulled in. “Hey little lady, I’m your uncle Derek,” he can hear Derek’s sweet voice that he only uses with kids.

They walked out onto the porch to see Amoreena shaking both their hands before asking if Savannah needed help carrying her purse. Ever the little helper, she intended on making the best introduction to her new family members.

“Spence, this place is amazing!” Savannah gushed as she pulled him into a hug, and then Y/N, “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too! You’re all so pretty, holy cow,” she swoons, “what does the FBI put in the water over there?”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s running off over here too,” Spencer compliments Y/N right back.

Derek gives Y/N the biggest hug he’s ever seen, “you are my new bestie, anyone who loves Reid as much as me is a keeper.”

“I like this one, Savannah you have good taste,” Y/N teases, holding Derek in her embrace.

“We got the best guys the bureau had to offer and stole them away,” she laughed, wrapping an arm around Spencer as they turned to see Hank.

“Well, someone had to put them to good use,” Y/N had an arm wrapped around Derek too, slipping into Spencer’s life effortlessly.

Hank was almost 5, it blew Spencer’s mind to think that Derek had been a father for 5 years now. He was the sweetest little guy, holding Amoreena’s hand as the two of them walked up the stairs.

They had sandwiches and muffins in the garden, everything was homemade and grown on the farm. It was a life Spencer was excited to get used to, they even made their own cheese and wine in the summer for the farmers market.

Every time he learned a new detail about this place it got more perfect.

Hank loved the goats, he crawled right in with Amoreena and sat down in the mud. Petting the babies and letting all the mamma goats nibble at his hat as they got close. He giggled and screamed, petting all of them nicely as Amoreena told him all their names.

Derek was very quick to pick out a cowboy hat and pretend he was southern, trying out his fake accent and making Savannah laugh as they explored the farm, skipping through the fields and kissing in the grass. They were just as in love as Spencer and Y/N, they all got along like couples who have been friends since college.

Like this had been their life all along, nothing about it felt new. It just felt right.

Everything about her fit into his life like she was handcrafted for it, picked and polished before set in a box and hidden away from the world. She was a collector's item and he was a collector, keeping her close and never letting her go. He knew her worth, but the feeling she produced in his heart was better than anything in the world.

Before they know it, it’s almost 3 and Hank is about to fall asleep in the grass as Amoreena reads him a story. Derek and Savanah are laying back on a blanket half-listening as they watch the clouds. Spencer and Y/N doing the same.

It’s wonderful, he makes eye contact with Derek while running his fingers through Y/N’s hair. He just smiles at Spencer, prouder he can even express.

“I think it’s about time we head out,” Derek cuts into the peacefulness of their day.

“We’ll be back, and often,” Savannah laughs, “I’m going to hide here from the hospital, you don’t have service right?”

“Not if you turn it off and leave it in the car,” Y/N laughed too, pulling Savannah into a hug and walking with her towards the house. Best friends in the making, it was going to be trouble for him and Derek, exciting, but frightful at the same time.

Savannah excuses herself to the bathroom before they leave, Spencer offers to help Derek carry his tired little toddler to the car so they can talk. He was excited to hear Derek's thoughts about the day, proud of the life he could introduce them to.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” Derek finally cut into their quiet walk to the car with a very serious tone.

“Sure,” Spencer nodded vigorously, a little nervous.

“Do you remember when we lost that bet in 2008?” Derek started, “JJ and Emily were saying it wasn’t fair, that we were hogging all the sexiness and smarts and we should just donate sperm to help the population?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you actually do it?” Derek watches Spencer’s mind wandering as he recalls everything.

He has donated sperm twice in his life, keeping it between him and Derek the first time, telling no one about it the second time. The first was when JJ got pregnant with Henry, teasing him that he should make more geniuses in the world. Emily was even considering having a baby on her own back then before everything with Doyle went down.

The second time was after Maeve died in 2013 when he realized that he might not ever get to actually be a dad.

Donating again purely in the hopes that in 18 years someone would find him in search of a connection with their birth father. It seemed like the only way he’d be able to be a father one day, and that was right around the time Amoreena would have been conceived if she’s 7 now.

Spencer looks at him with wide eyes, “you think she’s mine?”

“Without a doubt,” he whispers, stopping to put Hank in his car seat and give Spencer some time to panic.

“She’s not mine,” Spencer keeps shaking his head, so hard that Derek is worried it might fall off as he panics, “she can’t be, that would be insane. No way, no I’m not even going to pretend she is. Nope.”

Derek places his hand on Spencer’s shoulder to calm him, “do you know who her father is?”

“No,” he whispers as he closes his eyes, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “She tells people that Amoreena is her fiancé Stephens, no one really questions that she had her 2 years after he died, but Y/N doesn’t even know who her father is.”

“That’s a serious conversation you need to have with her, regardless, she deserves to know you’ve possibly got other geniuses walking around out there.”

Spencer felt his anxiety dump adrenaline into his blood, making him sweat and panic as he turned around in circles a few times. He looked physically drained, not know what the fuck to do moving forward.

“I can’t go talk to her right now while Amoreena is there,” Spencer panicked as Derek finally closed the door, Hank was all situated and ready to go.

“I can bring you home?” Derek offered, “go get your things and tell her that you have to go.”

“Okay,” he whispered, trying to calm down enough to face her.

Walking back up to her house felt like it took forever, even passing savannah as he all but ran, stepping inside the house to see Amoreena reading on the couch while Y/N was in the kitchen, whistling happily, waiting for him to come back.

Amoreena looked up at him with a smile, “are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” he lied with a fake smile. “I actually have to go, Derek needs help with something at his place and I’ll be back later for dinner, okay?”

“Awe,” Y/N’s voice travelled from the kitchen to where he was, she walked into the room with an apron on and a towel in her hands. “I was hoping you’d help me make a pie.”

“I’m sorry, hun, I’ll be back soon,” he assured her, “I love you guys.”

“Love you, Dad,” Amoreena smiled, before returning to her book.

Every time she called him dad it made his heart stop, but that one made his breathing stop too, he struggled to swallow as he turned his attention to Y/N approaching him.

Y/N gave him a big hug and then he was gone, running down the driveway and hopping in Derek's car as fast as he could. Still overthinking everything, his mind memorizing every look on Amoreena’s face and trying to see if there was any proof in her being his.

There was a lot. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, he didn’t want to think about that at all. She was his regardless, no DNA test would change how he loved her. He was more afraid of Y/N’s reaction to finding out.

Savannah didn’t ask what was going on, leaving him and Derek to be as weird and cryptic as they always were together. Looking out the window quietly as Spencer had a panic attack in the back seat.

He convinced Derek to drop him off at the clinic where he donated the sperm both times. Still absolutely pissed off with himself that one of the biggest decisions of his life was the one he forgot about, wanting to know if he could find out anything about his potential offspring.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” the nice receptionist tried her best to stay calm as Spencer rushed through his dilemma.

“Only a child can learn who their father was when they turn 18, if they choose to contact you it’s up to them. You agreed to that when you donated.”

“You can’t even tell me how many kids I have out there?” He tried to reason with her, “I’m in the FBI surely you can make an exception for me it’s not like I'm going to stalk the kids, I just want to know if one’s going to contact me one day,” he tried everything to get her to open up.

“What’s your name?”

“Spencer Reid.”

She stood and walked into the back, opening a cabinet full of records and pulling one out. She opened it, running a finger along with the document as she read it over.

“You have four offspring so far, none of the other samples used have produced a child, the women were all IVF as well so it wasn’t your swimmer's fault; if you wanted to donate again,” she read him all the facts and somehow it just made him panic more.

Y/N’s voice echoing in his mind, “after I did IVF.” She said those words. He heard them. She didn’t know the father. His name wasn't on the sample. It was anonymous. Everything caught up to him at that moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, white as a ghost as he tried to turn away, dropping to the floor and passing out instead.

When he woke up, he was somehow back in Derek’s car on the way back to his apartment. Hank and Savannah nowhere to be seen, the radio on low as Derek paid attention to the road. It was quiet, he didn’t even know Spencer was awake again until he sighed.

He didn’t say anything to Derek, instead, taking out his phone and texting Y/N.

Spencer: Hey, something serious came up. I won't be able to come back till after bedtime and then I need to tell you something important that might make you very mad at me.

Y/N: you’re going to make me go grey being this ominous

Spencer: I’m sorry, but it’s going to be a lot to explain.

Y/N: should I get wine or something harder ready to listen?

Spencer: Honestly, I’m not even sure yet.

Y/N: cant wait… love you?

Spencer: I love you too, don’t forget that!

Y/N: as long as you don’t either ♥︎

—

He pulled up to Y/N’s house at 9:30, knowing that Amoreena would be well asleep by then. Unbothered by any crying or yelling that could arise from the news he had to share with her mother.

He was terrified to tell her but he needed to. Relationships only work with communication and he knew that, respecting her and loving her enough to do anything in his power to keep her in his life.

He walked inside to see the lights all off, heading around the back of the house to see her in the garden with a drink, surrounded by little lights twinkling as she listened to her favourite Taylor Swift album, he wasn’t shocked in the slightest to find her like that.

“Hey,” he announced himself to her so she wouldn’t be startled.

Her smile warms his heart and clears the butterflies from his stomach for a quick moment, “hey cutie, did you want me to warm up some dinner for you?”

“No thank you,” he shook his head softly, standing by the gate and not wanting to get too close. “I need to tell you something and you might get really mad at me.”

“Alright,” she sat up straighter, hands on her knees as she played with the material of her jeans.

“I donated sperm as a joke in 2008, but then again in January of 2013 when my girlfriend died because I thought it would be the only way to maybe have a kid find me one day when they turned 18. I never thought I’d get to have a family after Maeve died,” the words fell out of his mouth and onto the patio.

“Oh my god,” was all she said, eyes wide and mouth open, she was completely still.

“I went to the clinic and they won't tell me who my kids are, apparently there are four of them so I have no idea if it’s Amoreena or not and I’m just so sorry for not telling you. I honestly forgot, and I don’t normally forget. After everything that’s happened to me, I just forgot, I’m sure it looks like I found you on purpose or something but I assure you that I didn’t,” he wasn’t sure why he was just dumping all these thoughts on her when he hadn’t even thought them through, but they wouldn’t stop.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she shrugged then, smiling at his confused face. “We have more and see if they look like her.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I’d never joke about making another Amoreena, that would be amazing.”

“You’re not mad?” He blinked at her a few times, wondering if he heard her wrong, twice.

“Why would I be mad at the fact that you might be her real father and the reason she’s the smartest person on earth? She’s literal walking sunshine, am I supposed to be mad you could give her fully biological siblings? I wanted your babies even if she wasn’t yours,” Y/N paused, eyebrows raised as she made her point.

“If I’m supposed to be mad about you completing our family then I’m furious,” she laughed as she stood up, walking over to wrap her arms around him.

“Even if you’re not her father, you’re always going to be her dad,” she whispered as she reached him.

He looked down into her eyes, the most beautiful and caring woman in the world, cuddled into his chest in the middle of paradise. He couldn’t help but laugh, it was insane how easy it was to love her.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

She pulled him down into a kiss, holding her hand on his cheek lightly as he pressed his lips to hers. She rested her forehead on his as they parted, “I love you more.”

“Doubt it,” he teased her with a smile, pulling her in closer and lifting her up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” She giggled.

“Where would you like to go, Princess? This is your kingdom after all.”

The biggest, most suspicious grin appeared on her face then, “put me down,” she instructed and he followed. Setting her down and feeling her grab his hand instead.

She led him inside the house and up the stairs, placing her finger over her lip to let him know to be quiet. She pulled him inside her bedroom for the first time and he was absolutely mesmerized.

It was like a jungle of books in there, pictures of her and Amoreena all over the walls and the cutest mushroom bedsheets in the world. It was like he walked into her mind, it was calming and beautiful and just what he imagined.

Peaceful.

“We’re not staying in here,” she whispered towards him, pulling him into the closet.

She pulls out 2 black garment bags and places them on the bed before looking through her jewellery box. She brings back a small velvet box and places it in his hands.

“Would you want to do something insane with me?”

“Always,” he can’t help but smile.

“My grandma always wanted Stephen to propose to me with that ring, but he used his own mothers instead,” she whispered. “I don’t want to have an official thing, I already planned one wedding and never got to have it.”

“Okay?” He tried his best to follow along, analyzing her facial expressions to see just how nervous she was, as well as the underlying sadness of time missed. Just like she had mentioned that first night he stayed here.

“I had my grandma’s dress tailored to wear at my wedding, I’ve never put the final version on,” she unzips the one bag, revealing a silk white dress with an incredibly long train.

“My grandpa's suit is in the other one, I think you will fit into it,” she reaches out a hand to pull him closer to the bed and look at it with her. “I just want to put them on and tell you I love you in the field and just call you my husband. I don’t give a single shit that it’s been a week, why should I wait a year to call you that when I can start now?”

He doesn’t know what to say, he’s speechless for too long and he knows that it’s making her anxious but he can’t speak. His eyes turn glossy and his hands shake as he holds the small box in his hands, opening it to find a beautiful ruby on a gold band, surrounded by small diamonds, alongside her grandfather's gold band.

He gets down on one knee then and she pulls him right back up to his feet, shaking her head. “It can’t be like last time, I don’t want to repeat a single part of it. I can’t lose you too.”

“You never will,” he’s finally able to speak. “I’m not going anywhere, believe me, you are the most important person in my life. I would drop everything and hide here forever to keep safe, if you wanted me to, I’m too in love with you to go anywhere.”

She smiles at him with wide eyes and the glimmer of hope returning. She picks up her dress and heads to the bathroom door, “put the suit on and meet me downstairs?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he winks at her before taking the suit down the hall to his room.

He notices the wedding photo on the night table again, taking the suit out of the bag to see nothing really changed since the last time it was worn. Her grandfather was tall and skinny like him when they got married, so he fits into the 1950’s suit almost perfectly.

He straightened everything out in the mirror, making sure he tucked the ring box back into his pocket before quietly tiptoeing back down the creaky wooden steps.

Y/N wasn’t done yet, he could hear her walking around in her room softly as she paced from her dresser to the bathroom over and over, most likely trying to find something in her jewellery box and looking in the mirror more than once. She didn’t sound nervous, her feet weren’t hesitant, she sounded like a woman on a mission, that was a good thing.

He was the nervous one, scared out of his mind with the fear he wouldn’t do this right. That she had dreams, plans and expectations he needed to live up to and what if he couldn’t? He put his face in his hands and tried his best to push all the fears away but they kept swirling. Making his brain hurt, he didn’t want to fuck anything up with her. She was already so understanding and wonderful, she’d given so much to him already he can’t fuck this up—

And then she’s walking down the stairs. Like sunshine; parting the grey skies as the thunder clouds dissipate and the rain washes down the streets, he’s fine again.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers.

Her smile was priceless, “thanks, cutie, I’m so glad it fits you!”

He followed her towards the kitchen where she picked up the phone, dialled a number and waited, “hey mom.”

“Spencer and I are going on a late-night walk, outback, yeah, Amoreena is asleep, can you just keep an eye on the house? I’m going to let Rufus in to keep guard anyway,” Y/N explained over the phone, agreeing and humming to whatever her mother said in response. “love you too, thanks."

She let the dog in like she said she would, handing the overly friendly golden retriever a treat before finally pulling Spencer outside and towards the barn.

They were both in running shoes, it was incredibly adorable for the occasion and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Her hand was so soft as she tugged him along behind her, her dress and hair blowing in the wind as they walked.

She grabbed an old kerosene lantern from the barn, lighting it quickly and holding it by the handle, “you ready?”

“I am,” he smiled softly, still anxious in his core, more so now because he was overly excited to be spending the rest of his life with her.

They continued to walk down past the barn, through the cow pasture and finally entering a clearing. It was full of lilacs and ragweed, yellows and purples blowing ever so gently back and forth under the moonlight.

“This is where my grandparents would read to me, and where they renewed their vows when I was 14, and this is where I got the call that I was pregnant with Amoreena. It’s a very special place to me,” her voice was barely a whisper.

Spencer took the lantern from her and placed it in the grass, it illuminated the both of them just enough that they could see each other's faces and know exactly how much they loved each other without even having to say any words.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer’s words were careful, he didn’t want her to think he didn’t either.

She nodded softly, “I loved Stephen very much, I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but I loved him enough to know he’d want me to be happy, he’d really like you and don’t tell him this but I think I love you more than I ever loved him,” she made light of a very heavy subject.

Smiling at him like he was the world, he fully believed her. “I thought Maeve as it for me too before she died, I was so, so wrong. Every day I discover a new level of love for you I didn’t think possible the day before, I never want to stop searching for how deep my love for you goes.”

“To new adventures,” she whispered.

“And happy endings,” he replied, remembering the conversation they had about the Disney characters they loved the most just yesterday morning.

He removed the box from his pocket, opening it and taking her ring out of the fabric. The tiny diamonds around the ruby sparked in the light, shining little rainbows over their faces as they smiled at each other once again, cheeks aching from all the happiness.

“What finger do you want to wear it on? Seeing as we’re doing this our way,” he compromised for her very easily.

“The middle one on my left hand, you?” She asked as she took his ring out as well.

“The ring finger,” he whispered. “I want you to be close to my heart forever.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, pushing the ring onto his finger first before placing her hand in his, waiting for his hands to stop shaking so he could put it on her.

He pushed it right back towards the knuckle, holding her hand in his after and just staring at the ring. He just married the woman of his dreams.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself, making her laugh.

“What?”

A tear trickled down his cheek as he tried to smile at her, his jaw wobbling as he tried to stay calm but he couldn’t, he let himself cry softly as she cupped his face with her free hand.

“I love you too, Spencer,” is all she said, pressing her lips to his, finally.

He held her there in his embrace, lips touching as they breathed each other in. The smell of the field and the flowers that were once so strong in his nose, now he only smells her perfume, he almost forgets where he is as they kiss. The world could have stopped and he wouldn’t have ever known, too caught up on loving her.

He doesn’t pull away when the kiss breaks, instead, resting their foreheads together as they breathed.

“I’m going to love you until the day I die.”

She brushes their noses together softly as if to agree, “give me at least 40 years with you, and then I’ll meet you in heaven?”

“We’re already here,” he whispers, “you and Amoreena are my angels.”

They kissed again, just as soft and perfect as before. She smiled at the end, pulling back and taking her cellphone out of the dress pocket that he didn’t even know was there.

She set it on the fence post that separated the cows from the field, making sure it was steady and setting a timer. She rushed to Spencer and pulled him back into the same kiss, letting the phone take a burst of photos for them to remember later on.

“Pick a song,” he whispered into the moment, seeing her face scrunch as she became confused. “We need a first dance, I know your grandparents had to have danced out here at least once if she loved music as much as you say she did.”

“I love you,” is all she can say as she beams a smile at him. Skipping over to her phone and doing just as he asked.

“I need a piece of Amoreena in this moment,” she explained her song choice, making him think it would be the Elton John song, but it wasn’t.

A beautiful piano balled played before he heard the all too familiar voice of Taylor Swift, the girl's favourite. “Seven, because that’s how many years it took for us to find you.”

He takes her hand again, twirling her around before pulling her body into his. The both of them holding on tight as they swayed to the song, it fit every single aspect of his love for her to a T. Like it was Taylor made for them.

“Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids make a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long,”

It was so unbelievable. She had mentioned the love she felt for Stephen, he mentioned his love for Maeve, both of their faces hard to bring to memory as they fell in love with each other. A new feeling, a happier love, a long-lasting one that wasn’t nearly as flimsy. Powerful and strong like the earth's gravitational pull, he was never leaving her.

She’s singing the words ever so softly beside his ear, her voice is softer than Taylor’s and his favourite thing he’s heard all night, but he’d never tell her that.

They kiss randomly throughout their dance, listening to more songs as they swayed in the evening breeze. The cows coming to the fence to see what was happening, they twirled and dipped and jumped with each other, it was perfect.

She pulls him in for another kiss and she is all giggles, high from the dopamine and serotonin rush they were both on. Like someone injected sugar right into his veins, he was unbelievably sweet on her.

“We’re you serious?” Spencer whispered against her lips before she can pull back any further and disrupt the courage he felt.

“About what? I’ve said a lot tonight,” she teased him gently.

“About having more kids?” His voice is low and his eyes can’t meet hers as he prays she was being honest.

She nods softly, “never been more certain, actually, I would have 10 more of your kids if they’re all as perfect as our Amoreena.”

Our.

He tilts his head to the side and presses his lips together in a tight smile, he lost all control of his tears a while back, feeling them slip down his cheeks as he took everything in. She had given him everything and then some.

“How are you this perfect? It’s been 8 days since I laid eyes on you and you’ve managed to make every single dream come true, while simultaneously creating new dreams I never imagined I’d be allowed to have. You’re the best thing that has ever happened in the world Y/N, I’m so incredibly in love with you I could scream right now,” he is more passionate than he plans to be, she stares at him with more lust than happiness this time.

“Prove it and make love to me, you said you’d rather fuck me at home. Well,” she kept teasing him opening her arms and twirling around as she showed off the farm. “This is your home now, husband.”

“Where should we go?” He felt adventurous, willing to take her against the fence if the cows wouldn’t eat her hair, the thought alone making him giggle to himself.

“What?” She can't help but giggle right back.

“I thought about fucking you against the fence for a hot second and then the intrusive thoughts kicked in and I thought about the cows eating your hair,” he admitted with a fierce laugh.

“I love you so much,” she shook her head and sighed, the same way she did at the museum when Amoreena made her laugh.

That was all the proof he needed. Never would he question how she felt, if she loved him half as much as she loved Amoreena then he was blessed by far. This was over the top.

He picked up the lantern then, handing it to her as well as her phone before picking her up bridal style and attempting to carry her back to the house. He made it to the barn before she begged him to put her down, wanting to skip the rest of the way with him.

Giddy as all hell, the two of them snuck back into her house. Rufus, the best guard dog in the world, was passed out on the couch and didn’t even move as they walked in. Locking the doors and windows for the night before tiptoeing up the stairs again.

Luckily, Amoreena’s room was on the opposite side of the house from Spencers. Y/N pulled him down the hall and inside the room, lightly closing the door before leaning back against it and sighing.

“Are you sure? I never asked you what you wanted,” Y/N whispered.

Spencer just shook his head and slipped out of his suit jacket. “All I want is to have a big happy family with you, where ever that takes us, I’m up for the adventure.”

Y/N was the one who teared up this time, looking away from Spencer and at her grandparent's wedding photo on the side table. She walked past Spencer, brushing her hand against his arm as she did so, picking up the photo and kissing it softly.

She turned it face down and turned back to Spencer, “help me with the zipper?”

He nodded, silently stepping forward and brushing her hair off her back, freeing her from the dress. He pressed his lips gently to her sun-kissed shoulders, surprised by the array of freckles, kissing the pattern they made on her skin as she let the dress slip to the floor.

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind as he continued to kiss her neck and shoulder. She hummed into the feeling, tilting her head to the side so he had more room to explore, her hands cover Spencers as she felt up his arms, still in his embrace.

She had the softest skin on earth, he could spend the next 14 hours kissing every square inch of her. It was all perfect and he wanted her to know it, “get on the bed,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away.

He picked her dress up off the floor and put it on a hanger from the shirt he had on. She watched with soft eyes as he hung it on the back of the bathroom door, keeping it safe and taken care of while they became a married couple.

He slipped out of the tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, she laid back against the covers, pulling her grandma's quilt off and folding it at the end of the bed. She laid back and waited as he slipped his pants to the ground and finally joined her once again.

She met him halfway for a kiss, holding his face as he knelt between her spread legs, she leaned back and took him with her. He hovered then, barely touching her as she leaned forward to keep kissing him, eventually wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him down.

Skin to skin for the first time ever.

