#HE'S FREEZING SITTING ON THAT BALCONY FOR A YEAR

[lazy-cat13]

chat I'm not doing well

[yourlittlebunnyy]

fawn -tamlin x reader

masterlist

summary: Y/n is the youngest Archeron sister. The Cauldon trasforms her into a fairy, and there's only one certain thing in her life: she doesn't belong in the Night Court.

warnings: slightly suggestive, Tamlin (haters step back🙏🤺)

wc: 5,5k

enjoy😉

The Cauldron made you a fairy. A fairy. You scoff at the thought. Nesta has become death itself, Elain a seer. You a stupid, little, useless fairy.

That day, when Fae warriors came into your and your sisters' home and forced you into that place, you never thought you would end up with pearl-colored wings and be able to talk to flowers.

You've always been shy, you've always made yourself small in front of others, and when they threw you into that pile of magic, the Cauldron was generous, in the telling of your sister's lover.

"You went in last. It could have given you nothing, as it could have killed you, but it gave you wings. And flowers, plants, and everything a fairy possesses. You shouldn't pout." But you never asked for that.

When they pulled you out everyone's eyes were on you. How could they not? They had never seen such a thing. Sure, the Cauldron could turn a mortal into a Fae, but a fairy?

You didn't look anyone in the face that day, or the weeks that followed.

"I would like to learn to fly," you once said to Azriel. He replied that he could not teach you, that the fairies belonged to the Court of Spring and that even there they were so rare and secretive that no one knew anything about them.

"But you have wings, too. You just need to teach me how to move them. Please."

Azriel shook his head, a neutral expression on his face.

"I can't. Besides helping you support its weight, your wings are shaped differently from mine, they are smaller and more fragile. I cannot put your life in danger." The authoritative tone makes it clear that the conversation is over. You would have hoped to find a friend in him. Instead, every time you try to talk to him, his gaze has only coldness to offer. Perhaps all his warmth-which doesn't seem much to you at this point-is reserved for Elain.

So, for you, the days go on with no clear meaning. You are not allowed to leave the house, and you can only afford to observe Velaris, such a beautiful city and full of life, from the balcony of the house.

When Feyre returns, you thought for a moment that things would finally change. That she would convince someone to help you get to know your new form, your new being. But you were okay, sure, you were a little confused, but you were living. Elain was much sicker, and all your sisters' priorities belonged to her.

You found comfort in Lucien instead. A charming, red-haired Fae who had lived in the Spring Court for years. That's how you became friends: no one would take you into consideration, and you were desperate for some information, some help. And Lucien fortunately seemed to have answers to your questions.

"I remember you. That day, I mean." You and Lucien are playing chess. It is rare that you talk about that day, but sometimes it happens. You don't care much, talking about it with him has helped you in the past, "Actually, I don't remember much. I remember what Tamlin reminded me of."

Now that's new. Never once had the Fae told her about his High Lord turning his back on her sister. She knew something about it, but she didn't know the whole story.

"Did Tamlin recall to you about that day?" She asks a little incredulously. Lucien nods and tightens his lips, makes a move with a chessman, and a feline smile lights up his face.

"I think...," he freezes for a moment, as if to think carefully about his next words, "he's playing some kind of double game, with Hybern. To get information. He's a good male, only sometimes he struggles to show it."

You feel a twinge in your heart. You don't know why, you should be furious with the man who took your life to give you this. The man who hurt Feyre so deeply. But the way Lucien talks about it, with so much regret....

You are sitting on the armchair in your room, already wearing your nightwear. You have a book in your hands and are completely immersed in reading, so much that you don't hear someone's footsteps outside your door. You gasp when they knock. You place the book in the small coffee table, and you don't bother to fix yourself: Lucien had told you he would come by and deliver a few things before he leaves Velaris for good. You get sad at the thought.

When you open the door you find not the familiar face, but Feyre's.

"Hey." She greets you. You return the greeting and wait for her to tell you why she is here. Although your new life started off on the wrong foot, feeling ignored by your family and useless, everything healed over time. Now the relationship between you and Feyre is closer than ever, Nesta is doing well, Elain is working on it. You have also learned to accept your sister's Fae friends. You even talk to them from time to time.

"I'm sad that Lucien is leaving. Especially for you" You nod, you know there is something else she is not telling you, "You know how much I told you about the High Lords meeting? I'd like you to come too, if you feel like it." You don't hesitate when you say yes. Your sister told you that not everyone had confirmed their attendance, of whom Tamlin. And she did not tell you about what happened with him. But something inside you urges you to go and meet him. It's for my being, you think, I just want answers, that's why I'm so impatient.

That night you struggle to sleep. At dawn you stop tossing and turning in bed and start getting ready, by now you give up: you won't rest that night anyway.

"You look wonderful" Feyre's words make you smile. She takes Azriel's hand, and in the blink of an eye they transmute into the palace of the Court of Dawn.

After greeting the others politely, you realize that Tamlin is not coming. You do not understand the reason for the disappointment you feel. Perhaps it is even better, so you avoid any awkward situation that might arise with your sister and Rhysand.

The meeting begins, and it is just as you start to disassociate yourself from the High Lords' boring talk that Tamlin appears.

He is alone. You don't remember him from that day in the Cauldron. But he is as you always imagined him. His blond hair reaches a little below his shoulders, clearly unkempt. His green eyes remind you of the blossoming plains. His skin tone is a rosy tint, his facial features delicate, almost princely. He is the very definition of spring, you think. He is a beautiful man, and you understand why his sister was once in love with him.

The silence in the air is tense. Tamlin looks at each person and takes his time with each one. And when he gets to you -- you feel his gaze run through your body, but you ignore him. You make a mistake, though. You look up too soon and meet his eyes. And now the thing is clear as day to you, what you feel in the center of your chest.

A bond.

Tamlin is your mate.

His expression turns surprised, his lips tight and his jaw contracted. He doesn't say anything. He moves on to the next person as if he hadn't heard it himself. But you can't contain yourself, and before you can stop it, a gasp escapes your mouth and tears cloud your eyes. You back away, stumbling back in your chair.

"Are you all right?" Feyre asks you, visibly concerned. You do not answer, but it is Beron, High Lord of the Court of Autumn, Tamlin's friend, who answers for you.

"A bond." He says simply, his tone both haughty and amused. Feyre sniffs the air, looks at you. Then she looks at Tamlin. And then back at you again. The look in his eyes... Rhysand says something, but everything around you is a blur.

First the Cauldron made you a useless fairy. Next the Mother punished you by tying you to Tamlin.

You listen to no one, with hurried steps you leave the room. No one follows you. Good, you think, I don't have to explain myself to anyone for a while.

With one exception, someone has followed you. Your body recognizes him before you do, your heart beats wildly, and you could cry from how wrong this all simply is. Your sister was going to marry this man. And she didn't, she ran away because he did something terrible to her, and now it was going to be your turn.

You stop in the middle of the hallway, and Tamlin grabs your arm gently, leading you into a small room. You try to ignore how such a soft touch puts a pleasant twinge in your stomach. No, you would never do that to your sister.

When you enter, no one says anything for a while and you feel his gaze on you, making you blush. He doesn't even know your name, probably.

As if he hears your thoughts, the Fae speaks to you. "Y/n." His serious tone makes you set your eyes on his. This is so wrong, yet looking at your mate feels like the right thing to do.

"How-how do you know my name?"

Tamlin smiles at your words. An expression so different from the one you saw on his face when he first walked in. It fits him, you think, and fear invades your senses because of the things you realize you would do, because of that smile...

"I remember it ... from that day, with the Cauldron..." Your body stiffens, as if remembering who the male in front of you really is. What he did to you. What he has done to your family.

It doesn't matter that he is your mate, you think. Your body may react to his look and touch, but you will not be betrayed by it.

Tamlin probably feels your emotions through the bond, and with a step forward he grabs your arm gently. He needs to touch you, and you don't realize how much you needed him to touch you, too. You welcome his warmth without fighting back.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I'm not just saying this because you are my mate, " Both of you seem to feel satisfaction when he says such words, the bond in your chest seems to glow and sing "I... had to do terrible things to protect my court. To protect Prythian. It was not in the plan to do such a thing to you."

You think about his words, his eyes shining with sincerity. Lucien has told you things that would explain Tamlin's words, that actually make him a good male.

"Tamlin." To the sound of his name on your lips, the man suppresses a growl. "I... Lucien has been telling me things. And I believe you, and I believe you are good male. But the thing with my sister..."

The look in the Fae's eyes becomes embarrassed, and the emotions you feel through the bond are a mixture of shame and remorse. You don't know what happened between the two, but it must have been really difficult if it causes him such a reaction.

"I regret how I behaved. What I did. I was broken, as was she, and I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to protect her, and to this day I realize my mistakes."

You study his face. You find nothing but honesty and pure feelings, and he is really putting your instincts to the test. He's so handsome that you want to jump on him, but on the other side of the coin-you still don't know if you can trust him. But he's your mate, and he deserves at least a chance. There's such a battle inside your head.

"I forgive you. For the Cauldron, I mean. I don't know if she has forgiven you, or will but..." Your hand moves to his where he still holds your arm, both of you smiling. "I think you deserve a second chance, Tamlin. And I -- I'd like to try."

The smile he gives you, so genuine that it makes his eyes sparkle with brightness, makes you realize deep down that you made the right choice.

You have not made the right choice.

Neither you nor Tamlin ever returned to the meeting.

When you see your sister and the Inner Circle again, they are all furious with you. As if you chose the bond. You scoff at their looks.

"You disappeared all day with Tamlin. Do you realize that? What was I supposed to think you were doing with your mate, huh? Do you realize who we're talking about?" Rhysand yells at you. Feyre, who does not look angry but grieved, lays a hand on his arm, and after what seems like a brief mental conversation, the High Lord comes out with one last murderous look directed at you. Tears sting your eyes.

"Y/n, he didn't mean to be so mean, it's just that they have so many unfinished business..."

"What about you? What unfinished business do you have with him? Why do you all hate him here? And I'm not talking about the alliance with Hybern."