It’s slow and explorative, they take their time as they enjoy every single inch of each other's bodies. She’s soft and perfect, she fits in the palm of his hand like he’s always been holding her. Moulded for her and her alone.

He’s never made love before. Sure, he’s had sex but never in his life has it felt like this… no, this was perfect. It was everything he’s ever dreamed of and then some. Her kisses felt like dreams coming true, her touch so light it was like sunshine on a hot day, just dancing over him.

It was perfect.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, still inside her, as he took a moment to just look at her. Her eyes were hypnotic, he was so dawn into her it was like she controlled him. He kissed her gently on the forehead, “I love you,” he reminded her, for the millionth time that hour.

She pulled him in closer, breathing against his neck gently as they continued. Her nails on his back were amazing, he felt the sharp pain of her grip which only excited him more, fastening his pace, both his hips and where his thumb was pleasuring her between their bodies.

She looked like she was floating, relaxed as she laid against the sheets, blissed-out while she took it all in, panting airy nonsense as she got closer and closer.

She was quiet, they both were. It was silent as possible while they made love for the first time ever. She was everything in the world to him and then some, he couldn’t believe she was real as they both finished and managed to somehow get closer to each other.

Another level of love was just unlocked in his heart, he was never going to stop loving her. That would be the only impossible known to man.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

[jade-parcels]

in your arms

Kaeya has a rough day on the job. He's just happy to finally be home with you...

Kaeya x reader with gn terms used

Mondstadt is the city of wind so, it was no surprise that the wind was whipping by, making the cold rain blow harshly against the houses within the city’s borders. Shutters shook against the windows and wet flyers were blowing off the bulletin boards in front of the Cat’s Tail. Kaeya trudged up to the city gates, leaning against the stone wall under the cover of the wall above, his crew of seven knights doing the same. They were soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and overall...exhausted. After clearing out three hilichurl camps and walking all over Mondstadt to do so, it wasn't a surprise that they were worn out.

“Why don’t you all head home for the day?” He turned to face them, shaking his wet bangs from his face to get a better look at his men. “It’s been a rough one, I’ll see you all tomorrow after a good night’s rest. I expect you all to show up energized and ready for patrol in the morning” With that, he excused the group with a wave of his hand and the group split up, scurrying down the streets like rats. Some held their shields over their heads while the others walked home, not bothering to rush since they were already drenched.

Kaeya sighed deeply to himself, rubbing his arms to try and warm himself up as he limped past the blacksmith's tent, the rain continuing to pelt him. When he finally stepped into his house, he groaned in relief. He kicked his boots off and stripped off his wet clothes. Kaeya was used to the cold since he worked with his ice all the time but this was a different type of cold. This was a wet, exhausted, bone-chilling cold that wouldn't be easy to fend off.

He frowned as he peeled off his mud-caked gloves, unceremoniously dropping them to the ground with the rest of his clothes. All he wanted to do was slip into bed and sleep for days beneath a pile of blankets where no one could bother him. Being the cavalry captain wasn't often a hard job, Kaeya felt he was perfect for the position! On nights like these though, when he came home battered and bruised, sometimes he wished he chose a more easy-going career like a merchant... Or a bartender.

“Kaeya?” He was shaken out of his thoughts, looking up to see you standing in the living room, the fireplace alive with warm, orange flames “Oh honey, look at you…” You crossed the room to pull him into a warm hug that he practically melted into “You’re freezing...”

He was hesitant to touch you since he was dirty “I’m alright, love, I just need to rest. I’m not one to go to bed so soon but…” He trailed off, closing his eyes. “Tonight can be an exception,” You finish for him, pressing a kiss to his temple “But first, you need a bath.”

Kaeya groans again as he’s led to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, flopping down without his usual grace. You frown to yourself and cover him with a blanket, ruffling his dripping hair before heading to the kitchen to start the process of heating water for the bath.

It’s strange to see Kaeya this way, so tired and so quiet. You peeked out from the kitchen again to get another look at him. He looked rather pitiful as he sat there, curled in on himself wet hair plastered to his goosebump covered skin.

“You’re staring” He hummed, pulling the blanket tighter around himself “I’m fine. A bit cold but I’ll survive. No need to worry so much, love” You couldn't be swayed with sweet words though. You kept going back and forth from the kitchen to the bathroom, dumping pots of hot water into the tub until it was full. Once the water was no longer scalding, you led your weary husband to sit in the wooden tub. He was too big for it, his long legs hanging out the end but he didn't seem to mind as he sank into the water.

You leaned down to pepper kisses across his cheek before getting to work. You removed his damp eyepatch and took his hair down from its tangled ponytail, grimacing at the mud-caked in his usually smooth locks. “Do you want to talk about your day?” You asked softly as you gently washed his hair.

Kaeya huffed a laugh, tipping his head back into your hands “I do not think you would enjoy hearing about the things I did today. It was rather gruesome” he busied himself by washing mud and blood out from under his nails “Why don’t you talk about your day instead?” You indulged him, telling him about the flowers you bought from Flora and the sunsettias you delivered to the Angel’s Share, which he scoffed at. As you talked, you washed his back and chest, relishing in how he pressed up into your touch. Your gaze met, one blue eye and one scarred, white eye staring into yours. He winked and you rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder.

Once finished, you toweled his hair dry while he sat in the rapidly cooling water, helping him up to dry his body next. You couldn't help but let a hand wander over his chest, earning a little smirk from your beloved captain. “Come on now, let’s just go to bed. I’m exhausted, honey, I don’t think I can even make it upstairs” Of course he was being a tad dramatic, that was to be expected. Besides, if he got to be coddled a little it was worth it for sure. He couldn't keep the cheeky smirk from forming on his lips as you wrapped an arm around him to carefully lead him upstairs, leaning into your warm touch. He flinched when you turned the lights on, the sudden change hurting his sensitive eye.

You sat him down on the edge of the bed, stepping back to get a better look at him. Purplish, yellow bruises were blooming across his stomach, shoulders, and sides. His arms were scraped up and the cherry on top was the blisters on his hands and feet. Kaeya seemed to deflate a little under your gaze, his mask of confidence set aside for the night “I know you hate seeing me all battered up but it's part of the job” he shrugged, grunting as he shifted himself to slide beneath the sheets. You stepped forward to help again though this time he waved you off, asking you to turn the lights off and come to bed. The second your body slid under the covers, he was wrapping his arms around you. Even if you wanted to shove him off, he’d just hold on tighter so you couldn't escape. He pulled you down, burning his face in your chest with a content sigh. “Ah...If only I could stay right here forever,” His words were muffled against your skin however you didn't need to see his face to know he was smiling. It wasn't his usual charming smile instead it was his tired, dreamy smile that only appeared in moments like these. “I fantasized about this moment all day long, dear. The moment where I’d finally be back in your arms.”

“You were only gone for a day, sweetheart, you couldn't have missed me that much,” You spoke through a yawn as your hands wandered up and down your husband’s back, feeling the cool skin become warmer under your palms

“Hmm, that’s where you’re wrong,” You could tell he was struggling to stay awake now as his words slurred, voice becoming heavier as exhaustion took over “You are all I think about all day long… You keep me going” He pressed a lazy kiss to your collarbone, shifting again to get comfortable. “All day long I trudged through mud, got pelted with rocks, dealt with men who wouldn't cooperate… After such a horrible day, there is nowhere else I’d rather be but here.”

You felt your heart warm at his sweet words and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, tugging the duvet up to your chin. Kaeya was content to lay there under the covers, hogging your body heat as he slept. He only had six precious hours until he had to wake up for another day of work and as you laid there, drifting to sleep, you thought about finding a way to get him excused from his duties for tomorrow.

[lottiebagley]

7 things- Draco Malfoy

I probably shouldn't say this But at times I get so scared When I think about the previous Relationship we shared

"I hate this," Hermione Granger complains as she drops her bag onto the table opposite her best friend

"And what's this?" The girl speaks with no emotion. She looks almost numb. Clearly tired of everything going on in her life.

"You. You being all sad and depressed. If you like Draco this much just be with him,"

"It's more complicated than that and you know it," she speaks in a harsh tone, her voice low as she glances up to see if Draco and his friends had heard the girl's conversation.

"It doesn't have to be. It's like you guys went through all the drama of getting us on board for like 6 months and then just broke up," Hermione comments, staring at her friend trying to work out what she can say to force her to go and tell her ex-boyfriend she's still madly in love with him.

"Look, Draco decided that I wasn't worth the trouble and that's fine. I am fine. Clearly, he is fine. It's all-"

"Fine you've said," Hermione quips

"Then stop pushing Hermione," she snaps. Hermione's eyes widen a little, not expecting to the reaction but one glance at Draco, who has a slytherin girl from the year below draped across his lap in the library, is enough to let her know that her friends anger wasn't directed at her.

"I can't be here. I'll see you later," she gathers her books, stuffing them into her bag and exiting the library.

Hermione watches Draco, seemingly ignoring his friends as he watches her leave, his usual smirk replaced by a look Hermione isn't quite sure what means but would bet meant he was as in love with her best friend as she was with him.

It was awesome, but we lost it It's not possible for me not to care And now we're standing in the rain But nothing's ever gonna change until you hear My dear

Draco Malfoy was not a stalker, he was not the kind of boy that lurked around just to get a glimpse at a girl. Especially not a muggle born Gryffindor.

He repeats this over and over in his head, willing himself to turn around and walk around while he still can. He could leave right now and no one would ever have to know he was here.

But he couldn't.

Watching her in her quidditch robe, drenched in mud and rain but seemingly happy as she laughs with Fred Weasley, he couldn't just leave. No matter how much he wanted to.

She's walking in his direction, her and Fred at the back of the group but they all walk relatively together. Oliver Wood, who is at the front of the team talking with George, is the first to see him, scowling as he mutters something to George who shoots Draco a dirty look.

She stops when she sees him.

"You go ahead Freddie," she assures

"He's an arrogant prick," Fred mutters, purposely shoving Draco with his shoulder on his was past.

Once the team have retreated far enough to be out of ear shot she lets out a sigh.

"You'll catch a cold standing around in the rain," she comments

"Maybe," He smiles gently before letting out a sigh  "I wanted to speak to you though,"

"We share almost all out classes. And they are inside, in the day, where it's not pouring rain,"

"I know that," he snaps, sighing a little "I couldn't talk to you there. I-"

"Oh of course you couldn't. Cause heaven forbid any of your little blood supremacist friends know you want to speak to me. Least of all your new girlfriend, Isabella right? Or is Lilliana this week?"

"Come on. You know they mean nothing," He protests

"They mean enough that you'll be seen with them in public. Which is more than I can say for me,"

"Well I wouldn't wait around in the pouring rain for them," He smiles gently, it drops when the scowl on her face doesn't change

"Is that supposed to be romantic?"

"Kind of," He smirks, she lets out a huff, trying to ignore how much she wants to kiss him

"What do you want?"

"To see how you are," he shrugs

"I'm not your problem anymore Draco. We said we'd both tell our friends and I did and you didn't and then you dumped me. So you don't  get to check up on me anymore," she states simply

"I still care about you," he sighs, she could cry on the spot. She forced herself to stop crying over Draco Malfoy weeks ago, but now he's so impossibly close and all she wants is him. She hated that she wanted him.

"Well you shouldn't. Now get inside and warm up before you catch a cold," she demands, he softens, hearing the slight crack in her voice but she slips past him before he can say anything else.

The seven things I hate about you The seven things I hate about you Oh, you You're vain, your games, you're insecure You love me, you like her You made me laugh, you made me cry, I don't know which side to buy

"Mr Malfoy your partner is Miss Y/L/N, go and switch seats with Mr Weasley please," Professor Snape demands, moving onto the next pairing of people.

Draco nods when his friends mutter condolences for being paired with her but on the inside his heart is hammering in his chest as he approaches her.

"Hi," he smiles gently, dropping into the seat me to her

"Careful, someone will see," she mutters, he chuckles under his breath, not wanting to draw any attention to them.

"As long as Lilliana doesn't I'm all good,"

"You like her?" She questions, cocking her head to the side in curiosity.

Draco shrugs, beginning to slice the dandelion root as she works on the bat wings.

"Not as much as I like you," he speaks, she rolls her eyes trying to fright the blush on her cheeks "That was smooth right?" He teases

"Until you ruined it by asking," she smiles despite herself, he laughs, turning into a cough when Theo Nott turns around to look at them in curiosity.

"You really do care way too much what other people think Malfoy," she comments

"Yeah," he nods, surprising her a little when he doesn't shoot her claim down.

"Right. Well. Stop doing that," she stumbles a little over her words. He glances at her blushing cheeks.

He doesn't do anything. Doesn't speak. Doesn't smile. Doesn't scowl. Doesn't smirk.

He just stares at her for a full minute before turning back to the cauldron.

Your friends, they're jerks, and when you act like them, just know it hurts I wanna be with the one I know And the seventh thing I hate the most that you do You make me love you

"What the fuck are you looking at mudblood?" Lilliana, Draco's new girlfriend, spits from under his arm.

She had been staring at Draco, wondering if he was as really happy and wishing he'd cared a little more.

"Not you, but that much is obvious," she snaps back, getting to her feet from the bench on the courtyard she'd been sat, only half listening to Harry and Ron while the group waited for Hermione.

"And now you're going to run off all scared? Pathetic,"

"If you think I'm scared of you, you're wrong,"

"Not quite, I think you're scared of my friends," Lilliana speaks, pulling away from Draco's grip and walking towards the girl "I think you've heard what we do to scum like you and you are scared,"

"Don't talk to her like that," Ron demands, jumping to his feet and Harry doing the same

"Oh, oh Dray isn't that precious? Mudblood's hot herself a boyfriend," Lilliana smirks

"Don't call her that," Harry snarls.

"My, my my, it's  a love triangle," she continues.

What hurts the most isn't the words, it's Draco. Draco who is still sat next to Blaise, Theo and Daphne with a passive look on his face.

The girl reaches for her wand but Harry's hand jumps out to stop her.

"She's not worth it. None of them are," Harry grunts, really he means that Draco isn't and she shouldn't let him hurt her, pulling her away with Ron following behind, muttering something about sticking their heads up their asses.

She heard clear as day, Draco Malfoy's laughter ringing through the air. He was truly just like them. Yet, when she glances over shoulder he raises an eyebrow in question asking if she's okay, his friend's blissfuly unaware of the interaction. It takes everything in her to keep her face blank and turn back around.

It's awkward and silent as I wait for you to say But what I need to hear now, your sincere apology When you mean it, I'll believe it If you text it, I'll delete it Let's be clear Oh, I'm not comin' back You're taking seven steps here

She is anxious as she sits in her seat in potions, waiting for Draco to arrive as she bounces her leg. She doesn't know what will happen when he arrives.

Will he act like everything is normal?

Will he apologise for his friends behaviour?

Will he apologise for joining in?

Will he ignore her?

Will he mock her just as they had?

She glances up at the feeling of someone watching her. Eyes landing on Harry who has turned around to see if Draco has arrived, knowing his friend was anxious. He smiles. A comforting and warm smile that she tries to reciprocate although she fears it probably looked more like a grimace.

Draco sits down next to her, immediately his eyes are on her. He can tell she's nervous. Her bouncing leg. Her eyes staring straight ahead. Her bottom lip drawn between her teeth as she chews on it. Anxious habits she hadn't displayed due to his presence in a long time. His heart hurts a little.

He reaches his hand out, placing it gently on her knee to stop the bouncing and is pleasantly surprised when she doesn't pull away from his touch.

"It's just me. You don't need to be nervous," He whispers, butterflies in his stomach when she eases immediately, melting into his touch. Unable to stop herself when she loves him so much

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you," he whispers.

His heart sinks when that seems to pull her to her senses. She jerks he knee away from him.

"You already did," she speaks lowly and before he can reply Snape has entered the room.

Even when the class are told to work with their partner she remains silent. Draco doing the same. Unsure what to say. Glancing at her and his chest feels tight. He hurt her. He never wanted to do that and god did he love her and everything was a mess.

The class draws to an end and he knows this is his one shot at saying something.

"Look, I never should have ended it. I should have been brave enough to tell my friends- I just- I can't explain it. I'm sorry," He speaks quietly, hiding his voice from the other students in the loud hustle and bustle.

"That's not what I want you to apologise for," She states, shoving her book into her bag.

"Then for what?"

"You let them talk to me like that, you laughed along. That hurt me Draco. You have all this power over them and let you allow them to talk to me like that days after you tell me you care about me,"

She turns on her heel and marches towards her friends who are waiting for her leaving Draco to wonder how he ever thought that anything he was doing was okay.

The seven things I hate about you You're vain, your games, you're insecure You make me laugh, you make me cry I don't know which side to buy Your friends, they're jerks When you act like them, just know it hurts I wanna be with the one I know And the seventh thing I hate the most that you do You make me love you

Draco doesn't see her at all on Saturday although he looks for her at every meal and forces his friends to hang out in the courtyard he knows she likes.

On Sunday though, she seems to be everywhere. At breakfast eating with the twins. By the quidditch pitch as he practices and she goes into Oliver's captains office. Helping Ginny and Luna with some test prep in the library. Flirting with Dean Thomas at lunch.

It's only a matter of time before his friends say something, he knows that, and sure enough when they enter the courtyard Pansy can't keep her mouth shut.

The girls is lounging on a bench, head resting on her hand as she watches the game of exploding snap Harry and Ron are playing from their seats cross legged on the floor. Hermione is sat under the tree next to them, back against the tree as she reads a muggle fiction book. The group look utterly at peace as they enjoy the hot day.

"Oh look, everyone's favourite mudbloods," Pansy groans loudly, drawing the attention of the group.

"Shut the fuck up, Parkinson," Ron snaps, turning back to his game.

"Dean Thomas seems to quite like one of them," Daphne chimes, dropping onto the bench next to Theo a few feet away from them.

"Well he would, word on the street is that her blood isn't the only thing that's dirty. Apparently, she's a whore," Pansy jeers.

At this both Harry and Ron are on their feet, ready to defend their friend as Hermione moves to squeeze her hand comfortingly. What surprises everyone, including the crowd of people watching scene unfold, is that before the boys and Hermione can begin their defensive arguments Draco Malfoy speaks up.

"Shut up Parkinson, just cause you can't get any," He drawls, taking his seat on the bench, eyes trained to the girl who is staring back, utterly bewildered, next to Ron Weasley.

"Merlin Draco, anyone would think you fancied the girl," Pansy smirks, in her mind there was no way the boy wouldn't join in after that comment.

"Just cause I wouldn't go near you with a 10 foot pole doesn't mean you need to be so bitter. Now shut up and drop it," He commands.

Pansy blushes a little but makes one more attempt

"She's a mudblood Draco, what do you care what I say to her,"

"I told you to shut up and drop it, fucking listen to me or leave," He practically growls and Pansy finally gets the hint that he means it, sinking to her seat in humiliation.

The crowd of people watching, all of which are in awe at this point, are only more shocked to see him shoot the girl a smile before turning back to his friends, "You were talking about your mother's latest conquest Zabini," He reminds. Blaise stumbles for a second, confused as to what on the earth is happening but with one sharp look from his best friend he continues with his story.

And compared to all the great things That would take too long to write I probably should mention the seven that I like

Draco is sat alone in the corner of the library, nose in a charms textbook and essay half written in front of him. He doesn't notice anyone's presence and jumps a little when she talks.

"Can we talk?" She asks timidly, looking around the quiet room, it's late and the library is practically empty. He looks up at her with an unreadable expression "Here, I mean. I know we don't talk much in public but-" He cuts off what he is sure will be a nervous ramble

"Take a seat," He commands, it's gentle though. Soft enough she could easily say no.

She doesn't though. She takes the seat opposite him as he puts his quill down.

"What's up?" He questions

"I just wanted to thank you. For defending me earlier and getting her to stop,"

"Well, she was wrong. You aren't a whore and no one has the right to call you that," He shrugs casually

"Would you have stopped her if she hadn't said that? If she had just called me a mudblood I mean?" She asks the question timidly, fingers ringing together on the desk, she stares as she can't quite bring herself to look at him.

"Yes. You were right, I have the power to make them stop and I never did. I should have. I care about you and I like you, merlin I might even love you, and I let what everyone else thought and what they would say stop me from being happy, I do that a lot, but I never should have let them hurt you. I won't forgive myself for that,"

She glances up at him, wondering if she can believe him, but something about the look on his face and the gentleness of his eyes makes her believe him.

"Thank you,"

"I know it's probably too late, but could I ever win you back?"

"Yeah. Easily, lord knows I'm half in love with you already, but I can't put myself through it again. I can't be someone's secret," She explains, he nods "I'll see you around Draco. Thanks again,"

The seven things I like about you Your hair, your eyes, your old Levi's When we kiss, I'm hypnotized You make me laugh, you make me cry But I guess that's both I'll have to buy Your hand in mine When we're intertwined, everything's alright I wanna be with the one I know

The next two weeks the entire school seems to be watching. Curious as to why all of a sudden Draco Malfoy is smiling at her in the corridor. Why none of his friends even look at her funny. Why they are laughing together in potions. The shift in their relationship is the talk of the school and everyone seems to care.

It's a Saturday morning and she is walking towards the black lake where most the school were, her friend group included, having decided to meet them down there after she wrote back to her mother.

Draco is leaving his dorm, on his way to look for her. Draco Malfoy is a man on a mission.  A look of determination on his face and a fire in his eyes. Having received a letter from home that morning, full of complaints and faults he was done. He was done trying to be the perfect son. He was done trying to live up to expectations. He was done making himself unhappy. Most importantly, he was done pushing away love.

His eyes fall on her the second he exits the castle, she's a few metres ahead, smiling happily and greeting Neville Longbottom on her way past. Draco can just about make out her voice telling him to come and find her and some other Gryffindors later to join their drinks and party games. It was game night in the Gryffindor common room, something she had told Draco already in potions.

Neville scurries past Draco as he speeds up, falling into step beside the girl. He grabs her hand in his and continues walking like nothing is happening. She, however, stills forcing him to stop too, a few feet in front of her.

"What?" He questions casually, she looks between him and their hands a few times, blinking in confusion.

"Dray," She sighs, she wasn't angry but also she didn't want to be led on. Didn't want to be so close only to have him drop her hand the minute anyone sees.

"I don't want you to be my secret. I like you a lot and you are way too good to be anyone's secret. I don't care what anyone thinks, not my friends, not your friends, not my parents. You mean everything to me and I'm not letting you slip through my fingers, so for merlins sake let me hold you hand while I walk you to your friends," He rambles, unaware she feels like she's floating.

She grins, pressing a kiss to his cheek

"I think you missed," He smirks, she giggles a little, a sound Draco wants to hear on repeat for the rest of his life, before pressing her lips to his.

She pulls away way to quickly for Draco's liking "I like you a lot too,"

"Come back here and kiss me then," he pouts dramatically

"I thought you mentioned walking me to my friends," She teases

"You think you're so funny," he complains, hands gripping her waist to pull her back to him. Chest to chest as she beams up at him.

"No you definitely said it, besides, good boyfriends walk their girlfriends places," she smirks.

"Boyfriend?"

"You know you want to be," She shrugs

"I do," he grins "But from what I heard, good girlfriends kiss their charming and attractive boyfriends,"

"Add the word needy to the description and it'll fit you,"

"And then I get a kiss?"

"It's what the good girlfriends do," She agrees, a teasing smile on her face

"All right. Fine. When it comes to you I can be a little needy, but only for you and you can't tell anyone-" She cuts off Draco's ramble by leaning up and pressing her lips back to his.

And the seventh thing I like the most that you do You make me love you

**

Masterlist

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Everyone cries (but only because they’re stupid), they go home, and Leon wins a lot of money :)

Merlin’s Angry Magic Reveal, part 5 (final part)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

TW: Lots of death again I suppose (you’ll see what I mean)

The gang watches on in amazement as Merlin calls lightening strike after lightening strike, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around him, and the power he was displaying.