"None, Y/n. I have none. I have had my revenge. In all sincerity I wish him the best. And I want the best for you, too. So if you-if you've talked to him and he seems to-you seem to like him I won't have anything against you, or him, if you accept the bond." Saying these words seems like a great effort for her, but you appreciate it very much. Mor grimaces.

"No one? That male locked you up - no, he let you drown locked up inside his house. Don't you remember what condition I found you in? Well, in case you don't remember, I'll remind you, Y/n. That male after she was turned into a Fae locked her up in a room, denied her every single space of freedom until she went crazy and we rescued her. So don't-"

"Enough, Mor." Feyre says annoyed.

"You want the best for your sister, and you send her into Tamlin's arms without warning her what he would do to her?"

You are speechless. Tears wet your cheeks.

"But he told me-he told me he regretted it. That he was just as broken as you and that he just wanted to protect you..."

"Those are just words, Y/n. But in actions--what do you think is keeping him from doing the same thing to you? We will have no right to rescue you and bring you back here, because you are in fact his. Think carefully about what you want to do with such an individual." And with these words, Mor leaves the room, leaving you whimpering and afraid. Feyre approaches you and wraps you in a hug.

"Everything will be all right. I know you are afraid, honey. You just try, never stop trying, okay? You don't have to accept the bond right away. Even when you move in with him, if you decide to, you can wait and see if it's worth it. And in case it's not worth it, you can always come back as a free woman."

"I thought you hated him."

"No. Everyone deserves happiness, honey."

Before you can even consider your sister's words, war breaks out. Tamlin takes Hybern's side, but as you expected, it actually turns out to be all a double-cross.

You can feel his emotions through the bond, and you know he can feel yours, too. Sometimes your dreams come together and you are able to talk. If you were uncertain about trying before, now you are convinced.

Once you even woke up in the middle of the night. The bond in your chest overflowing with emotion - lust. Excitement. Pleasure. It didn't take long to realize that your mate was pleasuring himself. Just the thought of it was able to make you damp between your legs, and you discreetly slipped a hand under the sheets and touched yourself fantasizing Tamlin in front of you, rubbing his hard cock with one hand, while his eyes were fixed on yours. You reached your climax in the same moment he did, and you could have sworn you heard his laughter on the other side of the bond.

It was also the first time you tried to touch that bond, pulling on that sort of golden thread that connects the two of you. Tamlin responded by doing the same, and when you went back to sleep, you fell asleep with a smile. That night you dreamed about how your mate taught you how to fly.

The next day you were not able to look anyone in the face, though.

But that was a long time ago.

Now you are not in the comforting warmth of your bed. You are in a tent in a war camp and you are freezing. Your body shakes as you try to rub your hands together. Your wings are sore and have taken on a worrying purple tint, you are almost tempted to go to some healer's tent and ask for an extra blanket, but surely they would be full of injured people, and they would need it much more than you do.

A wave of warmth through the bond radiates through you, and you are grateful to have Tamlin right now, but it doesn't stop there. He touches the bond, like he did all those nights ago, and you find yourself out of your sleeping bag, but not to go to the healers. You meet no one as you head to the Spring Court camps. Your heart pounds - you haven't seen Tamlin since that day at the High Lords meeting. A slight blush covers your cheeks. How will you look that charming male in the face after what you did that night?

You don't know which tent is his, but your body seems to know. The bond takes you straight to him. You can smell him - citrus and spice - even before you see him. You enter without even knocking or warning of your presence, aware that he is able to feel your closeness just as you are able to feel his.

"I've been waiting for you." The male offers you a mesmerizing smile. He is different from how you had seen him. He has cut his hair, and it now reaches just below his ears. He no longer has such dark circles under his eyes and looks decades younger. He is now the living definition of spring more than ever. The mere sight of the man could bring you to your knees.

"Hey." You greet him softly, still a little embarrassed. He notices, because his smile now turns feline. You're my little prey and I want to play with you, he seems to say. Only now do you notice a pungent note in his scent - blood. Your worry fills the bond. Yet you have felt no pain through it lately.

He seems to sense the direction of your thoughts, because he shifts his gaze from your figure to his chest. That's where he bleeds. He has been wounded in the chest.

"Tamlin... You're bleeding." He nods, then offers you a reassuring look.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a little scratch. You, on the other hand, looked very cold earlier." He cannot hide his concern.

"It's already better here, much warmer." You still feel the tips of your wings sore, though.

"To get to such a situation you must have been freezing for a long time, Y/n. Didn't they teach you how to take care of your wings in this situation?"

"Not really-I tried to ask, but I never got an answer." The anger on his face is impossible to mask. He takes a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

"'Brute bastards." He hisses through his teeth. You feel in awe at his words; they are still your sisters' family.

"Tamlin..."

"No, Y/n. I'm fine, but you...fairy wings are different from Illyrian wings. They should have done some fucking research. You could have lost them, and do you know how painful that is? You could still be losing them." He finally realizes, and jerks around to get his blanket from his sleeping bag. It's thick and woolen, and as he wraps it around you, it smells of him in the best way.

"You're taking care of me." He looks at you surprised.

"Of course I'm taking care of you, Y/n."

"I want to take care of you, too. These days I've treated the cuts of the wounded, I can help you." Tamlin lets out a low growl, then shakes his head. He sits you down on his sleeping bag and positions himself next to you. Shoulder to shoulder. Even this small contact, divided by several layers of fabric, is capable of making your heart race.

"Please, mate. Let me take care of you." Tamlin sighs, then murmurs an unenthusiastic consent. You get up with the blanket still tangled around you, leave the tent without a word, and return a few minutes later with gauze, alcohol, and a clean bandage. You freeze in the doorway when you realize the man has taken off his shirt.

A shirtless male body was no stranger to you. You had often accompanied your sisters to see their males working out. You had gotten to appreciate the muscles. But Tamlin... seeing your semi-nude mate activates something in you, something similar to that night when you came with his name on your lips. You blush and approach slowly, he still has his back to you, as if he didn't hear you come in.

"Didn't they tell you it's rude to stare?" You know he's only joking, yet you still get embarrassed. Yes, you are used to a shirtless male. But to a shirtless male flirting with you? Absolutely not.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, but the thing that cools your blood is the wound you see ripping through his chest as he turns around. You look at him surprised, anguish and disquiet flow freely through the bond.

"It's nothing, Y/n. I'll live." You find it ironic how he is the injured one, yet you are the one being comforted. You approach in silence, your eyes fixed on the injury, and let him rest his back on the sleeping bag. You kneel beside him, the blanket now forgotten on the ground, and soak the gauze with alcohol.

"Put the blanket back on, Y/n. It's cold." You ignore him, focused on wetting every last millimeter of the fabric. Tamlin is about to get up, but you place a hand on his chest, blocking him. The contact with his warm skin makes your cheeks warm, but the blood on his chest freezes them.

"What is it?"

"The blanket. Put it on."

"No, I'll be uncomfortable while I medicate you." Tamlin growls when you answer him. You snort a laugh, protective males. "Do you find my worry funny, fawn?"

"Fawn?" You startle at the nickname.

"Don't change the subject, put it on."

"But I'm uncomfortable, Tam."

"Then sit on my lap and wrap it around both of us." You don't let him tell you twice. You do as he says and start dressing his wound, which reeks of Faebane. That's why it didn't heal. You notice Tamlin clenching his teeth from the burning and as if on instinct, you reach down to kiss his chest above the wound. At the level of his heart. You both smile, but do not utter a word. When you finish bandaging his cut, you give him another gentle kiss, this time over the bandage.

"So you heal sooner and feel better." You smile at him.

"You are such a little fairy."

"Is that an insult?"

"No, fawn, how could I ever."

You don't converse much longer, the fatigue of battle preventing you from doing so. You get off his lap and lie down beside him on top of the sleeping bag. You remove the blanket and he seems to inspect your wings. A satisfied expression appears on his face and without needing a word, you remove the blanket and use it to cover yourselves. Just five minutes, you think, then I go back to my tent or I'll risk worrying my sisters.

Five minutes turns into the whole night.

When you wake up, Tamlin is not there. You are under the sleeping bag, though. You smile at the thought. His side is cold, and you wonder how long you slept for. You get up and stretch, and take some time to poke around his tent, something you didn't do the night before. There isn't much there, but you were expecting it. You find a blanket with a note.

Take care of your wings.

You smile like a little girl under her Christmas tree. You leave the blanket there, but take his instead. It smells like him.

A little alarm bell rings in your head. Oh, God. Your sisters must be worried sick. You quickly grab your new blanket and run through the camps until you get to your tent. God, why did they put the Night Court and the Spring Court at opposite ends? It's an almost 10-minute walk.

You enter your tent panting where you find a very, very worried Feyre.

"Are you crazy! Where have you been!" She shouts without even looking at you. But then she does. She smells Tamlin's familiar scent on you. His blanket in your hands.

"Feyre...I can explain, I swear-" She turns a mocking smile on you.

"Ooookay. Maybe next time you warn before you leave. You gave us a scare!" She says without even time for you to respond, leaving you standing in the middle of your tent like a fool.

You and Tamlin have a kind of unwritten agreement. In the evening he pulls the bond slightly and you join him in his tent. The Inner Circle knows this, but says nothing about it. It's better that way. Once Nesta even came to call you, making Tamlin chuckle and you die of embarrassment.

He never tried to do anything more than cuddle you. And you are fine with that. You don't want your first time with your mate to be in a war camp, on a sleeping bag, with the screams of the wounded in the background. One time he even took you to the top of a hill and you stayed and watched the stars until dawn, then he had to go back to fighting, and you had to go back to helping the healers.

You are afraid to admit it to yourself, but you are falling in love with that wonderful man. And you are afraid of not knowing what will happen once the war is over.

The fear of not knowing doesn't last long, though. Because the war is over. Hybern has died by the hands of your sisters, and Rhys has even died and risen again. You meet Tamlin as the camps are being shown.

"Hey, fawn." He says, smiling at you.