Merlin really wasn’t kidding when he said they should be scared of him. Damn.

They worry for a moment, and Lancelot has to hold Arthur back, as they notice the first of the three enemy sorcerers step into their line of sight. But they calm quickly when they see Merlin look towards her and nod, before going back to the battle at hand. If he trusted her, then they would to.

Elyan points to her and shouts at everyone to keep a tight grip on the horses as they see the ground beginning to shake, the ripples in the mud heading towards them at an alarming pace.

“Brace yourselves!” is shouted by Leon moments before it reaches them, and all of them are thrown to the ground violently.

No one is injured, but they are dazed, and it takes them a few moments to right themselves again. The next time they look out, a frenzied blue fire is ripping into those closest to Merlin, and dissipating into the air around him.

Now with some space, it would appear that Merlin had taken inspiration from his new found friend, and the ground shakes even more violently than before (though this time much more contained, The Gang doesn’t feel even a small tremor where they stand).

Gwen speaks up quietly, but still loud enough that everyone can hear her over the shrieking:

“Gods above... how long has he been able to do that?”

Morgana answers her:

“The Druids don’t fuck around. They did say he would be The Most Powerful Warlock to Ever Walk the Earth, I guess we should’ve seen this coming.”

Everyone nods distractedly, but no one can tear their gaze from the scene in front of them. The ground snaps shut with one last rumble, over half the army having disappeared, and they see the remaining soldiers turn to flee.

Every one of them gasps in shock as vines burst from the ground, and begin to rip the deserters to shreds. None of them thought that Merlin was the type to kill someone who had their back turned, but like he said earlier... he was pissed.

Suddenly the battlefield is near empty, and silent. They’re distracted by the slight tilt of Merlin’s head, and the distant sounds of howling wolves (no doubt summoned to take care of the last few soldiers), so don’t see the frenzied King sneak up on him before it’s too late.

Arthur takes in a sudden breath when he notices and begins sprinting towards Merlin, no one holding him back this time.

The King of Camelot shouts his warning too late as the sword pierces Merlin’s back, and is forced with a shove out through his chest.

The sorcerers in front of him stare on in shock, too far away from Arthur for him to be paying them any attention.

He pulls his sword out as Merlin’s attacker stumbles back, and cuts him down without a thought, without looking away from Merlin for even a second.

He collapses on the floors behind his friend (could he really call him that after last night?) and begins to beg (begging who, he isn’t quite sure. Anyone that would listen, he supposes) :

“ No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me. You promised.”

He has to hold in a pained gasp as he turns Merlin over, and is struck with horror as he realises the exact resemblance to the vision from four days ago.

The blank stare of Merlin’s eyes, the blood from his mouth. All identical.

Arthur is so wrapped up in his shock, that he doesn’t notice The Gang finally catching up, and gathering around him.

Everyone is in shock, painful cries escaping them. Both at the death of their friend, and the sporadic breathing and sobs of Arthur.

Lancelot pushes to the front, and kneels on the other side of Merlin, taking his already cold hand in his own and whispering to himself (to Merlin) :

“Come on.... come on, Merlin. You can do it, you’re immortal remember. Come on.”

After what felt like forever, the forgotten sorcerers push through the crowd. Everyone is too shocked to notice the intrusion.

The girl takes in a deep breath, and whispers:

“Emrys...” before crouching next to Arthur, and tilting her head, as if waiting.

She looks up to her two companions, and they nod at her, seeming to all be agreeing on something. She swallows and looks back towards Merlin’s blank face, reaching towards the hilt of the sword at his spine.

Leon and Elyan jump into action, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back:

“What are you doing?!” and “Don’t touch him!” are shouted simultaneously as they grip her, but she looks back in annoyance before replying sharply:

“I’m trying to help! How do you expect him to wake up with a great big bloody sword through his chest?”

This seems to get Arthur’s attention, and he looks up for the first time, eyes red and cheeks wet as he stares at her in confusion.

Her annoyance fades, and she gives him a soft look as she explains:

“He will be fine, I promise. But he won’t wake up if he’s just immediately going to die again. His body has to heal before his soul returns to it. We need to take it out.”

In Arthur’s state of shock and grief, it takes him a few moments to fully register what was said, but he shakes his head and looks back at her, before saying in a quiet, shaking voice:

“He’ll come back?”

All three of the sorcerers nod slowly understanding his grief, and the girl reaches for the hilt of the sword once again, slowly this time.

“Do it.” from Arthur prompts her to grip the metal, and pull it from Merlin’s body with a sickening squelch.

The whole gang grimaces as it come away slick with blood, and try not to look at the floor as the puddle around him begins to expand even quicker than before.

Everyone stares at Merlin with bated breath, waiting and hoping (well... the gang is hoping. The three helpers don’t seem too worried) for any sort of movement.

After what seemed like hours, Merlin’s eyes blink slowly, and he brings in half a shuddered breath before coughing violently, and rolling off of Arthur’s lap and onto the floor, onto his hands and knees.

The Gang stares in shock as their previously dead friend coughs and splutters, blood flying from his mouth, before he collapses down onto his back, clutching his chest:

“That bloody hurt.”

Gwaine is the first to begin laughing, not necessarily out of humour, but an adrenaline crash mixed with a no-longer-dead friend will do that to you sometimes.

Merlin stares up in confusion as everyone joins in, some hysterical (and probably still in shock), and some just quietly chucking at how stupid they’d been.

Percival is the first to catch his breath and speak:

“Are you telling me... that after all that worrying... we literally just had to pull the thing out of you, and you’d be fine again?”

Merlin shrugs as best he can from his position on the floor (made even harder by the fact that one of his hands was being gripped by Arthur, the other by Lancelot) and replies with a smirk:

“I guess so. I told you I’d be fine!”

Everyone shakes their heads in disbelief, and Lancelot stands, pulling Merlin and Arthur with him. Merlin is quickly engulfed in a tight group hug, the sorcerers having just managed to escape and standing off to the side, staring on in amusement.

Arthur is the last to pull away, and Merlin’s now free arms wrap around him without hesitation as he buries his head in his friend’s (?) neck:

“I told you. Nothing can keep me away from you... at least not for too long. Pull it out a little quicker next time, yeah?”

Arthur laughs quietly and pulls back, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s before quietly replying with a smile:

“Bold of you to assume I will ever allow this to happen again.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to laugh this time, and the both of them ignore the confusion on everyone else’s faces (as far as they were all concerned, that comment came unprompted out of nowhere).

Arthur coughs slightly and pulls back, his face flushed, seeming to remember that they were surrounded by their closest friends.

Merlin rolls his eyes before also stepping back, and giving Arthur a pointed look:

“Don’t look so embarrassed Arthur. I’m pretty sure this lot knew before we did.”

He doesn’t give Arthur time to reply, instead looking around at his friends with an exhausted, but shining smile on his face:

“Time to go home, I think.”

~

The journey back to Camelot is relaxed, and full of smiles. Arthur spends the whole journey glued to Merlin’s side, and Leon spends the whole journey with a self satisfied smirk on his face (if they get their act together at some point in the next 2 weeks, which Leon has absolute faith they will, then he wins a lot of money).

They had invited the three sorcerers to join them, but they declined, saying they had been missing a long time, and wanted to get home. The Gang provided them with some spare clothes, and helped them catch some of the enemy’s horses, (who had miraculously not run too far during the battle) before sending them on their way with an open invite to visit Camelot any time they would like.

They rush home, but they aren’t nearly as tense and desperate as they were on the way out, so it takes them an extra day to get there, not that any of them minded. 

Once Merlin had gained a little of his strength back, he reached out to the Druids who remained in the city as advisors, so that the council could be updated on the state of things.

The people were told that the King and the Inner Council had been successful in their mission, and would be returning home within a few days, victorious.

The meeting they got at the gates to the city was astounding. Banners and flowers and declarations of celebration surrounded them all the way from the city walls, to the castle, and even the Council seemed in a good mood (a rare occurrence).

They were especially happy when Arthur dumped a dented crown, and a slashed and bloody cloak on the table, announcing that the opposition had no heir, and if they moved quickly, the neighbouring Kingdom would be absorbed into Camelot. Arthur, King by Conquest, had almost doubled the size of his kingdom. 

He sent out half an army, along with Leon, Elyan, and Lancelot, within the week. They took medical supplies and food, as a show of good faith to the commoners. The first month or so would be spent clearing the kingdom of any supporters of the fallen king, and spreading compassion and help. Once that was complete, Arthur would go there personally, to greet his new people (and probably sign a lot of paperwork, but bleugh).

Merlin and Arthur are sitting back in their comfy chairs by the fire in Arthur’s chambers, when Arthur casually mentions gifting the new land to Merlin, and making him King. Or at least Lord.

Merlin looked at him indignantly, it had only been a few days since they got back, and they were both still exhausted, but he replied with such vigour that you would never have known that he’d died barely a week prior:

“Absolutely not. I don’t think I would make a good King, Arthur. And I don’t want it anyway. I’d be weeks away, and everyone I care about lives here. You can’t get rid of me that easily, especially not after such an emotional confession.” He raise an eyebrow and smirks as Arthur flushes, looking to his lap:

“Shut up.” 

The conversation hadn’t been had yet, but neither felt awkward about it, they both knew the truth. After Merlin woke up again, it felt like time had reset, like once more they had all the time in the world. Neither of them are great at talking about their emotions, and both were prepared to wait until the moment seemed right, until they both had the right words.

Merlin laughs at Arthur, before absentmindedly reaching out a hand towards him. Arthur takes it without question, and looks back to Merlin, face serious, but loving:

“I meant it Merlin. I love you, with everything I have. I would give all of it up for you, the crown, Camelot, everything.”

Merlin smiles, blushing, and stands, pulling Arthur to stand with him.

They still grip hands, and stare into the blue of each others eyes as Merlin’s voice echoes in Arthur’s head:

“I love you too. I told you Arthur, this is where I belong, with you.”

Both of them ignore the tears gathering in their eyes as they lean forwards. They meet in the middle, in a slow kiss that has both of their hearts jumping.

Merlin wraps his arms around the King’s waist as Arthur lifts his hands up to rest against his Sorcerer’s chest, pulling at his collar slightly. 

They pull away slowly, needing breath, but not willing to part as they once again find themselves resting their foreheads against each other:

“Merls, you'll stay, won’t you?”

Merlin responds without even a second of hesitation, a fond smile on his face:

“Forever.”

~

Leon gets his money (which Gwaine never stops grumbling about: “If they’d held off for two more weeks, I would’ve won!”) and is very smug about it.

As time passes, Morgana’s terrifying visions start to make more sense.

Gaius and Hunith did in fact cry... three years down the line when Arthur finally requested that the Druids perform one of their binding ceremonies on himself and Merlin, their closest friends and family as the only witnesses.

(There was, of course, a larger, more public celebration of their joining, but the private affair was the important one.)

The silver crown, forged by the Druids behind Merlin’s back (as a sort of... wedding gift, Arthur would say) was used a few days later in Merlin’s official crowning. Made to look like leaves and vines and flowers and berries, truly the most Druidic, magical, nature inspired crown anyone had ever set their eyes upon.

(Arthur thought that Merlin never looked better, more himself, than when he donned the crown. But Arthur would never say that out loud, Merlin was still shy at heart, and he didn’t want to discourage him from wearing it.)

The tombstone, they discovered, was the fallen King’s. He was cruel, and cowardly, but Arthur had honour, and had the crown and cloak washed and buried in his bloodline’s cemetery. Nothing fancy, just a stone and a name and two dates.

(For history’s sake. After learning the truth about magic, Arthur swore that he would never knowingly erase history, not even his own mistakes.)

The empty chambers were obvious in the end. It may have taken three years for them to be officially wed, but their rooms were down the corridor from one another... and Arthur had a nicer bed. It only took a week or so before they were sleeping besides one another every night, and who would argue against it? Arthur was King, and Merlin had once again saved the kingdom, they could bloody well do what they liked.

They never actually figured out specifically when Morgana saw nine of them sat at the table, looking blank. Merlin was so often late to meetings, leaving the rest of them to wait patiently (or not so patiently) for his arrival. It could have been any number of times over the years.

After all their fretting, the anxiety of the war and the worry for her friend had led Morgana down a grim path. Perhaps it was because she was looking for reasons to dissuade Merlin from going? 

Whatever the cause, her and Merlin continue to work together to hone their crafts, Gwen supporting her every step of the way.

Now. Morgana and Gwen. They were a little more subtle about their relationship, but they also moved a little quicker, and were quietly bound to one another within a year of the Great Battle of Merlin’s BAMFness. Not that anyone was that surprised, mind you.

Speaking of Merlin’s BAMFness, there were definitely more shows of Merlin’s power once they got home. Despite being Court Sorcerer, Merlin was still affected by the years spent hiding and in fear (something that Arthur never quite forgave himself for), and never used his magic in public much, not if he could help it.

He used it for simple things, or when asked, but never would he allow himself to succumb to his emotions, positive or negative, and always kept tight control. The last thing he wanted to do, was accidently convince someone that magic was dangerous and evil and undo all the work he and Arthur had done.

Nowadays, after months of pestering by the gang (mainly Gwaine and Percival) to “show us something cool! Come on Merlin, you defeated an entire army, we know you can show us something cool!” , he was definitely more comfortable using his magic in every day situations.

Arthur was eternally grateful for that, he had done all he could, and he continued to support Merlin, but he knew that unless that validation came from elsewhere as well, Merlin would never be comfortable in his own skin.

BUT for now they have everything. Merthur is happy, Leon is smug, Morgwen is happy and smug, and the gang stays together, and happy, forever.

All because Merlin got depressed and angry and yelled at Arthur in the middle of the forest one day.

~

THE END 

Actually the end this time. Might be a bit anti climactic, but happy ending are a little anti climactic sometimes, and that’s ok.

I have a bunch of drafts on the go but if you’ve got anything specific you want my take on, go for it ✌️

[cozycryptidcorner]

Étienne the Fae, Part One of Two

This was commissioned by the illustrious and fantastical @monsterfolkandfiction​! Thank you so much, and I hope that everyone enjoys this story as well. A second part is being drafted now.

tw: disordered eating, manipulative and abusive mother

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement.

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement. .

There were voices. Lots of voices, and you thought that a show of brilliance might grant your grandfather’s coveted attention above your cousins’. The door was unlocked, how could you not sneak a peek down the forbidden stairwell? So you crept down, hand on the rail for safety, eyes wide in the hopes of spotting something.

You remember how to summon him. Always. You’ve blocked out everything else about him, but you always remember how to call him back, even if you never will. Only in an emergency, you would always think, glaring at your mark as though he can see you through the mottled purple flesh.

You wipe a bit of sweat from your face, chewing on your lower lip as you glance over your shoulder at the ticking clock—almost midnight. The little vagrant who caused the muddy disaster you’re cleaning is asleep already, hand clutching her rag still as she lays limp on the wooden floor.

Maria is a good kid. Troubled, yes, a mischief-maker for sure, but she’s good. She’s just the type who needs a little guidance, that’s all. You didn’t bother trying to wake her back up, mostly because you know it would do no good, and honestly, it’s probably easier to finish the mess yourself without dealing with a cranky, tired child. Besides, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like she hasn’t managed to clean up her messes before.

Just a little bit, you tell yourself as you scrub the rest of the mud from the floor,she’s lost.

It doesn’t take you much longer to finish up the mud, the water in the bucket sloshing an earthy brown the more you pollute it with the dirt slurry on your rag. None of the nuns have walked by the entrance, which is good, because you don’t exactly want to face them. You wouldn’t even have to come up with an explanation, they’ll know, especially the head of the abbey. The last thing you’d want is for Maria to be whipped with that reedy switch some of the nuns carry around to punish unruly children.

After dumping out the bucket of dirt, you wipe your sweaty palms on your apron, letting out a bated breath. The moon has already sunk behind the hills, the night only lit by the dim candles you managed to steal out from the servant’s noses. While one might think that a place of worship would have plenty of access to such supplies, it seems like everything is scarce in the days where the darkness licks and poisons like a snake.

“Are you alright, young sister?”

Though you jump, it’s only Sister Anya, a soft, young-looking nun looking down at you with the utmost concern.

Her pale hair is highlighted by the candlelight in the most martyr-like way that you feel the urge to fall on your knees and plead for her to pray for you. Everything about her is ethereal, almost almost horrendously beautiful, blue eyes so deep and dark your lungs fill with water as though drowning when you look at her.

Trying to steady yourself, you place a hand on the wooden bannister, then nod, shakily.

She glances at the bucket you’re holding, and her gaze softens considerably. “Were the children giving you a difficult time today?”

Since you know Anya isn’t one of the nuns who believe that pain is the path to godliness, so you’re more willing to express any frustrations you might have with her. So you shrug, then roll your eyes, trying to force your tongue to work but settle for gestures instead.

Sister Anya places a hand on your shoulder sympathetic gesture.” Your nerves are high today, hm?”

Thankful you don’t have to bother explaining yourself, verbally or through a thousand of different hand positions, you nod.

Sister Anya lets out a gentle sigh. “I’m so sorry, dove, the children ought to know not to press against your patience.”

Again, you shrug, walking over to the door in order to dump the muddied bucket, before passing it to her waiting hands.

“Again,” Sister Anya says softly, “I know that you’re not obligated to be here, but you know that the children love you. Even if they aren’t always so well behaved.”

You nod in acknowledgement, having had this conversation with her before. No matter the chaos the orphanage children might instil during sunlight, you always return, knowing that the kids truly mean well at the end of the day. Memories of blood bubble in your throat, your empathy digging too deeply in your past that you feel a sense of fear.

Quickly, you bid your leave, knowing that you should have long been back in your bed. God, if your mother finds out you’ve been loitering this late-

“Oh,” Sister Anya concedes, “of course, should I walk you back?”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wishing that she put herself at risk for your own sake. After once more asking over your assuredness, Sister Anya concedes, though her concern is not at all lacking. You know that the woods host a very numerous amount of creatures, though none have dared to ever bother you. The contrast has been so stark against the countless first-hand stories than you’ve heard that you’ve almost convinced yourself that you’re invisible to their otherworldly eyes, although you still hold healthy regard for what you might not understand.

Still, on the way back, all the negative attention you might receive is brief and fleeting, most crackling within the woods retreating as though you were about to set fire to the numerous dried foliage of the coming winter. Besides, your family estate is alarmingly close, you should be within the safety of its walls shortly after embarking, the sprites and critters almost obnoxiously ignoring your presence. Ever since… the incident, you haven’t needed to take the same precautions as the rest of your peers, and thus you manage to get yourself home earlier than someone might have estimated.

There is a lot to be happy about your life, you suppose, staring blankly up at the family portrait up on the wall. Happy mother. Happy father. Their absolute disgrace of an eldest child, which is you, unfortunately. You know that there are children in that abbey who would kill to have the same privileges you do, warm bed, food whenever you need, and water that doesn’t have a rusty undertaste of dirt, so you try not to feel… ungrateful.

You lick your lips, peeking out from the hall to check for anyone making their rounds, then quickly and quietly walk by the window towards your room. It’s late, so no one should be up, but that’s never stopped your mother when she’s in one of her worse moods, and just as you predicted, you hear her rapidly approach. Now entering panic mode, you move twice as quickly, slipping into your room and shutting the door quietly behind you.

Your muscles are stiff, fingers shaking, as you desperately try to pull the pins in your hair that kept everything marginally in place as you worked, knowing that you should be at least in your nightgown at this time. The scent of roses is thick, putrid, and always the choice of perfume for your mother. You suppose that it’s nice that you can at least smell her before she fully arrives, but now you can hardly look at those flowers without feeling a pinch of anxiety flowing through your chest.

The door wrenches open, your mother neither gentle nor willing to give you those extra precious moments where you might hide something. Your brush is in hand, and you are in the process of working through the knots that had accumulated through the day, but by the look of her face in the candlelight, your supposed innocence will be deeply in question.

“Where have you been?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, it’s all you can do to not wince when she speaks.

I was at the orphanage, mother. You can’t even look her in the eye.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to work among those pathetic waifs, girl.”

Mother doesn’t even bother with your name, especially when she’s angry. And, judging by the tone of her voice, she’s incensed by something, only you don’t even know what it is she’s accusing you of, so you can’t even offer up any meagre defences.

“Did I say you were allowed to stay until the night turns to morning? What kind of a reputation are you trying to gain, you stupid, ungrateful child?”

The only ‘men’ in that orphanage are younger than eleven, but you know that this outburst isn’t at all over your chastity.

She raises her hand, and you flinch, but the strike doesn’t come this time. Instead, she walks up behind you, snagging the brush out of your hand and begins an aggressive grooming routine. “You should be grateful for what I give you and stop trying my patience. Everything I do for you is always met with silence, do you think the Bennet girls treat their poor mother like this? Or has the devil cursed me with you?”

You know that any attempt to escape her gnarled, rough fingers would be met with even more violence, so you sit still, digging your fingernails into the cushion of your chair. Everything in your body is on edge, your jaw is tight, your stomach still, all your muscles frozen in place to keep from crying out as the onslaught of your scalp continues. Silently resigned, you stare at yourself in the mirror, hating everything you see in the reflective glass.

“You would think that the gods would give me a child who shows a modicum of mercy for her poor mother, but no, all I get is this pathetic excuse of a lady. I know everyone goes behind my back and talks about what a joke you are, and yet you don’t even care enough about the person who put you into this world to even care enough to change.”

Your throat is dry, your eyes are not. Stubbornly, though, you refuse to give her tears, because she’ll only think that crying is a method of trying to guilt her into stopping. So you’re quiet, and you accept the onslaught of verbal terror, trying to let it all wash over you like water running over stones in a river.

“I should have never let you stay that summer with your grandfather, he put in all the wrong ideas in your head. And where did that get him, anyway? In a casket, six feet under.” Eventually, she tires herself out, as she always does. As she places the brushes back on the vanity, she notices the little jar of candies you like to keep around for both yourself and your younger siblings. Her brow furrows, and she takes it, “you don’t need to eat more than you already do.”

You don’t turn to watch her leave, letting the dull slamming of the door speak for itself. Once you’re certain she’s not going to come back for another round, you reach up and start braiding your hair for the night, fingers separating the strands and weaving them together. A strange sort of numbness takes over your body, a tugging emptiness draining your chest and veins of any life. When you lay your head on the pillow, there’s dampness on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed prior.

Luckily for you, in the morning, you are left to be ignored once more. You suppose that you are grateful that your mother only seeks you out when she is angry because that offers more freedom to do as you please when she isn’t. A strange thing to enjoy, but you are still willing to count your blessings nonetheless.

Every day goes by more or less the same. You pretend to be a fancy lady for the minimum amount of time, though thankfully you’re so often ignored you can slip away and head down to the orphanage. You have no official schedule of volunteering, since some days your mother is more persistently present than others, but the nuns are thankful for your appearance more or less.

And you tell yourself that you’re satisfied with everything. It’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie, but the moment you begin to move past that safe little untruth, you think your world will fall apart. So you wait. And you watch. And you’re silent.

The day your mother is uncharacteristically cheerful is the day you feel genuine fear.

She’s humming while going over the cook’s menu ideas. Humming. And she requested to see you… which… is rather unusual. As you walk in, you try to peek over her shoulder, though she shifts the papers ever so slightly out of your sight, offering a warning grunt in your direction. Still unsure of where she might be taking this nonexistent conversation, you take your book and sit on the other side of the table, trying to keep calm.

“There’s going to be a wedding,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

Normally, when your peers are wed off, she takes it like a personal attack, as though each girl is mocking your family by daring to marry before you. Now you’re even more nervous, trying to think over which of your siblings could be of marrying age. Surely they haven’t roped any poor waif into marrying your idiot brother, right?

“Tell me what colors you think would be appropriate for a spring ceremony,” she says, so dreamily it shakes you to your core.