"Hey, Tam." You return his smile, but a motion of sadness contorts your lips into a grimace. Tears are quick to stream down your face. You don't want to cry in front of everyone. Tamlin seems to understand this, because he grabs your arm and within moments you are on the hill where he took you to see the stars a few nights ago.

"It's nothing, it's just ... I don't want us to be apart." Tamlin can swear he feels his heart break and recompose itself at the same time at your words, at your tone. At the emotions you are sharing with him.

"Neither do I, y/n. Neither do I."

Tamlin kisses you. It's sudden and unexpected. It is not a real kiss: he simply lays his lips on yours. His hands caress your face gently. After a few moments, you relax and respond to the kiss with just as much sweetness. Just as much love.

"Come home with me, Y/n. Come stay with me at the Spring Court." You think about his words. The words of the male you are in love with, your mate. Your heart tightens with happiness at those words. You will think of your sisters later: for now you just want to be in Tamlin's arms.

"Yes."

Communicating this to Feyre was easier than expected, and since you had nothing significant in Velaris, you went straight home with Tamlin.

The Spring Court is... beautiful, breath-taking even. You can't hide the warmth in your chest, the feeling of home it communicates. And seeing your mate in the place where he belongs enhances the experience.

It is warmer than the dry cold of the camps, and you begin to sweat under the layers of heavy clothing. Tamlin notices, and invites you to follow him inside his palace until you reach a bedroom.

You take time to look around. The house seems full of life, smells of flowers and nature, and glows with gold. It is different from what you expected: Rhysand had mentioned, years ago, that he had paid a visit to the High Lord of the Spring Court, and found him in a miserable condition. And like him, so was his house. But to you that sounds like a far definition from reality.

The room he takes you to is beautiful. It is very different from the typical ones in the Night Court. There the wood is dark, the floors are rough, and everything looks like it's been through a battle. They're not ugly, they're just - gloomy.

While the Court of Spring is full of light and warm colors. The bed frame is made of a light, delicate wood and is carved with flowers and leaves. The room does not have much besides the well-prepared bed. There is a closet that echoes the pattern of the headboard, and Tamlin heads straight there.

He opens it, revealing a surprising amount of clothing.

"You can choose whatever you like, I'll wait outside." He smiles at you and you smile back.

You leave the room wearing a new dress. It is the one you liked most. It makes you feel like a fairy, but positively. It is definitely better than what you wear in the Court of Night. The fabric is softer, the pinkish white of the skirt is a color you've never seen before but already love. Tamlin's face lights up as soon as he sees you.

"You look beautiful in my Court clothes, Y/n." Your cheeks take on a rosy hue as you whisper a vague thanks. He holds out his hand to you and you immediately take it. Without a word, he begins to drag you through the corridors you admire all the way to outside. Into the gardens.

As soon as your eyes meet such beauty ... your breath catches in your throat. Your mind immediately wanders to your sister, Elain. How she would love it.

Your mate looks at you smugly.

"Do you like it?" You can do nothing but nod. Tears well up in your eyes at the relief you feel, and you realize you have lifted a burden, the opression of the Night Court.

The words come out of your mouth before you can even think them, let alone stop them, "I want to accept the bond."

Tamlin looks surprised. "What?"

"I-obviously if you want to. But-"

Your mate interrupts by kissing you. You are surprised the first few moments, but you quickly recover, responding to the kiss. The bond in the center of your chest seems to sing with joy.

"Now?" He asks when he pulls away from your lips, a gentle blush covers his cheeks and he is short of breath. He has never looked so good. You nod.

"A little further on there are some fruit trees. If you want we can go there."

You nod, and he takes you by the hand, fingers interlocked with yours, and once again leads you to some fruit trees. You take the opportunity to admire the beauty of his court again. Which will now become yours as well.

You stop in front of a loquat tree. In a comforting silence you turn to pick a fruit. You have nothing with you, and you struggle a little to peel it. You split it in half and offer it directly in front of his lips. He bites into the loquat with his eyes on yours. He finishes the whole fruit.

The bond seems to rejoice and shine and seems to unite your two souls even more than before. His gaze communicates to you that you have a long day ahead. A long night, too.

He kisses you fervently, his hands gripping your hips making you moan in the kiss. You didn't expect to feel this way. Sure, your sisters told you something about the frenzy ... but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. The intensity of what you feel is almost overwhelming.

You pull away from the kiss with a heavy breath. Tamlin's predatory gaze, the lust in the look, is impossible to mask.

"Fawn... tell me no now, or I won't be able to stop later." You don't even think about saying no. You desire him as you have never desired anyone. You want to feel him all over.

"Please, Tamlin. I want to be yours."

You spend all afternoon making love on the fields, careless of who might see you. You return only when it begins to get dark. A huge smile on your face.

You made the right choice.

@rcarbo1

[fuk3d]

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warning(s): Mentions of neglect, verbal abuse, and self-doubt.

Word Count: 1,074

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time getting back into writing fanfic since 2016 LMAOOO. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is pure shit so pls feel free to give me constructive criticism. AND PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE'S MISTAKES CUZ THATS EMBARRASSING HAHA. Also writings cringe as hell so soz.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday | Chapter 2: Distant Memories

The Wayne resident felt empty, soulless, cold, and you couldn't bare the stillness of it all. So you step out onto the balcony, coffee in hand with the chilling air biting at your fingers harshly. You absentmindedly sipped on your coffee, the warm sensation from your cup steadily combating the freezing cold. The garden's atmosphere was filled with tranquility, the sun's rays slowly touching everything in its path. 

If only it could be like this forever.

You breathe in a shaky sigh and flutter your eyes to a gentle close, small puffs of air exit your mouth as you exhale out slowly. This would be the last time you’ll be gazing down at the alluring range of flowers scattered across the garden, its colours radiating brightly from the warm sunrise as it gently caressed the horizon. You can’t help but think back to all of your greatest achievements, your not so finest moments, and the bitter reminder of lonely memories that are left dormant inside your mind.

What more could I have done? Why didn’t I try harder? Why? Why, why, why, wh-

“Young (Name)? Are you alright? It’s cold out there, you should come back inside, where it’s warm.” Your eyes snap back open and you turn your body to face your family butler, Alfred. You blink, then you blink again, until you sputter out your reply with a wobbly smile. “Alfred! I’m- I’m fine, I just wanted to have my coffee out on the balcony.” ‘one last time’.

You turn to breathe in the fresh air for the final time before leaving the balcony area in silence. Today is your 18th birthday, and yet it doesn’t feel like it. A birthday is supposed to be a milestone, something to be celebrated with friends and family, with loved ones.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, a shudder leaves your lips, the icy temperature sending chills throughout your body. You find yourself sitting down near the kitchen table, your lukewarm coffee still in hand. And Alfred all but quietly makes your favourite breakfast, just how you’ve liked it for the last 18 years of your life. It’s been hard, you think to yourself. The unwarranted isolation from Bruce, the hurtful, cut-throat words thrown towards you from Damian as if you were a burden, the excuses from Dick, claiming he already had plans made so “Maybe next time! Yeah?”. And you remember so vividly of Jason pushing you away, as if the bond you two shared didn’t matter anymore. The fond memories, the time spent together, gone, just like that after he had died.

And how could you forget about Tim? Or about Cass, Barbara, Stephanie, and Duke? None of them rarely ever put in the effort to spend even a fraction of their time with you. But it doesn’t matter to you, right? No, not even a single bit, you don’t care anymore; of course you don’t care! Because you’re done, you’re done being in the shadows, done being stuck within those four tiny walls that had been called ‘your room’, and done with not being anyone's choice, especially not even your fathers. 

Even so, that's not true is it? You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to yourself. You do care, and it stings because you’ve been caring up until you forced yourself not to anymore.

With your heart held heavy in your chest, an indescribable ache creeps up your throat as you recount the gut-wrenching memories that you struggle to desperately shake from your head, your now empty cup sits cold on the table in front of you. 

“Breakfast served.” Alfred slides a plate of your favourite in front of you. Your lips are stretched into a light smile, yet it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you Alfred..” You say before the both of you are engulfed in comfortable silence. You eat your breakfast at a comfortable pace, savouring the delectable taste that fills your mouth before inevitably finishing your breakfast. Your family's butler busies himself by cleaning the kitchen counter, wiping it down with careful precision before moving down to wipe down the very kitchen table you sit at. “Hey, uhm Alfred?” You speak up before you can even stop yourself, the words stumbling out in a fervent storm. 

“Will you miss me when I move out?” Alfred can only stop and look at you, really look at you. And from the looks of it, you appear collected, indifferent even, but to your butler he notices nearly everything about you. The way you play with your hair when you’re nervous, or how you fiddle with your fingers when you’re uncomfortable and the slight furrow of your eyebrows as you concentrate. So you can’t help but shrink just a little at his expression, his features showing no emotion for you to understand what he’s feeling. 

“I know you’re busy assisting the families business with… their nightly duties and... and I realise I’ve been such a burden to you and the family, but I know I’ll miss you the most out of everyone so-” 

you’re abruptly cut off by the shuffling of Alfred’s feet walking towards you, his arms enveloping you into a hug. A hug that was desperately needed and long overdue. You reciprocate Afred’s action’s and tightly wrap your arms around him, your hands scrunching up Alfred’s uniform because of how hard your hands are balled up into fists. You’re stunned, too puzzled to speak as Afred’s begins to speak. 

“You will be missed dearly Young [Name]. You’re smile, you’re creativity, you’re ideas, our time together; I’ll miss all of these things, those moments that we have.” a pleasant warmth settles within you, Alfred’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, bringing you to his chest as he pats gently. It’s barely audible but it's there, a small sniffle once, twice, then a series of them start to fill the empty rooms' quietness. Tears start to well up within your tear ducts except you refuse to let them fall despite a few already running down your face. You cry, you just feel so scattered and a bit of a mess right now as your tears and snot stain Alfred's clothes.

You let yourself be in the moment, you let down your walls and stripped away the hard exterior around your heart. You’re vulnerable and…  it feels great. 