You open your mouth, but your chest is so constricted by fear that it can’t possibly push air through your throat. Instead, you just look down and shrug, trying to steady yourself as you sit. God, you’re so hungry. That breakfast never really fills you up, but you never dare try to scavenge for more food in the daytime.

“I didn’t think you would have the good sense to know, anyways,” your mother dismisses your opinion with the wave of her hand. “A light lavender, maybe? Oh, perhaps daisies would be lovely, but that might seem too ‘country…’ or would that be fashionable?”

You nervously let her ramble, wishing you had it in you to just… get up. Leave. Go someplace where you would be alone and lie down. Your body itches to be surrounded by the greenery in the garden, let yourself become one with the earth. Never worrying about the court, about gentlemen of good breeding, or your mother again. She’s taking tea with biscuits, enough food on that platter to share, but you know better than to try to reach your hand over to grasp one.

But fate is a cruel mistress, and your mother even crueler. You don’t have much more warning than the click of your father’s office door as he and an unfamiliar person exit, and adrenaline laces along your veins. You don’t like how your mother looks at him, you don’t like how he looks at you, and you would very much like to no longer be perceived as a physical being. As your mother stands, you follow suit, just out of shock.

“Mr. Andreas,” your mother croons, a shiver of horror running down your spine.

The stranger nods, then glances over you with a critical kind of look, one that makes your insides squirm so uncomfortably you almost vomit.

“We’ve agreed to the terms,” your father says, then nods in your direction. “The wedding will be set in the spring.”

You’re dizzy, all the blood rushing from your head.

To make things worse, your mother is closer, the pungent scent of flowers invading your lungs with such a pervasive efficiency you can’t even breathe. She’s holding your hand, squeezing your pulse so tightly you know the blood is pooling out between her fingertips, and says, “say hello to your fiance, darling. Don’t be rude.”

It feels like a blink. A quick moment of absolutely nothing, your soul floating up above you like a spectre, and then you’re back. And in bed.

It’s dark outside, and a candle faithfully burns on the table by your bed. Leaning over, you blow it out, knowing that someone not nearly as blessed as you could use the precious light more. Your window rattles, a black shape writhing and clicking against the glass, but it doesn’t break through.

Your head feels empty, a thick, persistent kind of nothingness frying the different pathways to thought. Something important happened, something…. something you should be wary of, but it takes you quite a long time to remember the day’s events until a glimpse of that man’s smarmy face surfaces.

Engaged.

The word makes you gag, but there’s nothing in your stomach to retch. You have no clear idea of how long you’ve been in bed, but as you place your feet on the cold ground, a wave of empty dizziness fizzles through your head. It’s a hungry kind of dizziness, one where your body is at its last leg trying to keep itself upright.

There’s a hot, white pinching in your chest as you rise to a hand, legs and arms shaking like a leaf in a storm. Kitchen, you have to get to the kitchen, your vision blurry and faint. Still, you do your best to keep yourself together as you silently slip out of your room.

The halls are eerily silent, candlelight keeping the night’s terrors at bay. Servants occasionally make rounds to make sure the light doesn’t snuff itself out, but you’ve long timed the carefully coordinated efforts. Arms wrapped around your chest, you slowly make your way back to the kitchens, careful to dodge any straggling staff in the halls.

For the most part, the kitchen is rather modestly sized in comparison to the rest of the house, something the servants and cooks gripe about during the wasteful parties your parents throw to uphold some kind of ridiculous facade of class and wealth. But for you, in your occasional midnight snack, it’s just the right size to feel homely, but also with enough books and crannies for you to duck behind if someone unexpected makes a surprise cameo.

But today, it looks like the last person you wanted to see has been anticipating your visit though.

“Really,” your mother says, arms crossed, the steady glare of rage on her brow, “you faint to embarrass me and then, instead of apologizing, the first thing you think to do is to eat more?”

You swallow thickly, knowing you’re about to get an apocalyptic lecture.

“Look at yourself, girl,” your mother makes a wide, gestural sweep over your body, “your obsession with eating is what made you so difficult to marry in the first place. No one wants to marry a whale! And now that you think you’ve landed a man, you can settle back to your old bad habits?”

You shake your head, clammy and afraid.

“Of course not,” she doesn’t raise her voice, not once, and that somehow makes everything worse, “I told you all you needed was to lose those flaps at your waist, but you can’t even adhere to the diet I’ve set you on.”

If you faint again, she’s going to claim you only did so to guilt her, so you hold your dizzying head together with spit and empty determination. There’s a half-eaten loaf of bread covered on the stove, mocking you with its closeness, laughing at your desperation.

“Everything I do for you, and all you give me in return is your spiteful attitude.” She sighs dramatically and shakes her head. “Go back to bed, girl, I can’t even look at you without feeling disgusting. I don’t know how you can live the way you do.”

You don’t. But you accept the out, shakily wobbling back to your room, hearing your mother call out behind you.

“The engagement party is three days away. You know the rules.”

No sneaking food. Of course you do, she doesn’t allow you to forget it. You go back to your room and lay down on the bed, trying to ignore the painful punches in your starving stomach. Breakfasts in the morning. Breakfast in the morning. Breakfast in the morning.

The party is the epitome of everything you hate.

Bright, gaudy, the food so rich and plentiful despite the nearly starving children barely a mile away. Already you’re mentally calculating how much food you can sneak out to the abbey as soon as the night comes to a close, figuring that you might even be able to make two trips if you truly had to. Sister Anya would protest against you moving through the night, but you’ve never had any issues with the sprites.

Folding your hands together, you try to remain present in the moment, but you quickly find your fingernails scratching invisible streaks down your arms, landing on the palm of your hand... to the mark on your wrist. The doctor speculated that it must have been some kind of chemical burn, mostly because there seemed to be no other explanation about it. A toxic liquid spilt onto your wrist when you were wandering somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, and so now you must bear the speculations and the whispers whenever someone new catches a glimpse of the marking.

It’s an odd kind of thing, all angles and thin lines, coalescing in a shape that seems too particular and sharp to be an accidental blob. When you press your thumb down and close your eyes, though, you can see the exact moment you received it, smell the harsh sanitized basement, but somehow catch a whiff of summer lavender.

Could this be your emergency?

Quickly, you try to fill your mind with a thousand other thoughts, flooding your head to the point that scent is once again a distant memory. Everything that followed that day was filled to the brim with misfortune and misery, and you don’t wish to relive it in the slightest. Not until you absolutely have to.

Your mother is right, the duke is only interested in the land your father offers. To her, though, that’s some kind of blessing. For you, however, seated at the table, it feels like the darkest wickedness. Only once does that man glance in your direction, and you can see his nose briefly wrinkle as he silently dresses you down, as though he feels that fucking you would be some kind of burden that he would skip if allowed.

Everything about him fills you up with a strange sense of terror. It’s the way he holds himself, you think, looking over his posture and general facial expression. Tall. High. He might not be the largest man in the room, but he certainly acts the part, stepping over those he doesn’t necessarily deem to be equal.

To your parents though, that’s just a sign of good breeding. Something that you somehow don’t possess, even though ancestry is theoretically squeaky clean. Through your eyelashes, you observe him, lips glued shut with the waxy lipstick smeared against them. You want to crawl out of your skin, melt into the floorboards, fade into the wall, but you’re stuck in place beneath your mother’s critical glare.

Knowing exactly what she might be thinking, you try to mingle, but everyone has long learned that you’re not the type for conversation. Your search for a discussion amounts to you wandering circles around the ballroom, doing your best to seem interested in what’s going on, but ultimately being ignored.

Eventually, you end up back at the table, filled to the brim with foods so decadent and delicious your mouth waters at the scent. Cautiously, you look over your shoulder as you reach down, to find your mother staring at you from a nearby corner. Your hand freezes, and you retract it, almost ashamed.

The mark on your wrist throbs, gently reminding you of a possibility you can allow yourself to have.

Biting down on your tongue, you merely pour yourself some of the lemon flavored water laid out to the side, hoping to fill your stomach if only for a few moments. Everything is too bright, too much, you’re drowning in the absence of everything you could possibly want.

Even though you know your mother will be at her wit’s end, you snag a champagne flute and decide to go back to your room. The bubbles burn as you drink the flute down faster than should be done, retreating back through the crowded hallway. On your way out, you see a servant carrying another tray of alcohol, and you recklessly switch out your empty cup.

Bitterness swells in your throat. You don’t fucking deserve this, you never have. A part of you wants to burn the mansion down and let the sweeping darkness devour the ashes, but you’ve never had the courage or smarts to pull such a feat off. You spot another platter of champagne and make the trade once more.

Just as you begin sipping the brightly flavored alcohol, you bump into someone sturdy. Hard, dark, tall… your fiancé, unfortunately, you notice. Quickly, you lose all confidence you had been building up and instead curtsy out an apology.

“When your father said you were as quiet as a mouse I didn’t think it was possible,” he laughs, almost good naturally, “I didn’t think a woman could be quiet even if her life depended on it.”

The tops of your ears flare.

“But this is a nice surprise, I think it might make up for your other shortcomings.” He waves his hand in your face, as though you are deaf, not mute, then laughs again. “I suppose we’ll see whether or not you can squeal on the wedding night.”

An almost extinct temper raises its ugly head, you’re furious, but above all else, you’re embarrassed. The alcohol makes your anger boil over more, and to add insult to injury, he doesn’t seem to take the hint to stop talking.

“At least you wouldn’t be able to complain. I hate it when women think they deserve to be heard.” And just like that, he abandons you, wandering off towards a group of people you recognize as your neighbors.

Angrily, you drink more of the champagne, going up the stairs and trying to keep yourself calm. But you’re not calm, you’re furious. At yourself, at your parents, and at that babyfaced ass who has the audacity to mock you in the middle of your joint engagement party. By the time you get to your room, your face is hot and boiling with rage, the empty champagne flute mindlessly left on some random surface, and you bury yourself in the bed. You’ve drunk a fat more tonight than you have in years.

You can’t call a servant to help you out of this satin nightmare, not without your mother being informed, so you’re stuck trying to dislocate both your shoulders in order to reach at the strings lacing the top together. Nothing seems to be working, and you are getting more and more frustrated with your progress, each fucking second wasted on your struggles, making you more upset at the overall predicament.

And then, a thought.

Your drunken mind thinks it’s brilliant. The last thread of your sanity warns you that it’s stupid. But both parties involved agree that it would be very, very funny.

Your thumb finds the mark on your wrist.

Call an eternal being forth just to untie your corset? Absolutely ludicrous. Stupid, even. But definitely hilarious. At least, your drunken mind thinks it’s funny. Slowly, you trace the mark around with your indent finger, your eyesight blurry with drink.

Touch the mark. You place two of your fingers against the pulse of your wrist. Recite my name. Three times, unbroken.

It’s not an incredibly complicated ritual. You’ve recited it in your head many times, staring out of your window, tongue making the motions in your mouth. One favor, you get only but one favor, and every single day you’ve had to deal with another one of your mother’s lectures, your father’s criticism, or some other critical motion from most other people in your life, you’ve thought of him.

But now, while drunk, and after the party, it seems like a fine time to bring him forth from the Otherworld. If only to cause a bit of much-needed chaos. You close your eyes, urging your tongue to move, and you say-

“Étienne. Étienne. Étienne.”

Nothing happens. There is an overwhelming silence, one that causes your body to collapse further into the mattress, your brain slowly shutting itself off in a desperate attempt to sleep off the inordinate amount of alcohol that you’ve consumed. Your tongue and mouth are dry, almost as though they were stuffed with towels and cloth, a hazy exhaustion blocking your vision from comprehension.

And you’re asleep.

You don’t exactly know how long you were asleep for, only that you wake up with a throat as dry as the Dark Desert, lips cracked and bleeding, wrist tingling almost painfully like a thousand little pins are piercing into your flesh, though your face is oddly wet. The candle flickers at your side, likely lit by a servant, illuminating red dampness left on your pillow. A headache pinches between your eyes as you try to process those different elements.

“Here,” a smooth, low voice says, a gloved hand offering up a linen handkerchief.

You accept it, then realize who the hand belongs to. Quickly, you scoot yourself back right up to your headboard, spine pressing almost uncomfortably against the heavy wood.

He’s silent for a moment, eyes so dark and blue you feel like they’re sucking you in as though they’re a whirlpool, and you’re adrift in an ocean clinging to a piece of wood. Then he laughs, shockingly youthfully, hand over his mouth as you yank the handkerchief out from his fingers, pushing it up to your nose to catch the continuous drip of blood. Your mouth tastes like hot copper laid out in the sun, and droplets of redstart swimming in your vision.

“My dear,” he says, cocking his head to the side, curiously, “you called me here.”

“No I di-” fuck, the memory of what must have been only a fe hours prior swimming upward in your mind. “Well, I didn’t mean it.”

“Unfortunately whatever your intentions are, I cannot leave until your wish is fulfilled.” Luckily, he doesn’t seem at all annoyed. Only mildly disinterested in what your problems might be.

“Can’t you just go back?” You ask, voice losing its rasp as you swallow a mouthful of blood.

“That’s not how this works,” he says, almost disappointed in your desperate attempts to make him leave.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re shaking,” He observes, settling on the edge of your bed.

It’s as though the spirit of your mother possesses your body, vomiting out a sentence about your chastity as a lady, “there’s a man in my room, at night, with no chaperone present.”

A perfectly manicured eyebrow pops up. “You know I cannot hurt you.”

“It’s not about you, it’s- it’s about my reputation as a lady-”

The other eyebrow follows suit, and he’s looking at you so sceptically it appears he thinks this is some sort of trick. He reaches over and grabs hold of your hand, drawing your wrist close as to double-check for the mark. “I don’t remember you being such a meek little thing.”

“I was ten the last time we met.” You say, trying to keep your voice even.

“And you bit me, if I remember correctly.” And he smiles, as though the memory of a precocious child is somehow a fond one.

This can’t be happening, you can’t be having this conversation with him. A conversation. Talking. You swallow thickly, raking your nails through your scalp, trying to breathe. “I was only trying to defend myself! You- you ki- you killed-”

“He deserved it,” he says, and you are unfortunately inclined to agree.

You can’t tell if the droplet of liquid running down the side of your cheek is blood or sweat. Taking in a shaking, angry breath, and you stare down at your hands, eyes stinging. Ah, tears, okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.

“Ah, darling, I’ve forgotten myself.” He reaches over, and you flinch, so he quickly retracts his hand. “Let’s try again. What do you want from me?”

You think back to all the tiny, ugly little pinpricks of insults you’ve garnered every goddamn day of your life since the incident. You think about your husband to be, you think about your mother, you think about your long-dead grandfather. Everything hurts. Everything is wrong. Slowly, you close your eyes and breathe, trying to keep yourself together, just for another few moments.

“I’m to be married to a nearby heir,” you say.

He cocks his head.

“I don’t want to be.”

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 10)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Wait For Me

Next Chapter: Kyoto-Tokyo Goodwill Event

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

We are halfway through the story~ I never planned for this to be over 40k😅 but I've added some integral scenes in the later chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 10: Invisible Ties

You couldn't sleep at all the few nights that followed. Mai and the others noticed your fatigue. They worriedly asked about you and let you cuddle into them and nap when you had some free time.

Miwa even let's you stay with her in her room at times, and it does help for a bit, but you don't want to bother them. And something was telling you it wasn't just regular fatigue.

You sometimes zone out in class and could barely stay awake during physical training. Eventually, you consulted Utahime about your possible insomnia.

You had a feeling it was tied to your feeling of unrest over your soulmate bond. It didn't help that your soulmark was stinging and all your heart wanted was to be with Noritoshi. There was a strong sense of unease over this bond.

You pulled down your sleeve to reveal the mark on your wrist flashing madly like a broken stoplight. You groaned and shoved your face into your pillow.

You've taken to wrapping a black velvet ribbon on it during the day, to not attract attention. If this light flashing keeps up, you might have to use a thicker fabric.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was feeling the same uneasiness you did. He tried to shake it off and act as natural as he could around you, but even he was still shook at how quickly your negative emotions transmitted over the bond.

He was in his room and it was past 11. He tried to get to sleep, but found that he couldn’t so he tried studying. He was actually distracted for once, looking over his desk at the soulmate record and diaries of Hotaru and found himself reading them.

◇◇◇

On the other hand, you were restless in your room.

"I shouldn't bother Noritoshi senpai but..." You glanced over at your clock. 12:06am. Just past midnight, he was surely asleep. And yet you found yourself grabbing your pillow and blankets, and quietly making your way to his dorm room.

It was as if your body was moving under the command of your red strings. Pulling you back to the man who was responsible for messing you up like this.

You stood outside for a good 5 minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should knock. You haven't had a proper sleep in nights and it is starting to show in your studies.

Finally, you decided to quietly knock a few times. A beat passed and there was no response. You were about to walk away when the door opened. He was awake to your surprise.

He was in his dark navy Kimono, hair wrappings undone. Some strands of his hair fell over his eyes. At that moment, you thought to yourself that he was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Can I help you y/n?” He was staring at your pillows and blankets.

Ah right. All of the sudden you feel so small and dumb for coming all the way here for no good reason. “Ah, Noritoshi senpai. Um, good evening.” You scrambled for words.

“I, uhm, I’m sorry I can’t really sleep- Ah what I mean to say is that I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I was wondering if I-” a cold gust of air blew past you and you shivered.

Noritoshi’s eyes widened at this and he pulled you into his room and closed the door behind you. He was so close, your face turned bright red. Way too close for comfort.

He seemed to get the hint and took a step back from you. “So you want to stay the night with me, is that what you’re getting at?”

You stayed still before slowly nodding, then looked up to see his reaction. His face was like stone, nothing was giving anything away. He didn’t look so happy to see you in your opinion.

“I’m sorry to disturb you…. I was gonna…. ask… if I ….. could … sleep …. on … your floor…, “ your voice was getting smaller and softer with each word, heart clenching painfully. Your fists tightly scrunched up in your blankets.

Suddenly he leaned down close to bring his face to yours and raised his hand. You flinched and closed your eyes tightly, expecting a “no.”

He cupped your cheeks gently and touched the bags of your eyes with his fingers. “You’ve been looking so exhausted lately, I was actually going to bring it up to you, but I wasn’t able to catch you earlier today. Just share the bed with me.”

You blinked. What. Did you hear that right?

You looked at him with wide eyes. His face was red too. “Is this okay with you? I really don’t want to overstep my boundaries… Last time….” you opened your mouth then realized you didn’t come here to dump all the shit that’s troubling your mind onto Noritoshi.

‘I’m sure he also has it hard on his end’. “Ah, never mind. Thank you so much senpai.” you smiled up at him.

Noritoshi’s chest hurts to see you fake a smile towards him. Time and time again, he’s loved watching how expressive and honest you are with your emotions.

He’s seen your genuine smiles more often than not. Seeing you like this just felt wrong.

“Tell me.” He said.

“Ah- it’s really nothing, I know you’ve been dealing with so much on your end, you’re also stressed, I’m just thankful that you’re letting me stay here in your room-” you were rambling without realizing it.

“Tell me. Don’t hold back. I can feel your unease through the soulmate bond.” he said sternly.

Noritoshi was starting to understand that you both had to work through the negative emotions each one feels together. That’s the reason for the soulmate bond. Ignoring it would be like dragging yourselves through mud.

You got the gist of his line of thought, having the same realization at the same time. You spoke cautiously so as not to offend him, "This has been bothering me. Last time in your room, it just felt like you were treating me as an outsider and it hurt. Like I thought that we were more than that, but maybe it's just me. Also, you once said I didn't know who you are. So I just…. Wanted to understand you better..."

Noritoshi’s eyes softened, and he just couldn’t resist you anymore. He pulled you towards his bed and set down your blankets and pillows. Then turned back to you, “Can I hug you?”

“Of course.” It was fun to see him blush and awkwardly hold his arms out towards you. You stepped into his space, grabbed one arm to throw around your shoulder, and the other around your waist. As he didn’t seem to know where to hold you.

"I do admit I have my secrets and I’m not ready to tell you about them yet. For that I apologize, you have to wait a bit longer until I’m more comfortable with you. But you're not an outsider to me my dear. You could never be. I also believe that we are more than friends, like I said before. I need you to trust me a little more. And I’ll do the same with you, I’ll trust you a bit more. I want it all and this soulbond, as long as it's you."

Your eyes widened and sparkled upon hearing his words. Your bond finally settled into something of a quiet hum underneath your veins. You hugged him tighter, which he smiled at.

"I'm sorry, I should have explained to you how I felt senpai." You whispered sadly. But he just hushed you and held your hand. "It's okay, next time we can do better. Let’s start anew shall we?"

You spoke out a soft yes in response. It was honestly still a disjointed relationship. Like you’re both just two parts of a whole trying to find their way to each other.

"Let's face the truth. This is really an unconventional relationship. We can't really abide by the normal fall in love then confess situation can we?" You said.

"Why can't we?" Noritoshi asked, looking a bit surprised. "It's unconventional and gives us a fair share of problems, that's true. But we can still fall in love and confess the normal way. With time." He added.

You just hummed and nodded.

You pulled back from him, “Anywayss, Why are you still awake at this hour anyways senpai? It's bedtime.”

“Reading the diary of a man who was my past life.” Your eyes widened at that. “Let’s read a bit of it together, then we can sleep?” You nodded.

He set up the pillows so both of you could lean side by side in bed while reading the diary entries. The story was not a nice one. Hotaru eloping with his lover, on the run from their families, curses and curse users. Constantly taking odd jobs to get money, and hiding in old inns. It sounded so exhausting.

You found yourself looking over at Noritoshi every now and then, wanting to lean closer, your eyelids getting heavier.

He turned to you then looked at the clock. 12:47am.

No classes tomorrow, since it's the weekend but you looked terribly sleepy. So he closed the book, set it aside. Closed the lights before climbing in beside you.

You stretched out like a cat before tucking yourself under the sheets. "Sleep time??"

He smiled at you. "Yeah." He laid down beside you, and you were both lying on your sides, facing each other.

"Good night darling." He whispered. Your face heated up but you thanked the darkness that he couldn't see your blush at the pet name.

"Good night Nori- ah senpai." You whispered back.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Drop the Senpai, just call me Noritoshi."

"Okay…. Noritoshi."

"Mmmm."

2 minutes passed, but you're both still staring at each other.

"Noritoshi."

"What is it?"

"Nothing much… Just saying your name feels nice. Can we hold hands while we sleep?"

He chuckled and reached to clasp both your hands in his. Your mark has long stopped flashing wildly. It's now a warm dark red glow.

You smiled at your marks.

"Can I kiss you? Properly?" He asked hesitantly.

Oh. You would like that very much. Your heart is literally in your throat, beating so furiously Noritoshi could probably feel it.

You could feel some of his stronger emotions through the bond. He really wants to hold you in his arms, you realized. You never felt so bare with another person before. He could probably feel your emotions too, so no point in hiding it.

As you nodded, he slowly crawled over you, caging you in with his arms. Slow, he was too slow.

You grabbed the front of his Kimono and pulled his lips down to yours. His eyes widened, but soon closed shut as he finally finally got to taste you. He was careful not to crush you as he pressed you into the sheets for a deeper kiss.

You both found yourselves running your hands over the other's body. His tongue entered your mouth and played with yours. Dangerous. Your hands tugging at his hair. It was getting dangerous.

Noritoshi quickly pulled back, chest heaving against yours, and tucked you under his chin. His heartbeat was beating furiously before quickly calming down.

"Darling I'm-" how could he tell you that he wants you right now. This wasn’t good, he had to hold himself back. He kissed you on the forehead.

"Shhhh, I'm right here." he whispered sweet nothings into your ears as you whined out at the loss of his lips on yours. "Time for bed as you said. Good night." He kissed you once more on the cheek.

You pouted and looked up to see him cuddle you with such a soft expression. So you relented, "Okay. Good night Noritoshi." And fell into a deep sleep in his arms.

◇◇◇

"Nnnghhh…."

"Mmnghhh…."

…. You opened your eyes to see Noritoshi groaning above you. It's like 3am, in the middle of the night, and you accidentally shoved your knee in his gut.

He was still asleep, but he could feel the pain. You hurriedly retracted your knee, reaching over to pat him on the back. Then moving to stroke him gently on the head.

As he finally settled back into sleep, you subconsciously moved forward to tuck your head under his neck. He is feverishly warm and comfortable. It’s gonna be hard going to bed without him.

And as you fell back into a deep sleep in his arms, Noritoshi, still asleep, wrapped his arms tighter around you and then continued dozing off.

◇◇◇

You felt yourself wake up with the best night’s sleep you’ve had in years. And that was saying something.

Noritoshi was still sleeping. He looked like he was having a rather nice dream. You traced the outline of his features with your fingers until his eyes snapped open.

You jumped back, shrieking and almost falling off the edge of the bed. But Noritoshi had fast reflexes, hand reaching out to grab your waist and pull you close to him. Your face smacked into his chest.

"Morning." His voice was so deep and raspy, you shivered at the sound. His eyes darkened.

"Morning senpai." You whispered, feeling so small.

"Do you make it a habit to play with other people’s faces while they’re asleep?" He whispered.

Goosebumps prickled along your skin as he stroked your arms slowly. "Ahh, I didn’t know you were awake, I’m sorry." You blushed.

Both of your stomachs were kind enough to growl and save your sorry ass. Noritoshi laughed at this.

"My darling needs some breakfast. I'll have the Kamo household prepare and deliver some for us." He said as he reached for his phone.

"Noritoshi, you don't have to, I don't want to be a bother really." You tugged at his sleeves.

“I already said you're never a bother to me haven't I?” He slumped over you as he typed out a text.

You groaned from underneath, "You're heavy Noritoshi."

"That's to stop you from leaving my room without breakfast." He deadpanned.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[katsukavi]

I wanted to make this a full fanfiction on my wattpad, but I didn’t want to disappoint everyone with the super slow updates (like my scumlord lol) so.. here’s crap I pulled out of my notes called arise, undead (“pretty obsessed” sung jin-woo x male, zombie reader) I also really like the options I have in tumblr lol. I’m a little embarrassed to add tags because I’m not sure if people will like it and stuff.. But yeah! This is the book cover I made for it here too! :D

Im having too much fun with these new stuff~ (please excuse me. this is my first long post and i love everything here—)

(spoilers)

The plot is that Jin-Woo finds an undead in the woods, tries to arise him and it does work. Now they fight together because the zombie has no memories and is literally immortal (yet dead). Near the end, they discover that MC was murdered and his body was buried in the woods yada yada. Then when Jin-Woo goes back, he has to save him. But, he has to save MC as a 15 year old while MC is a 27 year old..

(I planned that part out and I think it’s a little funny how suddenly a kid approaches you like “You’re going to die if you go somewhere. Come with me, I’m your lover from the future.”

“Ah, it’s a chuunibyou.. Sorry kid, but I need to go to work—“

“No.”

‘Alive or not, MC still looks like a zombie.. Why are you so overworked?!’)

IT WAS SUNG JIN-WOO’S FIRST TIME using his new job skills, so naturally he’d get excited in testing every single little thing about it. He just exited the purple hued portal behind him, feeling like he acquired an interesting new toy to play with. Even though he was tired from the lack of sleep, his joy kept him from passing out.

Either it was that, or the rain pouring over his head. All his excitement flushed into disappointment as his shoes got muddy from the damp forest foor and his clothes getting completely soaked in rainwater. It would be impossible to pass out with the loud thunder rumbling in the background.

He cursed with every step on his path, finding it hard to walk with the slippery and uneven soil, his vision blurry from water and dark skies and his body dragging itself against harsh rain. Unfortunately, he was also already very exhausted.

Out of all the times for a thunderstorm, why did it have to be right after the job change quest?

From behind the trees, he heard a low distorted roar—forcing him to dip his head towards it’s direction. He held a dagger in one hand, trying to make out its shape from behind the trees.

It was in a humanoid shape, making him relax just a little bit. “Is anyone there?” he questioned.

His voice seemed to reach the stranger as they left their hiding spot in the trees’ shade. The person looked to be a man wearing a formal suit, diluted blood marking over his chest and face. Even though he looked human, he didn’t seem to breathe, just limply staring at Jin-Woo with a blank and lifeless expression.

Strangely, the stranger’s (s/c) skin was pale, like blood hasn’t been pumping through his veins. But attacking a person because they looked really sick wasn’t a good thing, it’s like attacking an overworked person because they looked so dead. It was either it was too dark or the view was too blurry.

“Hello?” Jin-Woo called out one time, staying cautious from the stranger. It lunged at Jin-Woo with a raspy growl, nearly scratching his face. Jin-Woo ducked, a small scratch appearing on his face from the speed. It definitely wasn’t human.

Sung Jin-Woo was already fatigued, at a disadvantage with the location as well. He cursed, barely dodging every slash thrown at him. “Igris!” he called out, the shadow materialising from behind him. Igris grabbed the humanoid monster, a splash of mud splattering around as it was thrown.

Sung Jin-Woo stabbed it deep in the chest, not a single drop of blood spilling out as he stepped back to breathe. He put his hands on his knees, staring at the lifeless corpse as he sent Igris back. ‘It seems pretty strong.. Should I extract it?’

He took a deep breath, getting closer to the body as he raised his hand. His posture was elegant, holding a composed expression as droplets of rain streamed down his attractive face, adding to his charm. A deep and soothing voice left his mouth, sending chills to anyone who would hear it.

“Arise.”

Though unfortunately, the Shadow Monarch was greeted with nothing but silence and the sound of ambient rain. That’s odd, if it was a failed extraction then a notification would pop up to let him know or something. Was the system suddenly broken? If that’s the case, he should try again.

“Arise.. arise. ARISE!” he shouted multiple times, but a shadow didn’t get extracted. He furrowed his brows, squatting down to find out the cause of his skill suddenly breaking. “Why isn’t it working..?” he mumbled under his breath, getting closer to the body with a puzzled look on his face.

“Arise. Arise. Arise arise arise. Wake up. Rise and shine. Arise. Awake. Good morning. Arise.”

“I’m not dead yet, dimwit.”

Did the body just.. talk back to him?

“You didn’t hear anything,” Jin-Woo blurted out, getting embarrassed from the montage of Arise and synonyms he was saying to something that was alive. He stabbed the body once again, trying to kill it as he attempted once more. “Arise.”

“You don’t have to try again. I’m not dead,” the man just sat up like it was just his average tuesday, sliding out the blade from his chest, handing it to Jin-Woo and dusting off his clothes. The undead just raised his head towards the sky, watching clouds part as he lifted his palm, no more droplets landing on top of it. “Oh, the rain is clearing up.”

“Excuse me. Didn’t you just try to attack me?”

“Did I? I don’t remember,” the stranger scratched the back of his neck, looking bored as he yawned. “My name is (L/n) (M/n), age 27. And you are?”

“Sung Jin-Woo, 24.”

“Nice meeting you. Now where in the hell am I?”

/////////////////////////////

(L/N) (M/N) HAD A NASTY SCOWL on his face, plopping the sewing kit on Jin-Woo’s bed as he angrily tried to open it with one arm. Unfortunately, someone had cut off his right arm that he spent ages trying to sew back on.

“What next, my leg?” he cursed under his breath as Sung Jin-Woo opened it for him. “Wait a minute,” Jin-Woo said, sticking the end of his arm to his shoulder. “Hold this,” he said, making (M/n) keep his limb in one place as he put the thread in the needle.

“What?” The zombie still looked very angry, knitting his brows together as he held still. “I thought you needed a hand,” Jin-Woo lightly joked, trying to make (M/n)’s mood towards him a little better. The undead male gave him his signature dead stare, tightly holding his severed upper arm before speaking.

“Jin-Woo, I am dead serious here.”

He started to lightly chuckle, noticing that Sung Jin-Woo was almost finished with sewing his arm back on his body. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this.” His remark made Jin-Woo smile as he opened and closed his hand, almost as if it was brand new.

“My clothes kept getting ripped when I was E-Rank. I learned naturally.”

“The next time you rip off my limbs, please fix them too,” (M/n) said, flailing his right hand in the air with satisfaction.

“Well next time. I’m sure I’ll make you mine.”

“I doubt that.”

///////////////////////////// (now it’s just random dialogues i pulled out of my idea dump lol)

“OH HECK! There goes my leg!”

“Oh no... He’s dead! It’s not like I’m happy about it or anything~! ...Arise arise arise arise—“

“IM NOT DEAD!”

“God damn it.. Jin-Woo, could you go fetch my torso, and my arms and my legs and uh.. my head. Yes, thank you.”

“You don’t have a heartbeat and your skin is ice cold. I stabbed you 32 times. How are you still moving?”

“Dunno, ask Jesus.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE! I’M DYING.”

“You don’t breathe, (M/n).”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you want me dead or if you want me alive. Which one is it?”

“Either way is fine as long as you’re mine.”

“Gross, necrophiliac.”

“Good night, (M/n).”

“Good night, Jin-Woo..”

“Alright.. arise arise arise arise arise arise arise—“

“Once again, I am not dead.”

“You’re not useless, (M/n). Because when you die, I WILL MAKE YOU MY SHADOW.”

“HOW IS THAT SUPPOSED TO COMFORT ME?!”

[6peaches]

Richard Siken - You Are Jeff

1 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan- tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The sun shines down. It’s a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet.

2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let’s call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we’ll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother’s favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free.

3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I’m telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It’s beautiful.

5 Let’s say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He’s already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They’re already made, but he doesn’t want to eat them.

Let’s say the Devil is played by two men. We’ll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they’re twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry.

6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you’re certain that you’ve never seen this Jeff before. But he’s on your team, and you’re ahead, you’re winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there’s no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window’s open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.

7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone’s for you, Jeff says. Hey! It’s Uncle Jeff, who isn’t really your uncle, but you can’t talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one.

8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn’t seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you’re sure he knows you’re in there, and he’s singing to you, even though you don’t know who he is.

10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You’re in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you’re ready you’ll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren’t ready, and then you don’t remember where you’ve been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It’s a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers.

You’re in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You’re in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door.

11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay.

Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say.

12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don’t reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down.

13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let’s say you have cancer. Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn’t working. So much for the facts. Let’s say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do.

14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go.

15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won’t heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it’s split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights.

16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It’s yours, you deserve it. It’s already been paid for. Somebody’s paid for it already. There’s no mistake, he says. It’s your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone’s doing all the talking but no one’s lips move. Consider the hairpin turn.

17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again, home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don’t move.

18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It’s time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don’t get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don’t know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You’re still right here.

19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don’t like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here’s the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They’re not the same name, Jeff. They’re not the same at all.

20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they’re in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let’s say you’re not in the field anymore. Let’s say they’re not brothers anymore. That’s right, they’re not brothers, they’re just one guy, and he knows you, and he’s talking to you, but you’re in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.

22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can’t remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there’s no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! Those trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches.

23 Let’s say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I’ll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We’ll whisper it in your ear. It’s like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . .

24 You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

- You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

[sweeethinny]

The Duke - Chapter 10

A.N: OK, let's go Thank you very much to the comments, really, I know it takes time, but I'm glad you're here always waiting for a new chapter for your understanding: everything in *ITALIC* is flashback, it's a chapter basically made up of that, it explains some things it was the chapter i waited the longest to arrive, i liked it in the end, i hope you did too <3 AO3 | FF.NET | SIYE

It was a cold night, it had rained that afternoon and the sky was cloudy, it looked like it would rain later in the morning, but Arabella was happy about that, as the damp, muggy weather made her sneeze every minute and her asthma was actually getting worse. She should visit a doctor soon. She continued to walk down the empty street, the hem of her dress was getting more and more muddy, no matter how much she pulled her skirt up a little, every time she stepped into a puddle the mud splashed and it was no use effort in trying to get that dress clean. She should have picked an older one to go out with, since she knew the streets would be dreadful after all that rain, not the brand new one she'd bought after working so hard. Was it just a piece of sewn fabric, why was it so expensive? There weren't even enough details or buttons to justify it. But if Isabel was telling the truth, the fabric had come from India, and that in itself had already increased the price twice as much, and Arabella knew that the woman would not lie to her… She hoped at least. As she walked the streets of Godric's Hollow, she thought about how another lonely night would be, and that maybe tomorrow she would send a letter to her great-aunt asking if she could stay a few days at her farm, just to have the company of other people besides the two her cats; Silk and Melindra. “Help!” The scream echoed behind her, and Arabella turned, startled, to see if anyone was hurt or what might have triggered that scream. It was a female scream, and it made her think that maybe a woman could be chased by some maniac, and even though she wasn't very strong, two women fought better than just one, so she ran towards the scream, not caring more about the mud splashing on her dress. Near Ms. Bright’s shop, there was a woman lying down and bleeding, her clothes torn and a baby in her lap. She looked scared, dumped near a ditch that had been made a few days ago to start building a fashion studio around the corner, the scant dress that still covered her was smeared with what looked like blood and mud, and Arabella thought she saw blood running down her legs. Whether it was an injury or something more disturbing, she couldn't tell. The woman held the baby tightly to her chest, wrapped in an old blanket as dirty as she was, and the poor child spared no effort in crying, looking more than scared. “I'm here, what happened?” Arabella ran to her, helping the poor girl to her seat, noticing that the poor baby was also smeared with blood, but she couldn't tell whose blood it was. ‘Come, come to my house, I can help you-’ "No," she cried, brown eyes startled and wide, as if they'd seen death a few feet away. “Someone is following me, I – I'm going to be killed, I know I will, my husband is after me and – you need to get the boy.” She lifted the baby towards Arabella. 'He's trying to kill us, he thinks the child isn't his, he thinks I cheated on him, and he's coming, I-' The woman stopped, as if she'd heard something, but then thunder made the Earth shudder. ‘Please save the boy, I beg you, he already tried to kill the boy but I was always on time, but now I feel like I won't be able to save him.’ “You must come with me.” Arabella pleaded once more, kneeling in front of the woman, trying to get her to rise. When she reached for her forearm, however, her hand was wet with blood, and the tear in the side of her dress let her see a hideous cut in her ribs, the blood running like water in a waterfall, dripping onto the floor and other parts of her dress. "I told you," she muttered, sobbing. 'I'm going to die, I'm not going to make it, I can't stand walking any longer, I managed to run away from him but I can't stand it much longer… Take the boy.' The woman lifted the boy again, who now seemed to cry even more, waking a few neighborhood dogs, as the sky glowed brighter, the earth trembling a few seconds later. "Take him away, don't let him die." 'How-how am I going to leave you here, I can't-' Another thunder shook the earth, and this time, the storm began to fall stronger

than the afternoon, the winds suddenly getting strong, which seemed to scare the boy even more. ‘He will get sick! Get him, take care of him!” As if on instinct, Arabella scooped him up in her arms, wrapping him in her scarf so he was a little warmer. Footsteps were heard nearby, and the woman seemed to despair even more. 'Go! Get Harry and go!’ “What's his name?” Arabella yelled over the noise of the rain, trying to understand what she had said. ‘Henry! His name is Henry!’ ---------------------- “Poor Duchess,” someone says, but all Arabella can see is the white flag atop the castle, an immense sadness shattering her chest into a million pieces. "Who could do something that horrible?" Another says, all paying attention to the newspaper that reports how Harry Potter, the Duke's eldest son, was found dead near a creek not far away. Probably killed by Death Eaters. “They're all nasty human beings!” A man said, looking horrified by the media descriptions, then looking up at the castle again. It's not that far away, it faces the mountains that end Godric's Hollow, separating them from another village, and it's positioned in a way that's seen from anywhere, no matter where you are, you'll see the castle and the huge towers, next to the flags that stand proudly on the masts. One with the English flag, the other with the Potter family crest. But today, both give way to white flags. The boy is dead. Arabella wipes the tears from her eyes and watches little Henry sleep in her arms, oblivious to the commotion. She sympathizes with the Duchess's pain as she looks at that little baby who nearly died along with her mother - Arabella knew that the woman's body was found lifeless the next morning - and remembers the time she too felt the pain of losing a child, of losing the one she loved most to Death Eaters. She kisses the boy's forehead, the pale scar of lightning makes him unique, and Arabella lets herself cry, thinking of the Duchess herself, and how they took away her right to fondle her own son. ---------------------- Arabella did not remember seeing the Duke in public since the incident two years ago. He smiles and nods, but she notices - because she's been there once too - that he's sick, that the gold-and-red scarf around his neck seems to have a lot of fabric left over, as well as his pants. She notices the dark circles under his eyes, and the sunken cheeks, but the man still smiles and waves at people. Henry was on her lap, yesterday he turned two, and Arabella doesn't know very well when he was born, but her neighbor, who is a doctor, said he wasn't much older than four or five months, so she decided that his birthday would be the day before they met, because she thought it was too tragic to celebrate the day she found him in his mother's lap half dead, but she didn't want to stray too far from the date. The Duke smiles and nods to a little girl on his father's shoulders, he is walking through the village as he usually does, something that brings him closer to the people who live there and keeps him in power. He's a good man, after his father, the best they've ever had for sure. He stops when he gets close to Arabella, and she smiles because she used to paint the portraits of the royal family until she had a problem with her fist and was forced to quit her profession, but the man never seems to forget the time she drew him on his 17th birthday. "I'm still waiting for you to draw me and my wife." He says, as he always has since she informed him that she had unfortunately been forced to stop. The man isn't charging her though, he smiles, and watches Henry in her lap, almost sleeping on her shoulder. “It's a beautiful boy.” She thought she saw a shadow in his eyes, but it was so fast she thought it was just her imagination. 'How old is he?' "Two years," she says, and now she's sure the man looks sick, because for a second he stops and stares at Henry, as if wondering what his two-year-old son would be like. Arabella knows because she used to do this. "My condolences, my Lord." "It's okay, I’m fine," the

man says, and he winks at Henry, who hides in his mother's neck, before going off to talk to another woman. ---------------------- “Why are we different?” Henry asks, sitting on the table as Arabella tends to his scraped knee. 'We don't have the same eye color, and my hair doesn't match yours.' She knows he doesn't mean to be mean, he's just a curious and very intelligent child, that he's noticed the dissimilarities between them. She smiles, applying ointment to the wound. ‘Because you are my son at heart, and children at heart are sometimes not like their mothers at heart.’ 'What is a child at heart?' He agrees to be picked up by her, and Arabella leads them into their small living room, sitting on the sofa with Henry on her lap, looking at her with big green eyes gleaming with curiosity, black strands falling over his eyelashes. She needs to cut his hair soon. “It means that you were born from another belly, not mine.” She places a hand over her stomach. “But that's just what separates us, because my love for you surpasses any barrier.” Arabella smiles, kissing his cheek, and Henry seems satisfied with the explanation. 'I love you so much too, this size here!' He opens his arms as much as he can, and the demonstration warms her heart as always, making her smile and hug her son as tightly as she assures him that she loves him even more. | J. P | James was concentrating on the duels when Remus arrived. He was marveling at how well Mr. Figg dueled, neither shivering nor losing time when Mr. Rosier hit back one of his spells, and the man didn't even look tired. He had always found dueling an incredibly boring and dull part of parties when he was younger, accompanied by his father and seeing the men fall in a few minutes, James preferred the parties and the after, when the house was silent and dark and he could go out to meet some woman. It was at one of these parties that he met Lily, during a nighttime getaway he saw her jumping out the window. First he followed her thinking that she was also going to meet someone, and James being a curious young man that he was, he wondered what kind of man that woman liked to sneak with. Maybe he had a chance. But later, when he saw her come out of the house and run towards the lake nearby, James didn't understand. She didn't like him following her, of course, it had been a dumb idea and nowadays he was ashamed of his younger self's actions, but that's what got them talking for the first time. She smiled in embarrassment as he praised her ability to climb a vine. "James!" Remus called after him, cheeks flushed and blue eyes pained toward him. The first thing that came to his mind was that Lily was hurt, and that made him lose all interest in watching the Duel and made him turn to his friend in alarm. “What happened?” He tried to be as discreet as possible, trying to keep other men from noticing his splurge. Sirius did a good job of distracting two young men. "Lily needs you…and she asked me to take Mr. Figg too." Remus muttered the last part, making James frown and look at the boy on his left, who had finally won the duel. Rosier looked tired. 'Is it urgent.' "Is she hurt?" It was a valid concern, James feared his wife would get sicker now that she was surrounded by people, and maybe someone had said something to her and Lily had one of her fits again. ‘And why does she want the boy? Should I tell Arthur? ‘No, don't say anything to anyone, just come… We're in the dungeons.’ ---------------------- Henry did not know how to control his magic, and that distressed Arabella. If he was a Muggle it would be so much easier, she knew that, because when Henry made that poor boy float, and then made a flower vase explode, she knew she would have to explain a lot to him: Why couldn't he go to a proper college and why she didn't do magic like he did. Arabella no longer felt ashamed of being a Squib, she had accepted the condition and lived normally, or at least as she managed to, avoiding whenever anyone asked about it just to avoid people's prejudice. Some thought she was a