For once you feel relieved. Happy.

Credit to @adornedwithlight!

End Note: Just to rephrase, this is my first time getting back into writing fan-fiction so I'm rusty asf lol. And any writers that have been doing this for way longer than me, please give me some tips or advice on how I can improve my own writing LMAOO.

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 4/7

[part 5]

summary: part 4 of my short story naive! the four of you go to the club and while the couple are still fighting, you and hamzah act on your feelings a lil more. but it can only go so well for so long…

contains: SFW content, some kissing and touchy touchy ;)

w/c: 2.5k-ish

a/n: i couldn’t let you guys go into the new year without updating this story. im the worst but tysm for the support yall are so sweet i could cry xxxx enjoy!!!<3 read the a/n at the end if u care to know more

~

The couple's bad mood was not simply slept off and it's ruining your vibe.

You and Mandy are getting ready in their en suite bathroom while Hamzah and Martin speak in hushed tones in the bedroom. The bathroom door is open, and every so often you look at the space over your shoulder in the mirror and make eye contact with Martin from the bed. He looks away immediately, not at all subtle. It's like a game at this point, seeing how many times you can catch him in the act.

"Is he gonna do this all night," you mumble, applying your mascara after yet another match of eye-tag.

"We could just close the door," Mandy offers. She pays no mind to the childish behavior behind you, straightening her hair without sparing him a single glance.

"You're so right," you say and get up to shut it yourself.

Once your makeup is pretty much done, you decide to start getting dressed. You turn the music on her speaker up and give yourself a once-over in the mirror, holding different outfits beside your body to see what you want to wear for the night.

"I don't know what to wear. Wanna match?" you ask, placing your chin on top of her head to stop her movements. She nearly clamps your neck with the straightener. "Hey!"

"Sure," she laughs. "Grab my suitcase, please."

You put your clothes back down and step out of the bathroom to bring her suitcase in. You shimmy it out of its place by the TV stand, not missing the way the boys go completely silent until you're gone.

"Top zipper, the satin blue dress," Mandy instructs.

You hand it to her and sit by your own bag of clothes to rummage through it. You find a top and skirt set in a similar baby blue color then hold it up for her to see.

"Yes, no, yes?"

"Yes, definitely."

You apply your lip combo and take a few silly photos in the mirror with Mandy, your made up faces clashing with your baggy tees. One of the better photos are posted on your Instagram story for fun. When you finally get changed—you guys had a dance break to some y2k club classics—you put your heels on and realize you need a little pregame.

When you walk into the bedroom this time, the boys are leaned against the headboard and on their phones, mindlessly scrolling. You go by Martin's side of the bed and poke him repeatedly until he looks up.

"Do you happen to have the penjamin on you?"

"That depends," he says, putting his hand in his pocket. "What's the magic word?"

You roll your eyes. "Please?"

He pulls the little device out of his pocket and presents it to you in his palm. When you go to grab it, he makes a fist and holds it above his head.

"Please who?"

"I'm not calling you Daddy," you scoff, prying his fingers open and snatching the pen from his grasp. He barely puts up a fight. "That's Hamzah's job."

At the mention of his name, Hamzah looks up and seems like he's about to say something to retaliate but freezes. His gaze drags down your figure and you blush.

"Maybe it's not his job," Martin says smugly, "since you made him speechless."

Hamzah snaps out of it and elbows his friend in the side.

“It would be your girlfriend's job if you weren't being petty right now."

You wince at the sullen expression that washes over Martin's face.

"Right."

All you can do is watch as he clambers off the bed and walks out of the room. You lean against the wall and slide the balcony door open with a sigh.

"He can't seriously be that mad," Hamzah says. "I was kidding."

"He can dish it, but he can't take it," you say, too used to his behavior. "And he's extra sensitive right now, so."

"Well, they better not ruin our night with that stuff." Hamzah crosses his arms.

"I won't let them."

"Yeah?" Hamzah snorts. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"Um." You take a hit and blow the smoke outside. "I'll think of something if I need to step in."

Hamzah laughs at your empty threat and you smile. You take another hit before offering the dab pen to him.

"I have a feeling I should be sober for tonight."

"Boring," you sing out. "It'll be fine. C'mon, feel my peer pressure."

You wiggle your fingers at him and he shakes his head, laughing lightly. When he silently puts his hand out a few seconds later, you cheer. The room fills with the loud music from Mandy's speaker as he takes his first hit.

"So," you begin, already feeling slightly heady. "What were you guys whispering about earlier?"

"I shouldn't say."

"Really?"

He nods. "It was partly about their fight. Partly the trip. And you."

"Me?" You point at yourself with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I can't divulge the details."

"That's bullshit."

"I never ask what you guys say about me."

"Hey—I don't—what?" you stutter, unable to come up with a defense.

"C'mon," he says, tilting his head. "I'm not that oblivious."

Your eyes narrow. You've never once considered that this cupid thing Martin was pulling on you could have gone both ways. You don't know if you're relieved for him stepping in to push his friend closer to you, or annoyed that he's even meddling in this whole thing. It makes you wonder if Martin knows what happened by the time he and Mandy returned to the beach last night.

"Speaking of details." You clear your throat. "Do you even know what club we're going to?"

Your attempt at changing the topic is weak, but as per usual, Hamzah rolls with it to save you any embarrassment.

"No clue. Martin keeps his trip itinerary locked in his notes."

The conversation devolves into a bunch of what if's about the night and jokes that are only funny because you guys are high. When Mandy finally comes to join and sees the state of you two, you offer her a hit.

"What? No drinks?" She frowns.

"Hotel alcohol is like twenty bucks a pop! This is the next best thing."

"Ugh, fine. Give it."

With the three of you thoroughly blitzed, you collect Martin from the living room couch and make your way out of the hotel. He doesn't speak for a majority of the walk, and you think that's the longest you've ever heard him be quiet in a group setting.

Despite it being nearly 10 P.M., the air is pretty humid and forgiving on your exposed skin. The other thing about it being so late already, is that the club is absolutely chock-full of people when you enter. The dance floor of strangers are nearly toe to toe in proximity, and you wrap your arm with Mandy's to avoid getting separated in the crowd. The boys immediately beeline to the bar for drinks, but you don't let that stop your journey. You maneuver your way to the front of the stage and only let go of each other once you've found a bit of space to dance in.

The DJ nods at the two of you and you turn to raise your eyebrows suggestively at Mandy, who pushes your shoulder and continues dancing. You get lost in the beat, swaying and bouncing with the vibrations traveling through your limbs. The strobe lights illuminate your sweaty skin and you swear the energy in the room has you feeling higher. You begin grinding on each other and throw your heads back to laugh, trying to catch your breaths in between a multitude of bodies.

"Hey!" Mandy places her arms around your shoulders to catch your attention and you take it as a sign to grind on her. "I'm going to grab drinks.”

"No!" You turn and put your hands over hers. "Don't go!"

"I'll be right back!" She grins and squeezes you before letting go to disappear into the crowd.

Alone, you turn back to the stage and throw your hands in the air. You close your eyes for a moment, the pounding beats making a home in your brain. You're sure your ears will be ringing when you leave.

You wonder if Martin's drunk himself into a coma yet and knowing him, you know how easy that could be. You only hope this outing tonight doesn't make him do anything he regrets. Then you remember he’s a twenty-five year old man and you’re worrying about him while you’re supposed to be having fun. So, you shut your brain off and let the beat carry you.

When Mandy's back, she has two drinks in hand and Hamzah in tow. She hands you a cocktail and you graciously sip from your first alcoholic drink of the night.

"Where's Martin?" you ask.

"Bar!" she shouts over the music.

You shake your head. "Make up and make out already!"

She jabs your side and you giggle, swatting her hand away. Hamzah's doing something reminiscent of a frat flick, looking slightly out of it. You assume he's already done some shots and is way more intoxicated. So, being an empath, you finish your drink to get closer to his level. When you're done, you hand the empty cup to Mandy and wink at her. Your hand envelops Hamzah's and you pull him deeper in the crowd so you can dance together.

"I don't—I can't dance," he complains, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"C'mon, it's easy!"

You begin by swaying your hips, raising his hand in yours to guide him into a rhythm. He tries to follow along, shuffling around like a newborn deer. It's a funny sight, but you don't want him to stop if you tease him, so you bite back your amused smile. He slowly gets less self-conscious and continues on in his own way with the flow of the music, even twirling you around once or twice, laughing all the way as you narrowly avoid knocking into people. His eyes never leave you, like he's constantly thinking of his next move to impress you.

After letting him freestyle some more, you pull him close and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falters at the change in pace and his hands fall at your hips. Your hands rest at the nape of his neck and he shivers at the way your fingertips grace his skin. The rapid strobe lights nearly blind you, but you hold eye contact.

"Was that so bad?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"Yes," he says sarcastically. "I hate dancing."

"But I like your dancing."

You sway with him, careful not to step on his toes in your heels. Close up, you can nearly feel his breath on your face. You take a moment to admire his eyelashes and the way his eyes are slightly bloodshot, willing him to break the eye contact. He leans in closer.

"I like your dancing more."

You can't help but grin. His expression mimics yours.

"Yeah, well," you start, bringing your thumb up to trace the side of his jaw, "I like you."

He ducks down and captures your lips in a kiss. It takes you by surprise. You hadn't spoken a word about your kiss since last night, and you were beginning to think you made a mistake by acting on your impulses. Evidently, he doesn't seem to mind it as much as you'd worried.

The tip of his nose presses against your cheek as he shifts his head to deepen the kiss. Though the room is warm, this makes you hotter than any amount of dancing could've done. His palms squeeze your hips and your fingers rise to play with his curls. They're soft to the touch, just as you suspected. You tug lightly as the kiss gets more insatiable.

"Ouch," he mumbles against your lips, barely loud enough to hear. You snicker and tug it again, making him pull away. "I said ouch."

"I know," you laugh out. "Sorry."

"That funny?" he questions. You nod, grinning at his playful irritation. "See how you like it."