Muggle who had married a wizard, and that's why she knew so much about it. Others thought that she just hadn't had a chance to go to school, and that's why she didn't know how to properly control magic. "They made fun of me!" Henry said, annoyed, his eyes red from crying. “They said things—horrible things to me!” He sobbed, which made Arabella even sadder and more worried. His green eyes glistened with tears, staring at her for answers. "They told me I-I'll never be good at-at anything." He sobbed louder and louder, the scraped knee now forgotten, as if the internal pain was much bigger. She was about to cry with him. “Henry, honey, listen to me.” She took a deep breath, thinking that conversation had come earlier than she'd planned. ‘What they said is a lie. They don't know how to control their magic either, they probably won't for a good few years, and you're already good at a lot of things, of course you are, Henry. You're much better at putting together puzzles, and you're much faster too, I mean, you always win at the races.' Arabella smiled sweetly, smoothing his messy hair, thinking how unfair it was that such a sweet little boy already got to know this side of life. She wished she could just show the good side of life, and leave the thorns and stones for when he understood things better. Arabella wondered how her mother managed to do this so masterfully, because right now, she wanted to be able to hex the parents of those boys and force them to teach their children more respect for others. She wished it had been her who had been pushed and thrown out of the game, not her child. Her heart broke even more, feeling helpless. ‘Don't listen to what they say, ok? You're amazing, a very smart kid, and your future will be bright.” She promised, because it was true. Arabella would do anything for her son. ---------------------- Henry ran as fast as he could, passing through the trees and not even bothering with the branches that scratched his skin, he just needed to get out of there. He knew he shouldn't have pissed off those boys, but they were scaring another younger boy, and just because they'd now gone to that stupid school of stupid people, they thought they were even better than the rest of the people there. Henry wished he could go to Hogwarts, but his mother had told him that you needed to receive a letter, and that they were only sent for a few families - maybe if you're lucky you get the letter, she said smiling, even though the smile didn't reach her eyes. Arabella had never said this, but Henry knew he would probably never get the letter; he wasn't rich and he didn't have a father, and for some reason, that seemed to be enough to keep him away from others. He ran even faster when he heard loud laughter, he wasn't afraid of those kids anymore, Henry had grown up while they were in school, more than they were, but they had one advantage: magic. Arabella couldn't buy a wand, so he didn't have one, and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to use it. “You're a wimpy coward if your only way to fight is with magic…don't you know how to punch?” Henry had said to Jilian, the biggest idiot of them all. Henry wasn't very good at punching, but he was very fast, while when Greg tried to cast a spell on him, he ran off into the forest, barely noticing when his own magic created a dome around him, preventing any spells from hitting him. . ---------------------- “Why are we so different?” Henry asked, taking a seat beside Arabella as she kneaded the bread on the table. She looked at him, noticing that the boy was all sweaty and looking a little smudged with dirt. “How many times have I told you not to go into the woods?” She returned her gaze to the dough, continuing to knead. "It's quieter there." He shrugged, pulling his sweaty hair off his forehead, letting his scar show for a few seconds before hiding it again. “And more dangerous too, and you know it.” Arabella raised her eyebrows, scolding him. She'd heard horrible stories of people meeting a werewolf deep in the woods, and as much as she didn't

know whether or not it was true, she didn't want Henry to take any chances like that. He was only 13 years old, he should have been playing with the other kids on the street and not running into the trees. "Okay, I won't do it anymore." He sighed, but she knew he would break that promise the next time he had the opportunity. ‘But then? Why aren't we alike?’ "Henry, because you were born from another belly. I already said that" She placed the buns in the oven, washing her hands afterwards and looking up at him with a gentle smile on her face. "I met you when you were very young, you know this story." "But why can I make things float and you can't?" His green eyes stared at her with an expression much harder and more serious than she was used to, as if he would know if she lied. ‘Because not all of us are born doing magic. Some of us are good at something other than magic… It's something you need to be born knowing how to do, you can't develop it, just improve it.” Arabella swallowed, trying not to show so much the scars that had left on her. People weren't kind when they found out you were a Squib. He was quiet for a few minutes, looking at his hands as if he wanted to find the right words. The sun streaming through the kitchen windows illuminated his black hair, a few strands reflecting an almost red copper color that Arabella thought was beautiful. 'Can you never do magic?' He looked at her, and all the worry she'd ever felt, scared that maybe Henry would feel sorry for her or ashamed of her, drained and slipped out as his green eyes stared at her, full of affection and sadness. Not the same sadness that always came with grief, but as if he felt bad that he did magic and she didn't, as if he understood now why some people offended her and treated her differently. "No." She gave a half smile. "But I'm not sad about it anymore, I like who I am." And it was true. Henry nodded, still being silent for a while, seeming to absorb the information, then he got up from the wooden bench, walking over to her and hugging her. He was no longer her little boy—as much as he always would be her baby—Henry now almost reached her chest, and it wouldn't be long before he was taller than her. She hugged him back, enjoying this show of affection, imagining that a few years from now he wouldn't like hugs so much. "I love you," he said. ‘I love you very much too. Forever and ever.” Arabella kissed the top of his head, tightening her hold even more, as if she was afraid someone would suddenly take him away from her. ---------------------- It had been a long time since James had been in the dungeons, he didn't like going there, it was cold, wet, lonely, and it made him think too much. It made him think his son's things were there, in boxes organized as if they were just another mess and not everything he and Lily had ever dreamed of. It made him think of the pain that resided in his chest, the emptiness that nothing in the world had ever been able to fill. James hated the dungeons. Lily, unlike him, loved being there, she said it was the best place for her to think, and the calmest of all - 'It's where I feel that no one will look at me with pity, where I can think of my son in peace, you know what I'm talking about," she said when James questioned her about the surroundings. He knew, he understood her, James had changed into Prongs many more times than necessary, he did it every time the pain got too much to take. He walked down the stairs, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine, couldn't anyone make this place something less scary? After Remus left, James warned Sirius, who tried to pretend as best he could and further entertain the men who now looked curious to death, while he went to talk to Mr. Figg. "I need you to accompany me, but I need you to do this cautiously and discreetly," James asked, looking into those green eyes closely, trying to remember where he knew that expression. "I'll go ahead, meet me in five minutes at the entrance to the stone path, do you know where it is?" The man nodded, tucking

his wand into the waistband of his pants and straightening his robes. 'I'll let Arthur know I'll take you, just so he won't be worried, but I think you understand that you shouldn't say anything to anyone, right?' "Yes, my Lord." The man made a brief, discreet bow, and James grimaced, not understanding why that made him uncomfortable. Now James heard footsteps behind him as he walked through the dungeon, neither of them saying anything. Why had Lily asked Mr. Figg to come along? Had she found out something about the boy? Something bad? James glanced quickly over his shoulder, noticing that the man looked warmed too, his hands behind him and his back straight. Has something happened to Miss Weasley? Well, if so, Arthur would be called too, right? James broke off as soon as he reached the last room, the one he avoided the most, and the only one with lighted candles. The first thing he saw when he entered were the boxes, stacked against a wall, then he realized there were some of Harry's things on the floor, smeared with dirt and sticks, and James' heart missed a beat when he saw the Snitch Pajamas The gold one he'd bought when he found out Lily was pregnant was now all filthy and torn. Had they been attacked? Was that why Lily sent for him? Then he saw Remus, opening Lily's herb cabinet and looking for something inside, he looked worried. In the back, near the only window there, was Peter, all smeared with mud too, sitting on the floor with his hands behind his back, his red cheeks making him look like a child caught doing something wrong, and his rumpled clothes hinting that he had fought someone. Finally, sitting on the bench was Lily. Her dress was dirty too, but that wasn't what James first noticed, it was her red face, her pink cheeks like when she drank wine, her hands shaking as she poured something into the cauldron, looking more nervous than ever. "What's going on?" James glanced at the three of them, feeling even more anxious. "Lily, what the fuck is going on?" "Did you bring Henry?" James frowned at her calling the man by his first name, but nodded anyway, Peter sighed in the corner, looking almost terrified, not making eye contact with James for a moment. ‘Great, send him in.’ ---------------------- Henry knew he shouldn't be there, his mother had forbidden him, but he had nowhere else to go. Jilian had come back from his stupid school and he seemed more than happy to train some spells on Henry, and even though he had honed his punching technique, he couldn't compete with magic. So he ran into the forest. It was cold there, it had rained last night and the earth had turned to mud, and because of the tall trees the sun's rays didn't penetrate as much, and the whole environment ended up getting wetter than usual. Henry shivered as the wind made him wonder why he hadn't grabbed a jacket. He was sitting on the usual rock, it was close to the river that separated them from the Muggles, and it gave him a good view across the village. There were houses like the ones on this side, but they always looked a lot less colorful than the ones he was used to, and there weren't as many flowers and trees either, as if the Muggles were willing to clear every bit of land they found, leaving everything gray and monotonous. Henry had asked his mother if they could go to that side of the village, but Arabella had been stern to say he was forbidden to even think about going to the Muggles. He chuckled softly, thinking that if it hadn't been for the river that separated them, he probably would have managed to at least get there, curious as always. A noise startled him, making him jump and hide behind the rock, praying it wasn't one of Jilian's friends, as he would be at such a disadvantage. There wasn't much to run now, Henry had almost reached the end of the forest, and unless he took a chance and ran towards the darkest and scariest part, the other option was to jump into the river. And he wasn't doing any of those things. But when he didn't hear voices or anything to indicate they were people, he stood up,

watching a deer walking around, distracted by everything, as if nothing else mattered. Henry had never seen one this close, and he was a little fascinated by the animal, he understood why there are two deer on the Potter family crest. It really was a beautiful animal, and if he could choose, he would also want them emblazoned on his chest. Henry stepped out from behind the rock, careful not to startle the animal, trying to get as close as he could. “Hey,” he called, even though it didn't make much sense. The animal turned, eyes huge now in his direction. It had been a bad idea, he cursed himself mentally, imagining that that animal was too big and would probably kill him without a second thought… Did deer eat human flesh? Henry didn't know, but they probably hurt anyone who scared them and made them feel in danger. The animal approached, slowly, and each step made the boy's stomach turn and his heart race. Deer were fast, much faster than Henry was. He was dead. But when the animal's black eyes got much closer than Henry had ever thought he saw, the animal bowed, as if saying hello to him. Without thinking twice, he did the same, maintaining eye contact with the deer. Heavens, couldn't he be less weird? Bending over to deer, blowing things up without meaning to... Henry stood up after a while, being careful to do this as slowly as possible, still afraid the deer would decide to kill him then and there. But the animal seemed to have other plans, because he lay down in front of the boy, as if he were an adorable little dog. Henry sat beside him too, having no choice; he didn't have many friends, and he had nothing else to do, so why not? His ass got a little wet from the dirt, but nothing too uncomfortable. The deer shifted and brought its head closer to Henry's crossed leg, as if asking for affection, and the boy didn't wait for another move to do so, leaning his back against the stone and reaching out to stroke the slightly coarse fur of the animal For some strange reason, Henry felt comfortable doing it, as if he had done it before, it was something familiar that burned in his chest. But he didn't think about it much, just fell silent and watched the forest in front of him. ---------------------- "Lily, what's going on?" James asked, feeling uneasy as he watched the tension surround the room, Remus looked nervous and Peter avoided looking up, as if he was suddenly afraid to face one of them. Lily turned to James, her green eyes seemed to glow with hatred, her nostrils swollen, an expression he'd seen a few times over the years, but one that always scared him. "What... What happened?" Her shaky voice made him look at Remus again, the worry growing by the second. "Oh James." She shook her head, as if suddenly too much pain hit her, and he ran to her protection, opening his arms to hold her and protect her from anything that had happened while he was gone. "Guys, anyone…?" He glanced at his friends, but again, Peter didn't look at him. "Tell him, Peter!" Lily yelled, breaking out of James' embrace and turning to the man sitting on the floor, pointing her wand in his direction. ‘Lily, what the hell!?’ "No, James," She held up a hand, silencing him. "Tell Peter, tell him what you did to our son." His world stopped, his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets as James stared at his friend, begging for all that was most sacred that he hadn't quite understood. Peter was his brother, his best friend, they met when they went to Hogwarts together, he was there when James needed it most, when they decided to become Animagus… Peter wouldn't do that, he couldn't! James doubted that one day the pain of losing a child would be replaced by another, that hellish emptiness that tore at him more and more inside, that made him not sleep well on rainy nights, that still made him walk into the boy's immaculate room and sit on the floor wondering what he should have done differently. He would do anything to get his son back, his boy. But the pain that hit him when Peter shook his head and lowered his head, making him

realize his hands were tied behind his body, came very close. His best friend… betrayed him? "Peter?" James pleaded, begged, for it to be a lie, for Lily to be mad. It was a lie! It had to be. "I had to, James... I... he made me." ---------------------- The weather was not so good, Peter realized when he Apparated, the sky was dark and windy like never before. He should have worn another cloak, this one was too thin and made him cold. And other gloves too, because now these were bloody and torn. Who knew a woman could be so strong? Peter dragged the woman's passed out body with him, feeling a little sickened by that when he realized her wound was getting worse with each passing minute, he needed to be quick. Leaving the body where no one could find it, he pulled a strand of her hair into the potion and then took it, the horrible taste of iron made him want to spit it out on the floor, but now there was no turning back, he would have to swallow and continue with the plan. Lord Voldemort had promised him a great reward in exchange for the boy's life, and for the first time in a long time, Peter felt important and wanted. It wasn't that Black boy who was chosen, or even Snape, no no, he was the one Voldemort thought capable of completing the mission, he thought he was strong enough. How long has it been since? He only stayed inside the Order because James kept him there, no one really wanted him there, not even Dumbledore, Peter didn't need him to say it to know, it was visible to everyone. For the old man, any other man could do the job better than he… Probably if Lily were there too, she would be chosen before Peter. Potter this, Black that, Peter was tired. Why didn't anyone realize he was also strong and smart? Well, now that was over, Voldemort had seen his potential and chosen him to do this mission, and Peter wasn't going to fail now. When he was fully transformed into that whore, he apparated into the castle, glad the potion didn't stop him from doing so. Stupid James should have put in better security than a simple spell. Peter had seen James that afternoon, he said that today was Harry's first night trying to sleep alone and that he and Lily were excited to see how he would react to the change, so the plan would be even easier to execute. As excited as Peter was at the idea of ​​being useful to someone, he knew he couldn't kill James, he had to really want to do it with all his heart. When he reached the boy's room, Peter looked around, noting the choice of bright, cheerful colors, the many teddy bears scattered around, the photos on the walls and in the frames above the dresser. Little Harry slept peacefully in his bed, wrapped in the pale blue blanket, looking peaceful, cuddled up with his deer teddy bear. He was a lot like James, Peter thought, watching the boy move his short legs like he was kicking something in the dream. He hadn't really thought about that part of the plan, he figured he'd have the guts to just take the boy and end his life right there, or in some alley farther along, but when Peter picked him up, being careful not to waking him up, that lavender scent invaded his nostrils and he watched the baby more closely. The boy looked helpless in his arms, like he wasn't even real, and if he wasn't watching the boy's belly rise and fall, Peter would think he was a doll. Voldemort would never know if he had killed the boy or not, and pausing to analyze the situation now, Peter also didn't know if he could kill the boy. He wanted to show that he was strong and useful, but a baby? Harry looked so…small. When he stirred, startling Peter, and seemed to be looking for something - maybe his mother's scent - he realized it was time to act, there was no turning back, it had to be now. And when lightning flashed in the sky, he cast a spell to prevent Harry from listening when he broke the glass to fake an escape, Peter waited for thunder to do so and then Apparated out of the castle, knowing that this was the best thing to do. There were two paths now, and he needed to think quickly

which was better, kill Harry and throw him in some hole, or give the boy to someone else. Of course he would risk this person recognizing the baby, but he would have to bet his luck on finding another baby like this for Lily and James to bury, or maybe even run to the Muggle village and find some woman there. It had to be fast, Harry would wake up any second and Peter didn't have much time after that. As soon as he spotted a woman a few blocks away and Harry opened his eyes in his arms, Peter acted without thinking, taking the knife from his pants pocket and opening a wound in his ribs, before starting to scream for help. ---------------------- James clapped his hand over his mouth, denying it over and over, not believing what he was hearing. No no no no. This had to be a lie, this had to be a lie. Peter would never do that, Peter was his brother, he would never… No, this could only be a joke. He could barely handle the pain right now, thinking he'd rather die than have to deal with it. It hurt so much that James thought he might start bleeding at any moment, his chest lacerated after hearing about it. He couldn't even feel angry. His boy, his little boy, whom he'd loved so much ever since Lily told him she was pregnant, that it made him want to scream from the top of the roof in so much joy… “I could kill you right now,” he said, after what seemed like an eternity, barely able to face the traitor. "But…" James shook his head, closing his eyes to try to make it hurt a little less, his father's voice resonating through his mind; "You must be careful with Peter," he said before he died. "Men like him are easily attracted to the side that shines the most." James had thought his father was delusional when he said that, thought it was the fever, but no, the bastard really was a weakling and a coward. Letting himself be attracted to those he once hated. If he really hated it. "I can't even look at you." James turned to Lily, who looked distraught to death at having to hear that story. He wanted to kill Peter even more for making her suffer like that. The traitor had been there the next day, helping with the searches, he had hugged Lily when she cried, told her everything would be fine. "James, give me your hand," asked Lily, her own trembling, reaching out towards him. 'Why?' "Lils…he could be lying—" She shook her head, telling Remus to shut up. "Give me your hand James." Now her voice was stronger, more determined, and her green eyes sparkled even more. He did so, letting her grab his palm and run the tip of the knife, causing the blood to drip and smear her workbench and floor, before finally dripping into the cauldron. “Lily, what are you doing?” But she didn't answer him, cutting her own palm and spilling her blood along with his, then looking over her husband's shoulder. She looked more nervous than ever, and her severed hand shook even more as she held it out to the man behind James. "Give me your hand, Henry." Her green eyes sparkled with tears, and James didn't know if the man did as she asked just because she was a Duchess, or because she was crying. "Yes, ma'am." He walked over and let her do the same thing with his palm, passing the tip of the knife and then letting the blood spill into the cauldron. The potion began to bubble fiercely, as did James' chest when he realized what Lily was up to. He had seen her make this potion a few times, and if his thinking was correct, then maybe he could vomit right there, his stomach churning and making him feel weak. James didn't want to get his hopes up, it only served to hurt when unrequited, but he was unable to hold back the urge and looked at the man behind him, and then at Peter, who now looked even more guilty, if that was possible. If this was another one of his jobs with Voldemort, James knew he would kill him right there, with his bare hands. Forget magic and wands, he would tear that mouse apart like a hungry lion. James turned to the cauldron again when Lily sobbed and he smelled the lavender scent all over the room, and the once gray

potion was now a pinkish hue, the three drops of blood seemed to dance in the middle of the liquid, before of finally meeting at the end, getting connected. "Harry." Lily turned to the man, but James remained frozen, watching the cauldron in front of him. They had never reached this result, usually the potion would explode or nothing happened, and the smell was never that sweet aroma that seemed to fill all the hollows in his chest, as if he suddenly felt no more pain. As he turned back, as Lily advanced towards the boy, James thought that maybe nothing would ever compare to this. "Harry," Lily repeated, but this time she touched him, and as if the boy felt it too, he lowered his green eyes to her. James remembered then where he knew that look… It was Lily's eyes. Her trembling hand went to his forehead, lifting the hair lying there, just to let them see the lightning scar marked into his skin. It was too much to handle, James didn't know how he was still standing, but suddenly he started to feel tears rolling down his cheeks and as if this was the last drop of water to overflow the bucket, he sobbed. He inched closer to Lily, wanting to take a closer look at his son, as if he was afraid this was a dream and soon he would no longer have the chance to memorize every detail of it. His boy… "You-" Harry trailed off, as if he was feeling like James and Lily, his chest filling up and all that emptiness seeming to finally heal. "My parents?" He looked at James, and it was as if time had never passed. He still had the same expression as that little baby James used to cuddle up to sleep on. "I knew I knew you from somewhere," James managed to say, his throat seeming to scratch with the effort it took. "I would never be able to forget…" He didn't mind the tears rolling down his face, but he tried to wipe the ones down Harry's face. "I would never be able to forget my son."

[writingsbychlo]

someone to come home to | soldier!mitch rapp

word count; 9341

summary; mitch has spent his life looking for family, and finding one in the army, but now, he wants to settle down with you.

notes; this is just a super sweet fic, an idea I got while at work, my mind got to wandering and it came up with this. 

warnings; reference to death, reference to gunshot wounds, reference to bombings, mentions of war, mentions of injury, that’s about it? I think we’re all good. minor references to PTSD.

With a relieved breath, Mitch flopped back down onto the mattress with his things dumped on, the other men seeing to have far more energy around him, and he was happy to sink into the bed that was already more padded than the one he’d been on for the last six months, his tour finally coming to a close as he let his mind wander to the even softer mattress that was waiting for him when he got home. 

His deployment was finished, the set of tours he’d been given were over, a sign-up sheet for another batch still sitting in his pack, waiting for his answer on whether hew as re-enlisting, and he couldn’t even bring himself to think about that right now. His feet were aching from the boots on his feet, and he was still covered in dust and dried mud, some splotches of blood on his ripped clothing, patched up in the field, and Mitch had decided that if he didn’t see another green piece of clothing in his entire life, he would be perfectly happy with that. 

He could hear everyone else shuffling around them, hear the bag dropped onto the bunk below his as the metal frame shook, and the leg hanging down over the edge was smacked roughly, eliciting a groan from him as the man below snickered to himself. 

“Fuck you, Hurley.”

“Get your leg out of my space, and we won’t have a problem, will we?” He teased, and he hauled the limb up onto the mattress, the effort being far more than it should have been, and the room quietened down a little as those men around him began to filter out of the room, the volume dropping considerably as all their excitement was dragged away to the showers. They were freshening up and washing off, ready to spend the night at the nearest bar and strip club they could find, inevitably going to be dragging themselves through their debriefing meetings tomorrow and sleeping off a hangover on the train home. 

Mitch didn’t have the luxury of sleeping on his ride home, because he was far too hopped up on the anticipation and anxiety of seeing you again. Six whole months had passed by, and four years since he’d met you, one fateful night at an army family charity ball, a pretty dress flowing right down to your feet, and you’d let him buy you a drink and tuck the flower from his suit pocket into your hair. 

You were supposed to be just some fun for the night, but then you’d spent the entire night talking, and then he’d spent the entire rest of the week he was home with you by his side, and somehow, you had become his everything. It wasn’t just his unit going home, as far as he was aware, there were at least three other units all going home too, his being the last to arrive for the train that would be leaving tomorrow, and he was grateful to be the last, because he couldn't imagine having to wait a week for the others, being so close to you and yet still so far. 

Mitch wasn’t interested in strip clubs and bars, he didn’t care about getting drunk or lap-dances, he just wanted to go home, and see you. He didn’t even want to unpack his bag, he was more than happy to simply lay there until he fell asleep, waiting for the morning to roll around.

“You aren’t going out with the rest?”

He tipped his head to the side, peeling his eyes open, unsure of when they’d even closed, a yawn pulled at his lips. Not even bothering to cover it, he simply shook his head, Stan leaning his arms on the edge of the upper-bunk bed, and Mitch propped himself up to look at his friend.

“Why not?”

“I have a girl waiting for me at home.” He mumbled, and Stan raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, so do half of the other lads.”

“Maybe, but are half of the other lads about to propose?” He scoffed, toeing the pocket of his bag that was still sitting by the end of the bed, and Stan reached over, a handful of letters coming out and he opened the top one up, pulling out the piece of paper that was folded up inside, a few pages of a ring brochure torn out, some circled, before one had been clearly chosen, stamped letters from the official company to accompany the ones handwritten on dirty paper form Mitch. “I spent the last six months writing with a company back home, getting a ring sorted out. They had it delivered here, I’m going to go pick it up when I have my shower, it’s waiting at communal.”

“That’s great, kid. What’s she like?”

He grinned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, and he was certain that Stan was going to regret asking the question, because the second he had opened his mouth, he couldn't stop the words. There was so much to say about you, about how much he loved you, and about how much you meant to him. You made him feel as though he had a purpose with you, he had joined the army because he had nothing, no family or parents, and so he’d found a family wherever he could get it. Ten years later, he was looking at the opportunity of making his own family with you, and so he certainly wasn’t going to risk it. 

Stan was tough on him, he was the unofficial leader of the group, and while he was strict and mean, sometimes even a little bit of a bully, he was like the father Mitch had lost, taking him on and giving him someone to talk to when he really needed it, as well as someone to look up to. He knew Stan cared for him as much as he cared for Stan, and so he almost felt like he was seeking approval form him to be able to get married. 

“I want you to meet her when we get back.”

“I’d love to, but only if you shower first. You stink, and I’m not going anywhere near you while you smell like a massacre in a gym.” Mitch’s face screwed up, lifting his shirt to his nose, the salty stench of sweat and the coppery smell of blood and ammunition filling his nose, and he backed away from the material, nodding in agreement. 

“Fair enough.”

A hot shower would definitely help, he knew it to be true, and the call of hot steam and water was almost enough to make his head spin with joy, having been washing himself off with cold or lukewarm water for the past half a year, and so he shoved all the letters back into the front pocket. Rifling through for his cleanest set of clothes, he was taking them with him as he swiped his only towel, deciding it was still fresh enough, and he could wash properly when he got home, before groaning upon jumping down, his feet screaming out in disapproval at being in use once again.

The shower may be calling to him at this moment, but your face was flashing behind his eyes every time he closed them, calling him home to you. 

The train ride had been only a few hours, and yet he’d felt like years, watching the scenery flash by as he moved from town to town before getting home. There was a ring in his bag that felt like it was going to burn right through the pocket, shining metal and a pretty diamond in the specifications he was sure were right, convinced he had remembered that the ring of his mother’s that he wore on his pinky was the same size you wore on your ring finger. The camo-gear felt too much, like it was too heavy now that he was no longer in a battlefield, the jacket stifling and the pants too baggy, the boots squeezing his feet and pinching angrily, the same way it always felt when he was finally allowing his guard to come down and to let himself relax, and he rested his head on the window, feeling the vibrations shooting through the cart as he 

He was nervous to say the least, especially when he finally saw the station coming into view, the train beginning to slow down, and then the daylight was gone, encased by tunnels as darkness flashed by him for only as second, before artificial light took over. The men around him were waking one another up as they came about, and he rubbed over his face, trying to wake himself up a little more. Shaking himself off, the nerves he was filled with were replaced with excitement and joy, catching sights of the crowded platforms that were teeming with girlfriends, children, husbands and family of everyone who was waiting for a loved one to return. 

It was busier than usual, all the extra groups he was accompanying making it harder for him to spot you, and he was out of his seat in a flash, bag scooped up in his arms and he was patting his pockets down for his phone, the device he still felt unfamiliar using again after all this time, but finding a text from you saying you were wearing a blue dress and standing under the ‘Arrivals’ sign, and that was all he needed. 

He barely felt the ground between his feet, or the bump of shoulders against his, nothing seeming to matter as he weaved through the bodies, eyes fixed on the sign he could see, waiting until it was clear enough for him to catch sight of you. He watched as other’s reunited, tears and happy shouts filling the air, making sure not to trip over any dropped bags as they were discarded to allow simple embraces, and his breath hitched in his throat as he finally saw you. 

Every time he went away he intended to take a picture of you with him, and every time you were together, the pair of you were so busy that he always forget to take one, and so he was only ever left with his memories to keep him company, and they did nothing to the sight of you he got every time he returned. Bright smiled and sparkling eyes, hair that whipped around you face as you dashed towards him, before you were finally in his arms.

Your body collided with his own, his bag hitting the floor with a dull thud, and his arms were sealed so tightly around you that he worried whether you could even breathe, but you were clinging to him just as tightly, and everything in his world seemed to slot back into place. Jagged corners and broken shards were coming together, piecing back into something beautiful and worthy, all because of you. The smell of your perfume, and the mango and coconut shampoo you loved so much, the way you clung to him as your body pressed up to his, he couldn't help the way his legs shook a little feeling entirely weak just getting to be home again. 

“You’re home.”

He nodded, sniffling back his own tears at the sound of your cracking voice, but it was no use, because he was crying by the time he pulled away, letting out a seek laugh and wiping the water away from your cheeks as you stared up at him.

“You’re home.”

“I’m home, baby.” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in close enough for him to be able to rest his forehead to your own, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes when you leaned into him, rubbing the tip o your nose against his. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You whispered, letting him hear you say the words, a happy sigh leaving him as his heart burst in his chest, and his lips were on your own. A sweet, and slow kiss, needy as his mouth moved against your own slowly, and his hands held you face tightly as your own gripped at his shirt, before slipping to his waist so his body could press to yours. 

He couldn't get any closer, and yet it still wasn’t close enough. He needed to be wrapped up in you, to have every part of you with every part of him. He needed to never let you go, and yet he had to pull back from breath at some point. He barely gassed, his head tipping to the side and hands manoeuvring your face, before your mouths were crashing together once again, a whimper from you silencing in his mouth as wet cheeks slid together. 

His skins as stinging from the salt, and his lungs burning, lips raw and swollen and yet he couldn't stop; he just needed to know you were there, that you were in his arms once again. He needed to confirm it to himself, that h could go home that night with you in his arms, the weight on his chest being that of your body curled up to him and not a rifle sitting across his body, that the coolness in the room would be the breeze from the fan in the corner and not from the harsh winds that would bite at him when he slept outside. 

Life was buzzing on around you both, bodies bumping into you occasionally, and he was forced to part from you, no matter how much he wished he didn’t the sight of your red swollen lips and wide eyes being something that was burned into his memories, and he dropped one hand, the thumb of the other stills stroking over your skin slowly. 

“I missed you.” You whispered, and he nodded his head, returning the sentiment in quiet words, before pressing his lips to your forehead, and ducking down until they were resting together, noses brushing as you shared the air between you both. “You’re all scratched up, and bruised.”

You were pouting a little, and he cringed, automatically, bringing his hand up to rub at the still somewhat fresh scar on his shoulder. It hasn’t been too serious, though and out of the other side, patched up in the field and scabbed over before he’d made it back to anywhere that could do real surgery, but he hadn't lost any function, and he’d been lucky enough that it hadn't been his preferred arm, pink raised flesh in a small circle on both sides to show the injury for the rest of his life. “If that bothers you, then you’re definitely not going to like what happened or my shoulder?”

You raised your brows a little at him, and he dropped the edge of his jacket, letting you push the vest aside, and a gasp leaving you as you ran your finger lightly over the puffy flesh. “Does it still hurt?” He shook his head, watching as you leaned in to place a kiss to the skin, eyes watering a little, before tugging his jacket back up and adjusting his collar, swallowing thickly as you tried to control your emotions.

“Are we going back to your place or a hotel?”

“I actually have other plans for us, I sold my place a couple of months back.”

“You sold it?” You hadn't mentioned anything about it in your letters, and he dipped down to grab his bag, his hand finding your arm, fingers dancing along your skin until your fingers were lacing with his own, and he lifted the back of your hand up to his mouth to press kisses to your knuckles as he waited for your explanation. 

“I wanted to move home. My dad’s farm is getting out of control, and I want to take care of it, do it back up.”

He knew about your dad, a man who was in the army too, hence the family dance you’d been at when he’d met you, and he could imagine that it would certainly be in a little disrepair by now. He could only nod, the idea of leaving a quaint little farm life with you instead of a dangerous life of being shot at and wounded for months on end sounded perfect, your face lighting up at his agreement and approval. 

“You sure that’s okay? We can get a hotel, if that’s what you want.”

He pulled you back in closer to him, pecking your lips gently, your body melting a little under his touch, and he felt like he swooned every time you physically reacted to his touch. “I think that sounds perfect, kitten, I can’t wait to see it.”

He was more than excited, because should you say yes to the question that was itching in the back of his throat to be asked, then he would be awarded that life too, he’d get to spend his days with you in the farmhouse, a simple life that he longed for with everything he had. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, we’re just waiting for my dad!” His brows pulled together, panic once again filling him as he looked up and over your shoulder into the rest of the station, but you were looking over his shoulder into the crowds of soldiers and families still meeting up, and he felt like ice was flooding through his veins. He knew your dad was in the army too, but he’d never asked which battalion or station, and the thought that it may be someone from one of the other units he had worked with lately made him anxious. 

Your arms released him, you face lighting up once again, before you were swerving around his body, and he turned to watch you go, before you were taking an older man into your embrace, a body and face he couldn’t fail to recognise, and he felt like his throat was closing up as you were wrapped up into him. He had to check whether he was actually shaking with nerves, glad he was able to still himself when Stan pulled away, catching his eye and sending him a simple nod, clearly not having put the pieces together himself yet, and he hated the way that that the man h so admired stared at him, face morphing into shock when you came back over to him, slipping your fingers between his.

He couldn't even bring himself to curl his hand back around you own, fear striking through him as Stan came to stand before him, bag bumping roughly against his leg and he flinched, but held steady, and he had to remind himself to take a deep breath. “My daughter is the girls you’re-” In love with. Spent almost an hour telling me about last night. Coming home to. Going to propose to. “-dating?”

He felt like he could at least let out the breath he was holding as the surprise he had was yet to be ruined, and he finally gained a little composure, wrapping his fingers around your own and giving the man a stiff nod, suddenly feeling like he was back on deployment and taking orders, his gaze dropping down to the ground as he cleared his throat. 

“You guys didn’t work that out?”

There was a little smile on your lips, and they both turned to look at you, a little shock evident on their faces, and you raised your brows at them both in a slightly challenging way, only making you look more adorable to him. It’s in moments like this that he would have liked to kiss you, or tell you how cute you are, but under the eyes of a man he looked up to like a father, who really was your father, he felt like he couldn’t breathe without scrutiny.

“No, we didn’t. Since you go by your mother’s last name, and Rapp simply refers to you as ‘his girl’, we didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.” He couldn't pick up on any emotion in his tone like he normally could, and it only made him feel more nervous, yet you didn’t seem to sense the overbearing tension hanging over the two men, simply telling them to grab their bags as you reached into your pocket for the car keys, jingling them in their faces as you began to rattle off about the cleaning you’d done to get it ready for their return, and the lasagne you’d made, waiting to be set off in the oven as soon as you all got home.

He opted for the backseat, loading his bags into the trunk and slinking into the car, seating behind your seat in hopes that it would stop you being able to see him when you glanced in the mirrors, hiding his internal panic as he stared out of the windows, trying to think over just how he was going to handle the situation. Luckily for him, you were more than happy to just chat with your father, because he hadn't been able to follow any of the conversations you were having. After all, his mind was spinning far too quickly as he tried to work out how his friend and mentor was feeling.

It was all a little overwhelming, the relaxed and loving welcome home that he’d been dreaming of felt shattered, the same stiffness in his body and worried twisting in his gut that he usually held when pushing the front lines was back, but his head was spinning in confusion, giving him an entirely new kind of paralysing fear. He had training for his work in the army, he knew what to do, textbooks and drill routines memorised from cover to cover, every piece of information from every course was burned into his memory like the lyrics to a favourite song, but there had never been any training regarding ‘what to do when you somehow manage to have the bad luck of falling head over heels in love with the daughter of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met, but she is the one™ and you cannot give her up under any circumstances’, or the shortened name of ‘how to survive being a dumbass: 101’. He must’ve been sick that day. 

The farm didn’t look nearly as bad as he’d expected when they arrived, the outside paint was flaking a little and some of the fences were broken, but you had seemed to have been clearing out, a large pickup truck in the back piled high with a waterproof cover pulled over it, and the light on the front garden was turned on as the light began to fade, blue skies dulling to a pastel purple. He took his time, letting you press a kiss to his cheek when he said he’d get the bags from the back, so that you could go inside and set the food off on a slow cook, giving him a chance to move the ring from his bag to his pocket, and take a second to calm himself down, before following you both inside. 

Stan was quick to take the bags, taking them away to the laundry room in claims of not wanting to be sitting around the stench of them, and your hands found his, eyes searching his own in a look he recognised well, trying to work him out and puzzle together what was wrong, and as the two of you were alone again, he let himself relax. You pulled him along towards the stairs, through the corridors and up to the stairs, before pushing open the door to a room that had more pink decorating the walls than he thought possible, a real eyesore is a he was being honest, and you clearly knew it too, if the giggles you let out were anything to go by.

“Welcome to where I grew up. Half the time, anyway. When I wasn’t with my mum.”

He took it all in, all the things that made you up now, having roots here, and he could recognise each and every one of them, his lips flicking up at the corners in the first real smile he’d had since the revelation at the train station. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking a little underneath him, and he shifted to finally pull his boots off of his feet, flexing his toes out and letting a groan leave his lips, feeling the tight leather finally free his foot up. 

You chuckled, kneeling behind him on the bed and leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, to which he pushing up into the action, his body resting back against your own as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest, rubbing gently as you went to ease knotted muscles, and Mitch felt his eyes flutter shut as he allowed himself to let his worries slip away for a moment.

He wanted out of the army outfits, and the smell of dirt that he felt was ingrained in his skin, and he wanted into something comfortable, the clothes he’d left at your house having already found a place in the pink and white set of draws, he was sure. 

“I’m going to get it all changed up before next time, it hasn’t been changed since I was a kid and got my own place, but since I’m moving home..” You trailed off, and he knew where you were going with it, picking up your hand and kissing along it, up you are until he was tugging you round to sit across his lap, and able to move his lips over your cheek. “I can show you some ideas I have over the next few days, you can help me decide how to decorate this place.” 

“I’d love that.” 

You nuzzled into his cheek, and he could hear your father moving around in the kitchen below, but right now it was just the two of you, and he squeezed you in closer to him in order to soak up every single moment that the two of you were having together. It may not have been how he wanted it to go, but as he settled into it a little more, it became more and more perfect with every moment. 

There was a hand weaving through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, and he felt the rumbling feeling of satisfaction deep in his chest when you scratched lightly through the locks and kissed at the side of his mouth. 

“Your hair is so long.”

“Been a busy few weeks, I didn’t have time to get anyone to cut it for me.” Mitch twisted his head, catching your lips with his and you let out a delicate sound into his mouth when he did. You twisted around, your hand slipping down to the base o his neck to hold on tightly, and he realised that this was exactly a life he could get used to, just kissing you and living a simple life on a farm in the middle of nowhere, because he just wanted peace, and quiet, and a family.

“Can I cut it for you?”

You were looking up at him now, weaving your fingers through his hair as you grinned a little, eyes pleading with him to say yes. “I’ll leave my hair wet when I get out of the shower, and you can cut it after I shave this off.” He scratched at his face, your lips pressing over his stubbled jaw once his fingers had moved. 

You hopped up out of his lap, kicking his boots out of the way and into the corner of the room when he was up, before moving over to the drawers and tapping at the top two drawers. “Put all your stuff in here, and there are towels in a rack in the bathroom. The water tank is massive, so don’t worry about the water going cold. I’ll set a chair out and find my hair scissors.”

He reached out, pulling your lips back to his for a final kiss, and you grinned into his lips. 

“Down the hall, on the left.”

He nodded, watching as you slipped off your shoes, pulling on a pair of slipped in place, and he ducked his head to hide your smile. He looked back fondly on the days when the two of you would stumble out of the elevator and into a hotel room, barely getting dressed for the first two or three days he was home, and unable to keep your hands off of one another, but he loved this so much more.

He loved being domestic with you, and watching you go about your day, and getting to spend hours on end with you sitting in his lap and talking to him about paint samples and whether you wanted a modern or classic cottage feel to your home, and it all felt like he dream. Coming home to someone who met him at the train station in pretty blue sundresses who made lasagne and cut his hair, and kissed his scars when he got hurt, he loved it all, but he didn’t want it anymore.

He patted down his pockets, taking the box he’d so carefully concealed from you and hiding it in the bottom drawer of the bedside table, alongside some old textbooks and what he was certain was a Nintendo DS, a few game cartridges beside it. 

Grabbing a spare set of clothes from the drawer and heading to the bathroom, he flicked at the lock on the door, sealing it up before switching on the shower, running the water with his hand underneath it as he adjusted the temperature, a tired smile finding his face as he stepped up and into the tub, the shock at not having to rush through making him feel like time was actually slowing down.

His legs dropped out from underneath him, and he sunk down into the basin of the tub, his hands running through his hair and his legs pulled up so that he could drop his head down, feeling the water thrashing down onto his back. After what felt like hours of simply soaking in the heat, he reached out for the sponge, the shelf above him wobbling a little as he snatched up a bottle of shower gel too, and the fruity smell that came out from the second he lathered up and scrubbed down his skin made him feel like he was floating, a stark contrast to the medical-scented bar of soap that he was given on deployment. 

He took a shower that was at least four times the limited length he got every time he was on duty, and had to physically drag himself off of the floor when he was done, absolutely certain that Stan was going to want to wash up too. Sealing a towel around his waist, he stepped into the mirror, smearing the steam away from it, and checking out the mess of facial hair dotted along his jaw and upper lip, all the way down to his chin. 

He liked his stubble, liked the feel of it on his face and the way it protected his skin every time he scratched at his jaw anxiously. Instead of taking it all off, he smeared cream around the edges of his face and neck, gathering the cream up in the area that had grown out of control and searching for a razor, finding a packet of disposable ones set out, and he snatched the wrapper and covering from it, and running it along his skin. He trimmed his beard back gently with a pair of small scissors, patting his skin down and feeling more like himself as he slicked back the length of hair, suddenly feeling like he was gaining a little more of himself back with every action. With a baggy and soft cotton t-shirt, and a pair of worn old grey sweats, he shook himself down, bare feet wandering over the wooden floors as he scooped up his old clothes and used towel, dumping them into the laundry basket in the bedroom, and making his way downstairs. 

Showering had made him feel like he was rinsing the stress and fears out of his life, and yet there was still the slight twisting and anxiety in his gut as he approached the downstairs of the house. You had a wooden chair set up on the porch outside, warmth of the day still flowing through the Virginia Country house, and Stan was standing in the kitchen, a bottle of beer raised to his lips as he flicked through the paper sitting on the counter, a pen in his other hand and the crossword half-completed.

You were all set up, sitting on the porch swing with a book in your hand as you swung slowly, one foot on the ground to push you, and he made his way over to you, your head snapping up when the door creaked a little. He rubbed his hands on his pants, settling down into a chair, your feet padding across the wood and hands smoothing a towel around his shoulders, letting him tip his head back to look up at you as you combed his hair back and out of his face. 

“How short do you want it?”

“How short do you want it to be, sweetheart?” You grinned, tugging at it a little and leaning down to press an upside-down kiss to his lips, before evaluating the hair in your hands. 

“How about the length it was when we met? Longer on the top but shorter on the sides, and you can gel it up when we go out.” You pushed a hand through his hair, before smirking at him a little, running a finger over the freshly trimmed stubble. “You look hot.”

“You look beautiful, kitten.” 

You snorted at his joke, his heart fluttering at the sound of it as he looked up at you, closing his eyes as he felt you begin to comb his hair into sections. “You’re staring up my nose and at my double chin, I definitely don’t look beautiful. But, I will accept your compliment anyway.”

“You should, because I love you no matter what, even if I can see right up into your brain.”

You slapped at his arm lightly, causing a laugh to leave him, before he could feel you beginning to trim and snip at his hair, pieces of it falling down across his skin and fluttering away to the floor. It didn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would, and you apologised throughout the entire process, somehow switching between confidence in yourself and being sure you were fucking it up, telling him how great you thought it looked, before telling him that if he hated you wouldn't be mad. Worst case scenario, it came out awfully and the two of you had to shave his head back down to the buzzcut he had in freshman year, but there was no call for that yet, and so he waited patiently as you worked on his head.

He knew it was coming to an end when you were buzzing at the back of his neck with an electric razor, his chin perched on his hands as he leaned forwards, staring out across the Virginia countryside at a sight he would love to wake up to and drink his coffee upon watching for every day in the rest of his life, and he could only hope that you would say yes to him, and grant him a life he so dreamed of, with a loving wife by his side and a peaceful job that brought him nothing buts serenity. 

When you were done, you rounded to the front of him, one hand holding a mirror behind your back and the other cupping his cheek, leaning down to kiss him more firmly than you had before. His lips parted for you, a soft moan falling from his and your tongue peeked out to play with his, and yet he couldn't quite chase away that feeling of dread, the crashing realisation that the kitchen had an open plan wall space, and that Stan could see directly out through the clear door straight to you both made him snap back.

Your brows were furrowed as you looked at him, pink cheeks taking place he was sure, and he offered you a smile that you didn’t return as you instead pursed your lips, but seemed to let it go. You held up a mirror for him, silently waiting for his approval as he took it in, brushing his fingers along the now dry hair, and shaking his head a little to free it of the chopped off but trapped pieces. 

“You like it?”

“I love it, it looks great. In a week or so, when we’re feeling up it, we can go into town and get it neatened up, but I think you did an awesome job.” You finally game him another grin, and he waited for the kiss that usually followed when you smiled at him like that, but you never moved, hands clasped in front of you and you rolled a little on the balls of your feet. 

“Well, I’ll go and check on the lasagne then.”

He knew it was a result of his actions, but he still felt saddened, especially when you slipped by him without even pressing your lips to his cheek either, and he sighed at his nerves. He was going to ask you to marry him, whether Stan approved of it or not, and just because the person who was arguably the closest person he had to daily beside you may not like it, he still loved you with everything he had, he just needed time to process it, but he hated that it was hurting you in the meantime.

By the time he’d swept up all the leftover hair with a garden brush and brought the towels and the chair back inside, you were serving up three plates, the meat and pasta calling out to him, and Mitch couldn't quite remember that last he’d had a home-cooked meal, a plate placed in front of him that he could barely resist. The fresh bottle of beer placed in front of him by Stan felt like a peace offering of sorts, and a smile was given in return, nods of heads seeming like the olive branch was accepted, and yet the heavyweight in his stomach still existed. 

He made an effort to tune into the dinner conversation, though, and to listen to what was being said, and to chip in at times. It mostly consisted of you complaining about the troubles you’d been through when getting the place ready, and your encounter with a spider you swore was the size of your fist dropping down out of one of the ceiling corners at you, and that you’d cried while smacking it wit a brush until certain it was dead, both him and Stan getting a kick out of it as you pouted in your seat. 

You also told him about the plans you had, Stan’s eyes flicking over to him every time you mentioned them going back out on deployment, and he felt like his throat was getting tighter and tighter each time, making it harder to swallow his food, or even breath, and the ring upstairs felt as though it was screaming out to him, to pop the question and just get it done so that his wonder would be known.

He helped you wash up, your hip bumping against his as you laughed and joked, letting him dry the pots as he handed them to stand who put them away, before you were wiping your hands dry, left standing with the two of them in silence, as the conversation seemed to run out. He could feel your eyes on him, but his own were locked with your father’s a staredown that seemed to say everything there was that hung in the air between them, and you patted his arm, before squeezing through, mumbling about going for a bath before heading upstairs, and leaving the two of them alone.

The contest only lasted a few seconds longer, before Stan was making his way back to the table collapsing down into the chair and picking the paper back up, staring at it with a burning gaze, and he crossed his arms over his chest in what was more like a protective armour tan a dominating stance.

“I’m still going to marry her.”

“If she says yes.” Stan huffed, and he wiped a hand over his face, swallowing down his emotions and taking the other seat opposite him. 

“I know you don’t think I’m good enough for her, but I love your daughter with everything I have, and I’m still going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with me, because that’s what I want, with her.”

He finally earned the rest to a simple glance, the newspaper falling flat with a hustle of papers, as Stan took a long swing of the drink, eyes narrowing at him as he set it down. “What makes you think that I think you’re not good enough for her? Putting words in my mouth now, Rapp?” 

“No, those are your words.” Hurley raised his eyebrows a little bit, prompting an explanation from him, and Mitch leaned back in his seat. “Just over three years ago. You told me your daughter had started seeing someone, I asked you if you liked the guy, and you said no. You said you hadn't met him yet, but that he wasn’t good enough for your daughter, you just knew it.”

Stan’s lips flicked up at the sides as he remembered the comment, a low chuckle falling from him. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t find it as funny now that I know it’s me.” Stan studied him for a moment, and Mitch shrugged, deciding that whether Stan was going to give his approval or not, there was a chance they’d be family own day, and so he should know why he was in the army in the first place. “Your daughter is all I have, she’s my everything. I had no one when I joined up, I was seventeen when enlisted, my parents were dead and I was just another kid coming up through the system with nothing to show for it, and so I looked for a family wherever I could get it. The army offered that for a while, made me feel less alone, and useful. But then I met (Y/N), and everything seemed to change, and my focus shifted on finding a family to just getting to come home to her, so whether you like it or not, I love her.”

The silence that fell over them both when he finished speaking felt more deafening than the bombs and bullets he’d been forced to listen go off for the last few months, and he had to physically force himself to stop the tapping of his leg that happened every time he got jittery. “You love her?”

“I do.”

“You know, she has a history of dating some pretty bad guys. At first, I think she genuinely didn’t know any better, of course, she was in high school, and so I grounded her. Then, I think she started dating bad guys to spite me and her mom when he broke up. When I heard she was dating someone new, I just assumed it was another guy who was going to break her heart.” Mitch kind of wished he had his own beer at this moment, or maybe a full bottle of rum, anything to take the stinging edge off of this conversation. “Are you going to do that? Are you going to up and leave her?”

“Sir, she’d have to break my heart to get rid of me, and I’d still love her then.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He hummed, before picking up his paper, mumbling to himself as he searched around for his pen, before finding it placed behind his ear, going back to figuring out the crossword from a newspaper that was days old, and he could just search the answers up online, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“That sounded an awful lot like a blessing.”