His hand trails up your back until his fingers are at your scalp and he gently pulls on your roots. Your head moves back with his action and your lips part, exhaling a shaky breath. His eyes widen. He does it again. You reach up to kiss him again.

It's hotter this time, in both senses of the word. Your skin goes alight with a blaze even the coldest shower couldn't reduce. You drape your wrists over his shoulders, your beaded bracelet pressing into him the same way his is imprinting into the sliver of bare skin below your top.

Realizing you’re standing in place in the midst of a lively dance floor, you break from the kiss and turn so your back is against his front. You pull his arms around your shoulders and sway, deliberately pressing yourself against him. You enjoy hearing the way his breath hitches next to your ear, always needing to find a new way to tease him. You know if you could have it your way without seeming too desperate too soon, you’d be doing more than just dancing.

“I like you, too,” he says, clutching you closer to him. “I forgot to say.”

You turn your head and nearly kiss his cheek because of how cute he is. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“And I really like your dancing.”

His suggestive words spur you into grinding on him more, anything to get a reaction out of him, and it works every time. The two of you keep going this way until your thighs are burning and you’re out of breath. If it weren’t for the visual reminder, you would’ve forgotten that you came here with other people.

A couple feet away, you spot two familiar heads weeding through the crowd and slowly drawing nearer. You step away from Hamzah, who looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Before you can explain yourself, you come face-to-face with Mandy. Martin stops a bit away.

“Can we leave?” she rushes out.

Her mascara is running and her nose is red. Martin looks disgruntled, his eyes never staying in one place as he scans through the crowd. You grab her hand and nod. The four of you spot the nearest exit and leave promptly.

“What happened?” you ask once you’re out in the open. “Are you okay?”

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” Her eyes stay on the ground.

Your heart drops. “Of course.”

The walk back to the hotel is uneasy and fast-paced. The boys walk behind the two of you and you can hear Martin’s one word answers to everything Hamzah says to him. Your heels click and clack, barely providing a distraction from the hundreds of questions swarming your mind.

~

a/n: ooo we’re getting angsty. im so sorry this took so long and if u feel that it wasn’t worth the wait, the truth is ive been so sick recently like never before in my life and i haven’t felt a lick of motivation to write. ive had to rewrite these chapters so many times that its actually affecting me mentally because i wanna make u guys happy while actually enjoying writing. i promise u won’t have to wait this long ever again, but doing this story is making me realize i prefer writing short form stuff way more than stories like this because it’s simply less stress and fits my writing style more. thanks again for all the support and kind words, u guys have really warmed my heart and i hope u know that even tho this is fanfiction and it may seem silly, it’s really a labor of love and im so grateful that u actually like what i put out there. im so so so touched and i rlly love u guys, even if i don’t know u. parasocial virtual hugs to u all xoxoxo tysm. <3

[stellasdrafts]

The Light in His Eyes (Vendetta! Leon)

Summary: you have each other’s backs (Vendetta! Leon x DSO!Reader)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: alcoholism (on Leon’s part), some vendetta leon comfort because that man needs it :(, no official relationship but mutual feelings are implied, pining…

Notes: a small Christmas-ish one-shot in january because it’s my blog and i make the rules (i forgot to post in december whoops). also sorry this one is christmas specific but christmas lights are very special to me and i wanted to write a little something about them <3

One of these days, these missions are going to kill you. You’re sure of it. You find yourself sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, needing some fresh air after almost getting your head bitten off on call today. Being a D.S.O. agent isn’t for the faint-hearted and truth be told, sometimes you aren’t sure how you got this far in the first place. You close your eyes, deeply breathing in the cold, stuffy city air and listening to the night traffic below. What would it be like to live a normal, quiet life? For your only burden to be being stuck in the traffic below on your way home from your safe nine to five? Your heart aches when you have thoughts like these…

You’re snapped out of your mournful contemplation when someone clears their throat behind you. You whip your head around, startled. You barely register your fists clenching and muscles tensing up, ready to throw a punch or something, your tired brain registering the sound as the grunt of an infected.

“S’just me.” Leon lifts his hands, traipsing toward you. “Can I join?”

Your shoulders slump with relief. Truth be told, you wanted to spend time alone tonight, but Leon happens to be the one who saved your life today and you figure you owe him this much. “Mhm.” You nod and pat the freezing concrete beside you.

He takes the offered seat and leans back, propping himself on his arms. His warmth carries through the cold wind and seeps through your jeans. He’s only an inch or two away, after all. Despite your previous sentiment, his presence is oddly soothing. You’ve never met anyone as good as him in your field of work. He makes you feel safe, like somehow, you’re immortal in his presence because he always looks out for his team. It’s impossible, really. You know it’s a childish and dangerous mindset to have in this line of work, but there’s just something about him. You wonder how much that selflessness is destroying him from the inside….

Actually, the habituality of the liquor on his breath may already give you an idea.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” You look up at him, noticing how his eyes are fixed on the sea of tall buildings before you. “Oh, yeah… I like the lights. I’ve always liked lights.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “Oh yeah?” He shifts to rest on one knee to get a better look at you.

You feel yourself melt under the older agent’s gaze. “Yeah. All kinds of lights…”

He just watches you for a moment and you find yourself silently cursing the extensive psychology training the government’s had you D.S.O. agents do. You’re sure he can read you like a book, seeing through the façade you’ve been tirelessly trying to keep up. He has his own, after all.

He looks out at the few festive lights wrapped around balcony railings and trees standing proudly in windows. “Like… Christmas lights?”

That reaches you. You turn your head to look at him with a dopey smile. “Especially Christmas lights. I miss them a lot.”

Your nostalgia must be contagious because he smiles at you too. You never see him smile anymore. In your few years of working together, you’ve never known him to be an extraordinarily sunny man, but it had worsened recently. Little to your knowledge, he likes seeing you smile, especially when it’s directed at him. “I didn’t know you liked Christmas so much. Maybe I should buy you a tree and some lights this year,” he jokes lightly.

You shrug, your smile fading a bit. “We never stay in one place long enough… And people don’t celebrate as much as when we were kids. It wouldn’t be the same.”

His expression softens considerably when he notices the shift in your demeanour. His lips pull into a much more familiar tight frown, his shoulders dropping a bit as well. “Yeah, I guess so…” he pauses for a moment, debating his next words. “We could make our own tradition, you know?”

You tilt your head, your smile fully sarcastic and sour now. “Sure. If we’re both still alive by holiday break.”

He grimaces, evidently not liking the sudden grim attitude, even if it carries truth. Ironic, you find yourself thinking, for a man with his attitude. “Don’t talk like that,” he chides softly, wrapping an arm behind you and dragging you a twinge closer. “I’m not letting you die anytime soon.”

And you know that coming from his lips, that’s a vow, not a weak promise. You lean into his warmth, the cold wind hitting you again now that you’re no longer in your cozy bubble of colourful lights and denial. “Right. Sorry…”

“It’s alright.” He gives your side a reassuring squeeze and resumes staring out at the dark skyline.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a minute or two, admiring (perhaps longingly) the people going about their lives in their apartments and offices. Parents putting their children to bed, couples cooking together, families watching what you self-indulgingly believe to be holiday movies in their decorated living rooms… Even the young man working alone at this hour of the night seems to sit with some sense of serenity. All possibilities of the lives you and Leon could have had if you hadn’t been pushed into the claws of the genius Division of Security Operations. He sighs – if in soul-crushing envy or in momentary peacefulness, you can’t tell. But his whiskey-ridden breath is warm and a welcome contrast to the cool winter night air.

You chew at your lip, getting a bit nervous. “You smell like booze,” you remark quietly.

“I know.” He chuckles and you know it’s a piss-poor attempt to cover how uncomfortable the topic of his drinking makes him feel. “You got a problem with that?” He scratches his neglected stubble.

You know a slightly hostile question is the best outcome for you. If it were anyone else starting an intervention, he would’ve raised his voice already. You’ve seen it first-hand with some other people on the team. “You’ve got a problem with that, Leon.” You stare blankly at the buildings ahead, your previous fascination and warmth for the sight dampened.

You feel Leon’s body stiffen beside you and his demeanour shifts. You look, and like you, he no longer seems as placated as he was a mere minute ago. His brows tug down and his gaze darkens. “Don’t do that. Not you,” his tone is surprisingly tender for being paired with his current expression.

He knows you mean well. He knows you’re worried about him. But he can’t bear having you look at him like everyone else does, like you have to tiptoe around him or like he’s always incompetent and inebriated. He looks away out of shame. He knows you’re right, but he’s stubborn and also knows that’s led to his downfall more than once.

“Are you even going to remember this tomorrow?”

Leon looks back up, his gaze stormy. His defensiveness gets the best of him, as it usually does in these situations. He’s angry, or at least he’s trying to be. But you’re sitting close enough to spot the gleam of self-hatred in those beloved blue eyes. “Why does it matter if I do or not?”

“Because believe it or not, our conversations actually mean a lot to me.” The weight of your words hangs between the pair of you for a moment. “And it’s dangerous to day drink with a job like ours. We never know when we’ll get called out. It’ll get you killed,” you add to try and save face as if you don’t care more about him than you do the other agents.

He cringes a bit more at that, and his anger falters in favour of discomfort. He sighs and leans an elbow on his knee, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

You tuck your knees up to your chest, even his body heat isn’t enough to cancel out the cold between you now. “That’s what worries me. You act like it’s fine, it’s normal. You don’t even act drunk anymore. You don’t… slur your words or stumble around or vomit everywhere. Apart from being angrier… depressed… you behave normally when you’re drunk.” You turn your body in his direction, trying desperately to get through to him. “You’re not even you anymore. Isn’t that scary?”

He exhales again, letting his hand drop from his face. He knows you’re right. Damn it, you’re always right, but he can never bring himself to admit it. “I… I don’t get what the big deal is. I do my job – well, if I might add. I don’t get into bar fights with random civilians… unless they ask for it. I supply my own drinks and keep to myself. So why’re you worrying?”

You take his face in your hands, your expression softening. Maybe he won’t lie to your face if he’s looking right at it. “Leon, drop the act, please.” From what you hear, he’s a shell of the person he used to be.

His eyes widen with surprise. He doesn’t answer anything for a few moments, your gentle touch making his mind go blank for a second. He can’t remember the last time anyone was gentle with him. He knows he can’t argue when you use that tone or when you have that look in your eye. “Fuck…”

He practically sags onto you as he lets himself feel everything he’s been drowning in alcohol for months. You have an agonizing way of making the tension in his body disappear with nothing but a few words in that honeyed tone of yours.

You support his weight. Like you always do, as he always does yours. Because it’s just Leon. You’d never let him fall, in any sense of the word. “You know, how are you supposed to put up that tree and the lights you offered me if you’re too drunk to make sense of anything? I’m not letting you in my room at HQ if the drinks are making you a grouch, either.”

He does want to give you that, a tree grand and worth being yours, pretty lights you can stare at while you doze off in the evenings, Christmas itself… More than anything, he wants to make you happy. The thought alone makes him happy. He huffs and looks away to hide his smile. “Yeah, yeah. Damn you.”

You let out a breath and a smile of your own, feeling relieved that you got to him at least a little bit. “Try again, please… At least to cut back. We can do it this time.”

He tenses again at your request. It’s not an easy one, and he’s reluctant to agree, not sure if he can even will himself to cut back so easily. But you’re too close, too warm, and you’re using that damn tone in your voice that always gets to him. He wants better for you. For himself, too. A shot at a better life. “I’ll try. Try. For you, alright?”

You hum. “That’s all I ask.” You bring up a delicate hand and brush some of that pesky hair out of his face.

He practically melts into your touch, too tired to bother hiding the effect you have on him. You both know something has been lingering between you for a while, anyway. “Anything else you want from me?” he mutters in a teasing tone, trying to lift the atmosphere he feels he ruined.

You chuckle lightly. “Probably, but we’ll work towards those things later on.”

He perks up at that, a smug smirk toying at his lips as he picks up on the implications of your words. “Y’gotta be a little more specific than that.”

Your eyes soften. Not now. Not like this. “I’ll tell you when you’re sober.” Your timbre isn’t unkind – it’s careful, genuine… You’re trying to encourage him more than anything, knowing he always fares well with a challenge or an end goal.

The muscles in his face ease as well. He gives a small nod. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You feel a spark in your chest of something you haven’t felt in a long time – hope. “So will I.”

You’re more determined than ever to bring back that light to his eyes.

[viaviavie]

SEEKING DREAMLIGHT | STONE OF FRIENDSHIP | 1

in which you return to twisted wonderland. do you recall the first gift you were given when you came to this place years ago? you were all alone then, with no one to run and turn to. by the end of your adventure, you were surrounded with so many gifts? can you tell me who the first ones were? your beloved house of cards; they welcome you once more.

SUMMARY: based on disney’s dreamlight valley. years after the ramshackle prefect had left twisted wonderland, former students suddenly find themselves back in night raven college with missing memories and dreams of a magicless student they were supposed to know. an older prefect finally makes a return to a shell of the fantasy you once lived, falling in love once more with what was forgotten.

FEATURING: heartslabyul

NOTES: rather than putting everything in one sitting, i have made a strategic solution to split up the story into even more sections.

[ INDEX ] [ PREVIOUS ] [ NEXT ]

Strong, hardened muscle was what enveloped your form, followed by the weight that nearly toppled you down on the balcony. Deuce never wasted a second contemplating your existence when he ran to the top of the stairway to grab your shoulders. He has grown much bigger now, and so have you. In spite of all the years that had passed since your initial disappearance, Deuce discards all unfamiliarity as he crushes you against his chest. Maybe it was the hopelessness of this place that drove him to hold you, washed away by the pure joy of finding what has been lost. "It's been so long," He whispers, afraid that you would disappear into dust if he dared to let go. "I'm really happy to see you, Prefect." 

And Ace stares from a distance, almost hesitant to even affirm himself that you were real. The large direbeast trots up the stairway, but the redhead remains at the bottom. Unbeknownst to you, who had been so engrossed into your happy reunion, he clenches his teeth and grinds down with such force that his jaw has begun to ache. 

"I missed you too, Deuce." You tell the taller boy— man, taking the time to acknowledge how much taller had gotten. 

Deuce pauses, face freezing once he took notice of what little distance was shared between you both. His fingers hesitantly loosened themselves on your shoulders, and he pulled back. That hopeful expression on his features never wavers, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief. You have not disappeared at all. 

Before he could even utter a word, Ace cut him off as he climbed the stairway. "You look well, Prefect." You finally take a good look at the redhead who still donned that heart on his eye. Deuce swallows to himself, stealing your attention once more while he rubbed the back of his neck with sheer embarrassment. "Sorry, we're just... so surprised to see you again." He says in a quieter tone now, shifting to the side as Ace stands before you. 

His expression is cold, unreadable if anything. You cannot help but find yourself unable to meet his eyes as he stares. "Both of you look so grown up." You breathed out. Ace says nothing, and it forces Deuce to speak in his place. "I guess we did. You look different too, Prefect." There is a gentleness in Deuce’s tone, something that has not changed in the years that came to pass. And yet, Ace continues to unnerve you with the way he glares at you subtly. You do not understand.

There was no time to dwell on nostalgia or the mysteries of the heart, however.

Clearing your throat, you make a slight gesture to the thorns obscuring the windows. "Do you know what happened here?" You asked them. Ace shook his head, tucking his hands into his pockets with indifference. "No. One day, I'm going about my business and suddenly, I couldn't remember a damn thing before I woke up here in the dorm." Deuce nodded his head, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Yeah, the same thing happened to me. We both woke up in Ramshackle together." Deuce continues as he walked toward the thorns, reaching out a gloved hand across the window. With a tight grip, he attempts to break away the plant with his bare hand, but to no avail. "We've been stuck out here on campus ever since. The exit is completely covered with thorns, and our magic is useless against them." 

You grimace, crossing your arms until your eyes flicker across the familiar checkered pattern across their clothes. It suddenly dawns on you as you glance down at your own attire; the Ramshackle dorm uniform that you do not recall wearing. Heartslabyul, the name is whispered into your ears as you come to the realization that there were five of them, not two. "Is it just the two of you here?" Much to your lock, Deuce grunts in disagreement. 

"I don't think so. We have explored as much as we can, but plenty of areas are barred off by either thorns or locks.” Your interest is piqued at the mention of ‘locks’, and Ace knows it by the way you look up at them with intent. Skully grins in the shadows as Grim pounces onto the railings, eager to move.

“Where?”

There was once a point in time where Ace and Deuce were at their most suffocating. One may never find the Prefect truly alone, not when the two Heartslabyul students were often at your side like two moving pillars. Some things never change, you think to yourself as two large backs obscure your view as your party walks down the long dark hallway of the campus building. Skully is not too far behind, stalking quietly with that excited grin of his. His presence has been questioned, but Skully insists that he only wishes to accompany and aid your quest to escape. Considering that he has been nothing but helpful in a world surrounded by thorns and blot, there was no room for complaint.

You remember this space even better now as Deuce holds up an old oil lantern in his hand. It was the very place you awoke in, your opened coffin undisturbed. “You woke up here? In the Room of Mirrors?” Deuce asks you, replied by Grim’s yowl. 

“I found the Prefect here, just the Prefect.” 

“We’re here.” Wading in the darkness, you found yourself crashing into Ace’s back. Followed by a grunt emitted from his chest, you can see the way he scowls at you. Before you can even mutter an apology, the redhead cuts you off as he moves to the side.

A red glow obscures your vision, the light coming from the mirror’s warped reflection. You recall now; it is the Mirror to Heartslabyul.

The mirror is covered with thorns upon thorns that had ensnared it, threatening to prick all those that attempt to untangle their way through. However, at the center of such greenery, was a metal padlock. 

Your fingers grasp the metal key in your pocket, itching to solve this mystery as you used to many years ago. 

"Skully, what do you think?" You murmured. Still holding that unsettling smile on his face, the tall man stretches himself forward, peering at the padlock. Ever so eager, he reaches a gloved hand out to touch it, but the magic oozing from the lock only serves to burn him with the slightest brush. Skully does not let weakness show as he pulls back, gently resting his palms over your shoulders and bending down to reach your ears. "Every lock has a key somewhere, my dear! Do you perhaps have its partner?"

They all stare at you as you fish a metal key from your pocket. "I have this." Your excitement is dampened by the way Ace narrows his eyes at you, stepping into your space as if confronting you. "Where did you find it? Deuce and I spent hours searching for a key." There is a certain poison on his tongue that makes you frown, but you cannot tell if that has always been a part of his personality anymore. Your gaze shifts down onto the key, unable to continue meeting his scarlet eyes. "I'm not sure. I woke up with it in my possession when Grim found me in my coffin." 

Thankfully, Deuce steps in and pats your shoulder with reassurance. "Let's give it a shot, Prefect!" A grin works its way up your face as Deuce cracks his knuckles with that determined grin on his face, a remnant of an old habit from the past. Ace averts his eyes, arms crossed with forced indifference as you approach the glowing mirror. Perhaps it was confidence or a sort of arrogance that fuels your bravery, but the key glows red in your hand as you come closer and closer, slipping it into the hole.

And with a successful twist, the red glow fades into white. 

Thorns had begun to shift, slowly wriggling and dancing onto the back of the mirror until they were no longer. The padlock, itself, vanishes into the light before you and now, the mirror is open for passage. 

A heavy weight has suddenly been pushed onto your back, and you could only balance yourself once more as Grim’s furry ear brushes against your cheek. “Henchman, it worked!” He grins excitedly, followed by sounds of victory coming from Deuce. Ace is eerily silent, his expression bored and fixed. He ignores your depleted expression once you look back at him, even making his way past you without concern. 