“Well, of course, it was.” Stan grouched, before lowing his paper a little to peer over the top. “You’re committed, and you care, and I’ve known you for years. You’re a good man, Mitch, exactly the kind of person I want for my little girl to be with, and it’s even better that I already know you, I don’t have to do the intimidating dad act. You already know I could shoot you with pinpoint accuracy from a hundred metres away.”

He smirked at the end of his sentence, but with his nerves gone, Mitch was able to read the older man’s body language once again, laughing both at the joke, and to himself as he watched Stan get frustrated and fold the paper back up, tucking it under his arm and patting Mitch on the shoulder. He felt as though he may die of relief, feeling the calmness wash over him in euphoric waves so strong he felt high, and he covered his face with his hands, sighing to himself quietly for a second, having been worrying over nothing.

“I’m going to the pub in town, I’ll be back in the early hours. I have some friends who owe me some drinks.”

He simply waved him off, watching out of the window as Stan wandered out to the pickup truck, peeping at the contents underneath the tarp, and scoffing before lifting the edge up. He pulled back out what could only be described as one of the most hideous, eighties-style lamps that he had ever seen, hiding it in the barn before covering it back up and setting off on his journey. He contemplated telling you about the retrieved piece of hideous furniture, but Mitch had just won a really big battle, so if Stan wanted the ugly lamp then he could have the ugly lamp.

You were singing to yourself, the sound of your feet on the floor telling him that you were finished in the bath, and only a second later, water was draining away, audibly through the pipes, and he placed himself down on the edge of the bed as he waited for you, now nervous for entirely new reasons. 

It took a few minutes before you arrived, your hair neatly combed and skin clean of makeup, a baggy shirt and a pair of leggings covering you, and Mitch swore you looked just as beautiful right now as you did when he’d first met you, all dressed up with red lips and a ball gown and a gorgeous up-do in your hair. You jumped a little upon seeing him, but gave him a soft smile, making your way to your dresser and searching around or some cream, before applying it to your face delicately. 

“Your dad went out, said he was going for some drinks with his friends. Apparently, he’s owed some drinks.” You seemed to know just who, laughing to yourself in the mirror as you worked on your skin, and he fidgeted a little with his hands, watching you go. “Can we talk, though? It’s pretty important, and we have a little while to ourselves, so I figured now was a good time.”

You stilled your movements, before nodding slowly, turning in your chair to talk to him. “Are we breaking up?”

“Hold on, what?”

“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, that’s okay, but I’d rather you just tell me than try and hint at it, or get me to do it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze leaving his own, looking down at the floor, and continuing on before he had a chance to figure out what to say. 

“What makes you think I want that?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day, ever since you got off the train. You used to be so excited to see me, and you’ve barely spoken to me all night, and you don’t want to kiss me anymore, so I feel like you want to break up with me.” He felt stunned, but was crossing the room before he could stop himself. With own hand on the edge of the dresser and the other on your cheek, he pulled your mouth up to meet his own, a fiery kiss that made everything inside of him burst open in fireworks when you squeaked with shock, lips frozen against his own as he tried to tempt you into kissing him back and you eventually caved. 

Your lips meshed with his own, sweet kisses that had you lifting your hands up to hold his face in return, before you were standing, shaky legs pushing you to meet him, your bodies pressing together and he snaked an arm around your waist to hold you close. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you to ever think that he would, and he certainly never wanted you to doubt his love for you again. “I don’t want to break up with you, kitten, I want to marry you.”

“What?” You were still a little breathless when he spoke the words, but he shook his head, laughing lightly before pulling you away and sitting you down on the edge of the bed, before reaching over to the drawer in which he had a ring hidden away. 

Producing the little velvet box, he found himself down on one knee, holding it up to you and grinning at the look on your face. “I love you, so much. You have given me everything I never thought I’d get in life. I don’t want to go back to the army, and I don’t want to be away from you anymore. When I signed up, and I had nothing to live for, and so serving - and ultimately dying - for my country seemed like a good way to go about my life, but then you walked in. With your pretty eyes and your jokes and your inability to let me just have a fling. You were supposed to be temporary, and now I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who asked me if I wanted to get breakfast with you the following morning.” You sniffed back some tears, laughing at the memory yourself, and he nodded his head bushing a little as he did. 

“Because I knew from the moment you first kissed me that I needed more from you.” He wiped at his own cheeks, before reaching up to you, and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I promise you, I’m never going to want to stop kissing you, or loving you. I don’t want to go back to the army. I want to live here, on this farm, with you. I want to do it up, and live our lives, and I don’t want to go away anymore. I want to have kids, and ride pickup trucks, and maybe a farm cat, and I want to reconstruct the broken fireplace downstairs because there’s a fern in it, baby, why have you got a fern in the fireplace?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, laughing at him as you sunk down onto the floor before him, and he kneeled there carefully, waiting for your reply. “It’s broken! It was ugly just sitting there empty!”

“I’ll fix it for you. For us. If you’ll have me. I love you so much, kitten, and I want to know, if you’ll do me the honour of marrying me?”

“In what world would I say no?” You whispered, before your arms were around his neck, his back meeting the carpet as you kissed him with such force that the two of you rolled backwards, and he could barely kiss you for the grin on his face. “I would love to marry you, Mitch Rapp.”

He pushed the ring onto your finger, twisting it a little as you admired it. It was a perfect fit, and he internally congratulated himself on having gotten it right, his hands finding your hips and slipping underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin slowly, watching as you tried to compose yourself, and he couldn't remember a time before this that he’d ever been happier. “Don’t leave me. Not ever.”

“Why would I ever want to leave my handsome soldier, hm?”

“Handsome farmer, now.” He teased, picking you up underneath your thighs as you shrieked at the movement, clinging to him tightly, before your back was meeting the mattress, and you were pulling him back down into another kiss. 

You were asleep when Mitch heard the door open and close once again, the locks being flicked and he paused in his movements, running his fingers up and down your bare back slowly, his head tipping to the side as he listened out. It was clearly your father, shoes being kicked off and low sighs sounding or as he moved around, glasses from the cabinet clinking before the tap was running, and he figured that Stan was getting a glass of water, trying to get himself ready for bed in the late hour. 

Your hand was still splayed across his chest beside your face, ring twinkling in the light coming in through the windows, and with a groan, he shifted himself out of the bed, watching as you shuffled around a little your hand catching onto him before he went, pouted lips pulling him back down for a quick kiss, before you were pulling a pillow in close to your body instead and replacing him with the cushion as you drifted back off. 

Tugging his sweats back on, h swiped his short from the floor, trying to get it the right way out before leaving the room, and finally succeeding, the material taking place on his body only a second later. He pulled shut the blinds, and placed a kiss to your temple, before adjusting the blankets over your body and leaving the room, bedroom door clicking shut quietly behind him. 

Stan was already anticipating his arrival, staring at the staircase as he came down them, and he got another glass, filling it with water and silently offering it to Mitch has he leaned against the counter. 

“Did you ask her?” He simply nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck and mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ in return for the drink taking a long sip of it as Stan stared at him, before letting out an exaggerated sigh as he decided to press further, and a blush crawled along Mitch’s neck. “Well? What did she say?”

“She said yes.” He rubbed at the spot on his own finger where a ring would soon be, and the other man gave him was possibly the brightest smile he’d ever seen him hold, before clinking the two glasses of water together in a ‘cheers’ motion. Only a second later, he was being pulled into his embrace, water glasses discarded, and Mitch felt tears spring to his eyes as he clung onto Stan just as tightly, the act of fatherly affection being something he had so sorely missed, and definitely something he could get used to. When they pulled back, he tried not to show the effect it had on him, but Stan overlooked it if he did see it, gripping his shoulder and squeezing comfortingly instead. 

“Welcome to the family, kid.”

[marvelsswansong]

language

summary: two weeks of pure hell for Steve ends when you return- exhausted, bloodied and tired. but still in one piece.

tags: angst to fluff, happy ending, happy reunions, unedited lol

word count: 1.1K

a/n: WRITTEN FOR MY BIRTHDAY TWIN @marvelinsanity​. Can’t believe we share the same birthday (aka today). hope this is short, sweet and sappy fic is a good present <3

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“Steve, you’ve got to eat.” 

Natasha could barely make out Steve’s figure shifting ever so slightly in the darkness of his room, the curtains still drawn from two weeks ago and the mess he’d caused in a state of rage still left on the floor- lamps turned on their heads, scattered papers, thrown pillows, shattered glass from a picture frame that fell down. 

“If you don’t clean these glass shards you could cut yourself.” she added quietly, opening the front door ever so slightly forward, allowing a beam of light to penetrate the room. Steve had his back to Natasha, his body still facing the wall, not moving or responding to her wishes. Sighing, she left and came back with a room to carefully scoop the glass, discarding the jagged pieces into a trash can before peeking her head into Steve’s room once more.

His gaze had shifted ever so slightly to his phone in another fruitless attempt to check if there was any news on your whereabouts from the mission you were supposed to have returned from two weeks ago. The empty notifications screen was maddening, his heart sinking further into his stomach every time he turned on his phone and hopped to see a silly text from you or a frantic call from Tony saying they’d found you.

But nothing.

He’d been met with nothing but silence from your end, the kind that stuck to him and weighed him down like an invisible shadow, the kind that suffocated his thoughts and refused him any peace as the worst possible scenarios played in his head. Stranded. Kidnapped by Hydra. Dead. 

His room was a sancturary amongst it all, the sheets still smelling like you from the night before your mission and the closet filled with your clothes scented with your perfume. He’d only left the bed to go to the bathroom or to raid the closet, pulling over your favorite cardaign and hugging it tightly, enveloping the familiar smell and the soft texture, the same softness he’d feel on his skin if he were to be hugging you right now.

Another sigh from Natasha and a clanging of dishes ringing out- Steve supposed Natasha was putting down his lunch for the day, considering he hadn’t left his room since your disappearance- and the door shut behind her, leaving Steve all alone to his thoughts once more. 

His temples ached and his mind was in disarray. He’d been getting two hours of sleep here and there, his consciousness drifting off out of pure exhaustion every now and again, only for Steve to wake up from nightmares: all of them related to you. He’d lost weight, he realized, as he looked in the mirror for the first time in those two weeks. His eyes had sunken into his face, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pale and his hands clammy, the action of even brushing his teeth tedious and tiresome from the lack of food and sleep. 

Closing the bathroom door behind him, he fell back onto his bed, his hand reaching for his phone to check for any news. 

Nothing.

Again.

So he pulled up the voice message you’d sent him a few months ago- he’d been complaining about missing you while on a two month excavation job in Russia- and played it, your sweet voice playing through the speakers, the sound lulling him back to sleep. He’d played it so much that he’d memorized what you said word by word, but it gave him something to cling to and he refused to let that go.

The last thought he had before sleep overtook him was the fear that this might be the closest thing he’d get to hearing your voice again.

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“Steve.”

Fucking hell.

Natasha was calling him again, except this time she was shaking him awake, her hands gently prodding his side and moving his body back and forth. He stretched out with a groan, trying to shake her off- he’d been having a pleasant dream with you in it that he didn’t want to stop dreaming. But she was persistent.

“What.” he snapped, sitting upright and rubbing his tired eyes. His harsh expression fell when he saw the tears in her eyes, tears of relief, as a watery smile spread across her face.

“They found her. (Y/n)’s back home.” 

Time seemed to slow down as he sprinted towards the first floor, his fingers anxiously hitting the same elevator button over and over again and as the metal doors slid open, his bare feet padding against the cold cement floor, he ran.

Ran faster than he ever did before.

And there you were.

Tony was scolding you about something while placing an ice pack on your head, Bruce wrapping a gauze around your midsection while Wanda said something that caused you to laugh before wincing in pain. Based on a quick glance, it looked like you’d been through hell and back. Your hair was a mess, dried blood and mud coloring your face, a blue bruise forming on your left cheek, your fingernails chipped, a deep gash on your waist and right leg that was now being taped up... 

It looked like you hadn’t slept very well either, your eyes tired but your gaze still hopeful and kind as you thanked Tony and took the ice pack from him. Your eyes lit up as soon as you heard your name being whispered by Steve, the same sound you’d been playing in your head every night while trying to find a way out of the fucking forest Hydra had dumped you in after you escaped. 

A broken sob left his mouth as soon as you crashed into him, your steps faltering and not perfect from your injuries, but he closed the gap immediately, salty tears pouring down his face as he pulled you into his arms and started to smooth your hair. 

“Where’ve you been?” his voice came out shaky and uncertain, his fingers desperately grabbing at your flesh, his brain needing a confirmation that this was all real. “You’re real, right? Not a hallucination?”

You laughed quietly, squeezing him tightly.

“I’m real, promise. Hydra got me and I managed to escape but I had no idea where I was. Took me two fucking weeks to get out of that forest with no direction and no means of communication.” 

Steve was silent for a few moments, his lips kissing your forehead and his numb fingers stroking your cheek. A sweet kiss later and he was finally smiling at you, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Language.” 

And the laugh that escaped your lips was a stark reminder that he wasn’t dreaming. This was real, and he buried his face into your hair.

He’d gone two weeks without you. He wasn’t going to let you go so easily. 

[awkward-tension-art]

Put on a Show

So @weebsinstash has an incredible yandere!erasermic x reader series go read everything they write, its fantastic

I wanted to play around with the idea too, so i asked for permission on anon lol.

enjoy this full 2,090 words

Warning: yandere themes, yandere!erasermic, League of Villains, fear, mentions of past torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, implied  Spinner x Reader, kissing, Villain origin story, female pronouns used for reader, (if i missed a tag lmk)

You ran. You ran as fast and as far as you could. Your bare feet hit the wet ground, cursing as you stumbled. Your hands hit the mud, but you didn’t stop.

Even when your lungs screamed.

Even when your muscles burned.

You kept going.

With luck, a razor and your own wits you had managed to escape that hell house. You’d managed to escape from the clutches of your obsessed demons. 

At the slight thought of your tormentors, the now healed break in your leg aches all over again. 

Keep going.

Keep going.

KEEP GOING.

The woods betrayed you before, but hopefully, the downpour may erase your footprints. A branch latched onto your shoulder and you screeched. Memories of Aizawa’s cruel grasp flooded your mind. You slipped on the wet ground, tumbling down a slight incline. 

Dazed, confused and hurt, you ignored your pain and kept going. Desperation and adrenaline kept you going.

Do not stop.

Do not stop.

You looked down to avoid losing your eyes to another branch, only to embarrassingly run straight into a tree. Your body fell back, landing harshly on the mud.

You heard a groan.

Trees do not groan.

Fear overran your systems as you slowly, shakily looked up.

In front of you was a man covered in green scales. He looked more like a lizard, than an actual human, but you quickly guessed that was his quirk. But, he wasn’t alone.

A scarred man with piercings. A teenage girl with blond hair. Another man with a mask. And lastly…

You recognized him from the news.

Shigaraki.

The League Of Villains

“What the hell,” The lizard-man hissed, rubbing his head, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

You took your chances.

“Please…” you gasped, looking up at the white haired leader, “Help me.”

It took approximately 3 seconds to be taken from the forest. The scarred man, Dabi you learned, pulled out his phone and called Kurogiri, their method of transport. 

Spinner, surprisingly like a gentleman, helped you stand and introduced himself. 

Not a second later your vision was filled with black and you were out of the rain.

Out of the cold.

Out of the monsters’ clutches.

Instead, you found yourself in a surprisingly comfortable bar scene. It was warm, bright, and quite homey.

Shigaraki continued to stare at you, his red eyes giving away nothing. The blonde however, hovered, as she began to talk. You couldn’t keep up, exhaustion slowing your mind and mental process. All you managed to register is ‘blood’.

A tall woman spoke up first, “oh dear, look at you. You look like a wet rat.” She inspected you before standing straight, “Let me get you something dry.You can call my Big Sis Magne!”

You nodded, managing a small “thank you,” as she rushed out of the room to come back with a dry towel, draping it over you.

‘Huh, it smells nice,’ you thought, wrapping it around your shoulders, taking in the small comfort. Almost like roses and lavender…

The leader finally spoke up, “Who are you?”

That was the question. That one simple question caused the dam to burst. You broke down, telling them everything. The torture, the abuse, the agony, all by the hands of two supposed heroes. You went over every grueling, painful detail, tears pouring down your face. 

They knew of your captors and torture before they even knew your name.

With every word, The league members, especially Dabi, became more and more disgusted and angry. You didn’t even finish when Spinner offered a kind hand for you to hold onto. 

“P-please,” you finally managed, “D-don’t send me back…”

Shigaraki scoffed, “Heroes think they can just do whatever they want huh? Well fuck ‘em. Eraserhead and Present Mic want their precious treasure back? Well too bad. It’s ours now.”

Big Sis Magne let out a happy laugh, “Oh good! Another girl! If you ask me, only having Toga around was getting to be too much.” She took your other free hand, “We’re gonna be such a good team, those nasty heroes won’t know what hit them.”

“I can’t wait to make them pay with their blood,” Toga smiled, her golden eyes shining with excitement. Dabi remained silent, but Spinner gave you a kind smile. “What a show it will be! You, coming face to face with those demons, and having us at your back!” The one with the mask, Mr.Compress, finally spoke, giving a theatrical hand wave.

With every word, you felt your shoulders get lighter. 

“Now,” The leader, your new leader, spoke up, “Tell me all about your quirk, and those pieces of garbage that hurt you.”

When Shouta and Hizashi returned home, they knew something was wrong. The house seemed...cold. You were not in the living room, nor the kitchen. 

They assumed this was one of your bad days. Where you’d sleep until it was late at night, only so you can avoid them.

Quickly, that changed. 

The closer Shouta got to your door, the more he felt his gut twist. The air seemed wet and almost humid.

“Hey, are you awake in there?” He knocked, concerned, “I’m coming in!” 

When he opened the door, the wet air made sense. Your window was open, rain poured in from the storm outside. The carpet and everything else by the window was soaked, giving the hero a clue that you’ve been gone a while. 

“HIZASHI!” The black haired male called out, darting into the room. Desperately he looked around, only to look up when he heard his husband cry out. 

“She’s gone! Our songbird is gone!!” He panicked, aiding Shouta in his desperate search. The couple tore apart the house, hoping this was something else. Hoping you didn’t leave through the window. 

They hoped and prayed, only for their optimism to be dashed when their search turned up empty. 

“We need to go after her!” The blonde hero cried, “s-she could be hurt! She doesn’t know how to take care of herself!!” 

Shouta was already preparing to venture outside. He was at the door when he turned to look at his severely distressed husband, “stay here. In case she comes back, I’ll go look for her.” 

With that, Eraserhead ran out of the front door of the house, hoping to find you in the woods. 

Days became weeks became months. With every passing hour, you felt happier and lighter. Your spirit and soul were healing. It will take time, but you knew you were able to recover. You had escaped, and found a family who would ride or die with you. 

You’d ride or die with them. 

Spinner was especially kind to you. He was a gentleman, always asking before touching. You spent most of your free time with him when he or you weren’t gone collecting information or searching for members. 

You still weren't comfortable going on missions by yourself. Most of the them were with Dabi, Big Sis Magne or Jin, who you’d met shortly after your joining. Despite the short time with them, you felt like you belonged. You helped them, they helped you. You became a part of their family. 

They’d even gone so far as to get your cat Mochi back. Dabi simply dumped the kitty on your lap and walked away without saying anything. You missed your feline friend, and now in the league, he gets all the love the villains could muster. 

They try to keep sudden loud noises to a minimum. Occasionally a surprise yell or sound would happen, but someone was always quick to jump to your defense. 

It was mostly Shigaraki, but he’d apologize begrudgingly.

Even he wasn’t so bad. You had gone with Toga to get him a new controller, and he’s tolerated you ever since (maybe even respect you after you managed to beat him to a quick video game match). 

This was your life. This was your freedom. 

This was what you wanted. 

It’s been hell without you. Shouta and Hizashi were in hell. It’s been months since the eraser hero found your footprints surrounded by others. It’s been months of searching. Months of desperation to rescue you from your kidnappers. That’s the only logical reason for your disappearance. 

You were kidnapped. 

You needed them. You needed your lovers. 

But they couldn’t save you. 

Some nights Shouta would wake up alone. He’d be cold and lonely. Slowly he’d walk to your room, and find his blonde husband asleep, holding your favorite pillow. 

It stopped smelling like you a while ago. 

With every passing day their hope waned. With every passing hour their hearts ached. 

Shouta finally broke down one night. When he woke up alone again he wandered to your room, finding Hizashi in his usual position. Instead of being asleep, the blonde’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs and cries. 

The Eraser hero sat on the bed and held his husband, not bothering to muffle his own weeping. 

This isn’t what they wanted. 

The view from the roof was both beautiful and hilarious. You orchestrated a nomu attack, remaining hidden. Spinner was accompanying you. The others were scattered around the city, taking in the chaos. 

You remembered those roads and streets. You walked them for so long. 

Until those bastards stole you. 

Now, with your life in the league, you could stroll down the sidewalk again. You could see the sky and feel the sun. 

You could punish heroes for abandoning you. For letting you get kidnapped. 

A smile graced your lips. The chaos of the nomu was beautiful. 

There was a flash of black in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head. Slowly, your smile grew at the sight of Eraserhead struggling to take down the brutish monster. 

Only to have your smile fade when Present Mic saves him. 

“Ugh, I hate them.” You growled, “I see them and I hate them.” 

Spinner looked up from his spot on the roof. He swished his tail once before following your gaze to your distant tormentors.  

“You should put on a show,” he put a hand on your shoulder, “drive ‘em even more bat shit.”

You laughed warmly, the idea of breaking their hearts even more gave you infinite joy. 

“Mind if I use you?” You asked, preparing to use your quirk. 

With the villains you have gotten stronger. Your quirk was a weapon. A strong, powerful, useful weapon. 

You’re the opposite of what Shouta and Hizashi said over and over again. 

They can’t tell you that you're weak. Not anymore. 

There was a tipped over bus, and that’s where you planted the illusion. 

You and Spinner, hand in hand. 

Oh this is gonna be good. 

When they dealt with the Nomu, Hizashi looked to the bus, and even from a distance, you could see his eyes widen. 

“S-songbird!” 

You gagged, and Spinner laughed softly beside you.

Shouta looked up, meeting the illusions gaze. 

You feared he’d use his quirk, destroying your fun, but he didn’t, at least not in that instant. 

“G-get away from her!” The black haired male shouted, his black eyes trained on fake-spinner. 

“No,” the illusion spoke, “I think your precious songbird belongs to me.”

The illusion of spinner pulled illusion you closer. The illusion of you looking bashful.

Shouta prepared an attack, jumping up in the air to do so. Hizashi prepared his own quirk, apparently ok with sacrificing your well-being to get you. 

You cause fake-spinner to dip fake-you into a deep kiss. 

That was apparently distracting enough to cause Present Mic to choke on air, and Eraserhead to stumble and miss his attack. 

“Come on my sweet,” fake-you cooed, “let’s go.” 

You created one more illusion, covering the two fakes in smoke, making them disappear. 

As you finished with your quirk, you rubbed your temples. 

Spinner laughed beside you, “m-my sweet! Oh my god you killed me.” 

You gave a faint smile, that only grew when you heard Hizashi’s mournful howling. 

Spinner and you peered over the edge of the roof, and spotted the two of them breaking down. The blonde was wailing. You swear you saw his fat tears from your position. 

Shouta just looked broken. He looked absolutely devastated.

Maybe a long time ago that sight would have hurt you. 

You made eye contact with your partner next to you. 

“My sweet,” you teased, promptly bursting into laughter.

“Let’s go! Before they hear us!” Spinner tried to shush you, failing with his own giggling. 

You nodded and grabbed his hand. 

“Let’s go then,” you winked, “my sweet.”

The both of you fled, making your way to Jin and Toga. 

You smiled at the sight of them, only feeling happier as more of your family of villains got together. 

This is exactly where you wanted to be. 

A villain, to make those heroes suffer.