“I’ll go in first. If I don’t come out, then you can assume it’s okay to go through.” Ace grunted, only sparing a glance at a conflicted Deuce who nodded in agreement. You never get a chance to protest for his safety as he slips through the mirror hastily. His friend could only sigh, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about Ace…” Deuce sighed, grimacing as he looked at the mirror. “He’ll come around.” Words are lost on your tongue, simmering in your own defeat. You cannot exactly pinpoint what you had done wrong to make Ace act so cold, not when you had barely reunited with him only an hour ago. Such lamentations are lost on you, however, as Grim huffs to himself. “I’m going in next!” He yells as he pounces from your shoulder into the mirror. 

Deuce readies you, holding onto your arm. He glances at you for permission, and you take a moment to look back at Skully who seemed to be too engrossed with staring at the other thorn-riddled mirrors in the room. "Are you coming, Skully?" You called out. The tall man looks back at you, standing straight before lowering his torso into a bow. "It'd be best if I stayed out here, my dear." He crooned with that fixated smile on his face. "You never know if you'll need someone to fetch you from the outside." However he will know when to fetch you, you do not know. If Skully was able to protect you once, he can surely protect himself too. 

With a wave, you nod back at Deuce who grins at you. His hand grips onto yours firmly as both of you take a step through the mirror, obscured in the light. Skully is smiling still, blowing a kiss at your disappearing figure.

"Take care, my dear! Do bring back a tart for me!"

Roses. It had always smelled like roses in Heartslabyul, if not cake or red fruit. Everything was red, white, perhaps checkered or not like a chessboard. There was black, but not this much. Even with the scent of roses obscuring your senses, it does nothing to deter the scent of ink and blot that had split and bubbled across the gardens and the statues. 

It frightens you, and you cannot reach into the crevices of your mind to find comfort in the memory of an Unbirthday Party. You are never even given the chance to try as you hear Ace bark from afar. “About time you both got here. Quickly, quickly!” Deuce is quick on his feet, but his hold on you does not cease when you notice that his hand is still gripping your own. “Man, it’s been ages since I was last here. It doesn’t look that different.” He uttered, marveling at the ink-stained world before him. 

Something else catches your eye, however. Shuffling along the guidelines of the supposed-garden maze are Heartsalbyul students, whose faces were obscured with ink. They hustle about, carrying cans of paint and carpentry supplies. “There are students here!” You whisper. Just as Deuce was ready to confront the group, Ace clicks his tongue. “Don’t bother,” 

You never took the time to realize how much Ace had grown from the shadow of a first-year. Since when had he been taking initiative? “Grim’s been trying to grab their attention for a while now. They phase through him like ghosts.” You fall silent, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. It was evident that something terrible had happened here, but too many pieces of the puzzle were missing. 

Your thoughts were quickly cut off by a quiet purr from the distance. Grim turns a corner, his little ribbon flying through the air as he pounces forward in a hurry. Immediately, he stops before you, curling his tail in endearment. Just as you used to, you found yourself crouching down, kneading your fingers against his head. There were four small envelopes held between his teeth. “What’d you find, Grim?” You murmur, taking the envelopes into your possession.

Two shadows are casted behind you, and you could only find some relief in their familiarity. Deuce takes an envelope, Ace takes another, and you are all left to read its contents. “I haven’t gotten one of these in ages!” Deuce exclaimed, eyes wide as his finger ran over his name on the envelope. “Invitations to today’s Unbirthday Party?” You ask, slipping the cardstock out from the opening. “Maybe we will get more answers if we attend.” 

Ace lets out a noise of concern as he nudges your shoulder. “Look at this,” His finger points at the fine writing on the card.

Please paint the roses red.

Please bring a white tablecloth to the Unbirthday Party.

Please bring the sleeping dormouse to the Unbirthday Party.

Please welcome the Prefect to the Unbirthday Party.

Your blood runs cold at the final statement. You had barely been here for even a minute, and it seems that someone— something knew you were here. 

Grim is not blind to how your expression is stricken with fear. No longer a kitten now, he bumps his head against your knee and meows softly, snapping you out of your train of thought. You sigh, followed by Deuce’s grunt. “Who do you think wrote this?” His dark eyes meet Ace’s scarlet ones that avoid him, not wanting to even think on the mystery. “Beats me.” Deuce opens his mouth, and his hand is already reaching out to grab the other’s shoulder, but Grim’s hiss cuts him off.

“There’s something else, Henchman!” 

All eyes are trained onto the little direbeast that bared his fangs. “Someone’s trapped in the gardens! Tried sniffing 'em out, but there’s no end to the hedges.” Rising to your feet, you frown as you glance at the maze entrance. The white roses that had been growing from the bushes had either been wilting or were stained in ink, the substance dripping onto the ground. “Looks like magic’s got something to do with it.” You rasped, allowing your feet to carry you forward.

The concerned calls for you were largely ignored, not when curiosity drove you further. It wasn’t as if Alice gave any true regard for her safety when exploring the rest of Wonderland in her tale, and neither did you. You march along the dirt path, following the right side of each and every turn until you find yourself back at the start. Grim, who had been trailing at your side, groaned in annoyance. “It’s bringing us in circles!” He scowled, pawing at your knee. 

A small bush is covered in white roses, untouched by decay or blot. And another, and another few more down a row. 

You pause, staring at the plant intensely. "An Unbirthday Party," You murmur, hearing footsteps catch up to you until all that is left is Deuce and Ace’s shallow panting. The odd plant catches their attention as well, and it does not take long for Ace to lick his lips into a smirk. "Deuce, don't you remember that rule?" The dark haired boy tilts his head towards the other, confusion evident in his clueless blink. 

"What rule?" 

"The roses must be painted red for Unbirthday Parties.” 

Now, that jogged Deuce’s memory. How could he possibly forget after spending three years painting those goddamn roses red? “Yeah?” Taking out his pen, the man sighs in relief. At the very least, they wouldn’t be doing this manually. Ace is grinning now, having fished out his own pen and pointed it at a white rose. “Let’s get painting.” 

They are quicker than you remember, much more agile in the way they flick their wrists and channel color into those blooms. “You remembered the rules, Ace?” You murmur, awe in your voice. It brings a nostalgic sweetness to your heart when Ace grins at you, seeking validation as he always had when you were present. “Of course, I did. I became the housewarden in our third year. Isn’t that right, Deuce?” He boasted, his ego all the more stroked by the way your jaw falls slack. The other only nods in admittance, rolling his eyes at his friend. 

“What?!” 

Cackling along, Ace finishes painting an entire rose bush red. “Yep, could you believe that? Memorized all 810 rules in total.” For the first time since you have been reunited with him, you find yourself feeling warm talking to the redhead. “You’re amazing, Ace.” You breathe out, sneaking to Deuce’s side as the former delinquent finishes painting one of the bushes. The joy was immediately taken away from your expression when Ace pauses, melting back down into a cold scowl as he turns away. “Tch,” He clicks, moving onto the next bush. 

You are unable to help with the lack of supplies, but that does not stop you from keeping Deuce company. Your fingers brush against a white rose, playing with the soft petals. “I missed doing this with both of you.” You sigh softly, allowing a moment of vulnerability. Deuce slows in his movements, taking the time to glance at your somber expression. He smiles, attempting to lighten the mood. “Me too.” To no avail, you shift uncomfortably in your stance as you continue cupping the rose. “Deuce,” He clenches his jaw, as if afraid of what you are about to ask of him.

“Do you remember what happened when I disappeared?” You do not miss the way his expression hardens, eyes shifting away immediately as the question was given. “Ah…” Deuce’s mouth opens for a slight moment before he shuts it, in search of an answer that was long lost. In a quiet croak, Deuce murmurs an apology. “I don’t think I recall. I’m sorry.” He finally musters the will to glance at you, almost pained to give you an explanation. “It’s so foggy. I knew it happened during our first year, but…” The former delinquent sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry, Prefect. I can’t—!” 

Deuce falls silent, eyes wide with alarm now. “Prefect, look.”

You do not understand why until you follow his gaze, down to your hand. For a mere second, sparkles of light were quietly emitting from your fingertips; the white rose slowly being dyed a crimson red in your palm. 

“The roses…” He breathes out, watching as the rose stills itself completely red. You stare, mouth ajar as you turn to Deuce with frantic confusion.

“Great Sevens—”

“You guys finished?” Neither of you glance at Ace who had begun approaching you both now, having finished his portion of the work. The redhead stares at the way sweat beads down Deuce’s pale face, all color drained from shock. “Ace, the Prefect—” Grim does not allow Deuce’s quiet voice to come through, not when the scent of ink suddenly floods the air and makes you feel dread. “Look! Something’s opened up!” You hear the direbeast from afar. Ace refuses to waste another moment in Heartlsabyul as he jogs into the garden maze once more. 

“Let’s go! Hurry, hurry!” 

You share a quick look with Deuce, and he returns your weak stare with understanding. This can wait, but the possible students trapped here cannot. Both of you are hot on Ace’s trail, following the footsteps until you find a new opening in the maze. 

The sight of blot makes you ill, and judging by the sounds of Grim’s yelping, it seems that they have already encountered their beast. 

Deuce pushes his way past the blot and you follow behind, eyes landing on a large blob of ink fastened onto the ground in one large clump. Ace is hurling fire at it, taking a quick glance back at Deuce who arms himself.  “Tch, be careful!” Ace hissed, kicking at a puddle of ink that threatened to drag his foot down. “Blot!” Grim is breathing fire too, causing the blob to shrink inwards in response. Deuce is throwing spells at the abomination now, summoning vines to constrict the blob’s movements into a confined space. 

And in that moment, you see it; the outline of a limp arm dripping in ink. 

Your eyes flicker back at your companions that have been throwing all sorts of magic at the abomination, but it does not entirely wash away the blot. The blot remains, swallowing up whatever poor person was inside. You know better than to interfere, but wasn’t that something you were always good at? You’ve certainly done it before.

Such egocentric thoughts will have you killed, but you would sooner die sitting idly by and doing nothing now. 

Ace’s eyes are wide with a mixture of fright and alarm as he watches you whisk past the puddles of ink, towards the direction of that blotted creature. “Prefect, get back!” He screamed, gripping his pen tight as he threw a larger fireball at the blot. “Deuce, bring the Prefect back!” Deuce freezes at the demand, finally taking notice of your figure that is so dangerously close to the blot. If you were pulled in, you certainly wouldn’t come out anymore. “Prefect!”

Their cries fall onto deaf ears as you search for that arm. Rather than one now, you spot two limbs this time, sticking out of the inky cavern of the blob. Gritting your teeth, you suck a deep breath and heave. “Take my hand!” You cry out, plunging your arms into the inky abyss, much to the distressed cries of your companions. 

A startled cry emits from your lips as two hands reach out from the ink, clawing onto your sleeves. Something is pulling you, or rather, someone is pulling themselves out. Your feet threaten to give in, but it is when you feel a pair of muscular arms wrap around your middle when you feel secure. Deuce pants into your ear, glaring at the blotted creature, and he pulls. 

There is light, you notice. There is a certain glimmer of light emitting from within the blot as you see more and more of the outline trying to escape. Checkered red and white patterns are coming into view, and it is almost as if the ink is shying away from you now. With a final pull from Deuce, a heavy figure is sent tumbling your way, knocking you down onto the grass as a large flicker of fire overcomes the monster once and for all. Reduced into nothing, dark miasma fades into the air and soon, the blot was no longer. 

“Prefect, what the hell were you thinking!?” You hear the redhead cry out, followed by his frantic footsteps. Back flat against the grass, you could only peer at Ace’s reddened face as he takes your shoulders. He is looking at you, at every piece of you as if he were an overbearing mother. 

“I knew you used to be stupid sometimes, but now is not the time to be reckless! You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse, died! Don’t you have any sense of—!” 

“That was a close one. I thought I was a goner!”

A new voice this time fills in the space, and everyone falls silent. You have not even registered the sudden weight on your thighs, or the way that said weight disappeared in that moment. Light orange hair tied into a ponytail, accompanied by those little canines that glinted whenever he smiled.

“You—!” Deuce choked as the figure held up two fingers into a ‘peace’ sign. You beam, mustering a shaky smile as the name returns to your memory.

“It’s me, Cay-Cay!”

TAGLIST: @jjsmeowthie @deviious @hellfirestarter @thatpersonuouknow @knorreine @nerenda @goths4gambit @ghostlysyntaxed @minkyungseokie @daeda21 @red1sg0n3 @hatsumekannazuki @driftaway27 @alienlatteinspace @michtellch @loyalkatniss @notquitebunnie @eliza-be-t-h @avalordream @lovemiyae @our-raven-strife-universe @cecil-the-crybaby @your-dazzling-sun @twstsandturns @mrs-hoshina @biumg-ie @mellowberrie

[verycoolusername1]

At Home With Nobody To Hold

Summary: You're missing your boyfriend during the holidays, unaware you're about to get the best present ever.

Track 5 of fruitcake - is it new years yet?

A/N: Gave family members some names(Nora, Ray, Sara, Ava, etc) definitely not from any DC show... *sigh* I miss legends

And I'm so jealous rn I need a bf like this now!!! This one shot is so cute got my giggling and everything-

I also was gonna have a comedic ending, but this ending is too cute that I just couldn't do it(but there is a jack hughes reference that I could not write without laughing)

You sipped on your soda for what felt like the five hundredth time. You were on the balcony trying to ignore your grandmother's questions about grandchildren. The holidays sucked... but then again, you wouldn't have met your boyfriend Ethan if you hadn't gone to the Christmas party before break two years ago.

It sucks being so far away from him for a week, but you two had regular calls now and then. You just wished you could be with him right now.

Your cousin Nora opened the screen door and joined you outside.

"Oh god, you look like a mess." She chuckles. "Missing the boyfriend?"

"Missing the boyfriend." You confirmed with a sigh. "I thought I would be fine with it, but here we are."

Nora nodded to your words. "Yeah, long distance is a bitch but you'll live. You two been through this sort of stuff before."

"I hope so." You mutter under your breath.

"Dinners about to start, think you'll be able to suck it up for an hour." Nora looked at you.

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah yeah I'll be fine."

Suddenly your phone starts to ring, seemly ending the conversation there. You looked at your phone, it was Ethan.

"You guys go on without me, gotta take this." You placed your soda down and answered the phone, Nora going back in the house.

"Hey baby." Ethan's voice rang through the winter air.

"Hey. What are you doing?" You asked, fiddling with your sweater.

Ethan hums. "Oh, nothing. Just watching some Christmas movie."

You nod. "We're about to have dinner."

Ethan stayed silent for a moment. "Oh damn I called you at the wrong time then."

"No, you didn't." You laugh. "I'll always make time for you, you know that."

Ethan's heart swells at your words, a smile breaking out on his face. "Where are you again? Your moms?"

"No, I'm at my grandma's house. She keeps asking me about you and... grandkids." You explained. "Wish you were here to suffer with me."

Ethan laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure that'll be fun, watching you get all flushed."

You laughed at his words. "If anything, it's embarrassing. I mean, we aren't even out of college yet."

Ethan lets out a sigh. "Yeah, just a couple more months. Then we can finally move in together just like we always wanted."

"Yeah, in jersey." You groaned. "I love you and all, but I didn't know there were even cities in New Jersey. And the apartments... they... actually look nice."

Ethan laughed loudly over the phone. "You did not just say that."

"Well I've never been to New Jersey before!" You argued.

I'm so telling Luke about this." Ethan mutters.

"You aren't telling him anything." You hiss.

"Texting him as we speak." His voice was stern.

You looked back to the kitchen to see your family sitting happily and chatting. You start to imagine Ethan sitting next to your dad, laughing at whatever joke he said or him talking to your niece, agreeing with her on anything and everything. It made your heart break slightly.

There was shuffling on Ethan's end as he heard your sniffle.

"Hey babe you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just the cold." You answered.

"You should get inside then, get warmed up." Ethan noted.

"Yeah, I should." There was more shuffling on Ethan's end. "What are you doing?"

"Just getting in the car, quick stop to the store." He answered like it was obvious.

"Is it freezing there in Canada?" You asked.

"Uh, not really, which is surprising." Ethan joked.

You went back inside and sat on the couch, suddenly there was a doorbell at the door.

"Maybe you should get that." Ethan said.

"Right cause I'm the only one that isn't occupied with food in their mouth." You chuckled. "Be right back."

You got up and headed towards the door, expecting trade marketers. You unlocked the door, and your jaw dropped.

"Ethan? Ethan! What-what are you doing here? I thought you were with your family."

"You needed me more." He looked down at you as he kissed your forehead.

"Y/N, who's at the door?" Your grandmother, Sara appeared in the doorway. "And who is this fine young man?"

Your face flushed as you cleared your throat as you came up with a reply, Ethan coming up with one before you did.

"Oh, my name's Ethan." He introduced himself. "I'm Y/N's boyfriend."

"Ethan?" Your dad, Ray appeared. "Oh come on over here."

Ethan chuckled as he gave your dad a hug.

"Looks like you won't be grumpy this holiday after all." Nora joked, to which you scoffed at.

Ethan made his way back to you. "I forget something." His hands resting on your waist.

Ethan grinned at your confused face and leaned in and kissed you passionately, ignoring the cheers from your grandmother. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours for a moment.

"I love you." He mumbles seemly lost in your eyes.

Your hand caresses his cheek. "I love you too."

[wyattjohnston]

just between you and me - cole caufield

summary: you return to montreal after some time abroad and it unleashes a whole new slew of questions.

word count: 3,325

note: this is for @lam-ila for The Winter Fic Exchange 2k25! i hope you like it maleeha <3 thank you to @comphy-and-cozy and for all your help!!

main character: feminine reader insert

The windowpane offers a nice reprieve from the chaotic warmth being produced by seemingly everybody you’ve ever known being invited to your welcome back party. It’s well below freezing which isn’t at all unusual for Montreal, and—you’ll never admit this out loud—sitting next to the window is the closest you’re going to get to outside. Belgium had been utterly tropical in comparison and you’re ashamed by how quickly the Montreal weather became too much. The crowd of people sitting on the balcony are, quite frankly, out of their minds.

“Don’t think you should be sitting over here by yourself.”

You move your attention from the group outside to the person who just joined you, smiling gently when you realise who it is followed by a just as gentle, “Hi, Cole.”

The confusion across his face is clear and it lasts longer than just a passing second, before he’s saying your name back to you in such a questioning manner that you start to wonder if you’ve somehow been wrong all these years.

He shuffles further into the booth opposite you, leaning all his body weight onto his forearms and the table between them, and says emphatically, “No fucking way.”

You understand his reaction somewhat, knowing that the semester spent in Belgium had been eye opening and experimental, but you can only shrug at him because visibly all that’s changed about you that night is that you’ve put on some makeup and worn something a little tighter than you used to.

“You look—” he pauses, and you sigh to yourself because you know what’s coming next. “You look great. Belgium really did a number on you, eh?”

“Sure, you could put it that way.”

The compliment is nice, regardless, so you take it at face value and put your own arms on the table, leaning in towards him. He grins, toothy and all encompassing, and you’re shunted back to the small crush you’ve always had on him. It’s not anything that takes over your life; sometimes you’re not even sure it’s anything more than the thought that he’s available, but it’s enough to send butterflies into your stomach.

He tells you to stay put, and you do as you’re told even if you’re contorting yourself in your seat to see exactly where he’s gone and what he’s up to. The drink he brings back to you is what he knows as your favourite; you thank him for the soft drink, even if that’s also something that changed while you were away.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, a couple days later, you get a text from Cole asking when you’re next free which is quickly followed by another text with the days he’s free that week.

Hanging out with Cole wasn’t uncommon, though it was typically part of a larger group. It’s not explicit that this is one-on-one in any way other than Cole being the one to initiate and organise; he always left that to someone else and just showed up wherever the people were.

You leave them on your Lock Screen for most of the day and wait until the Habs game is over that night to text him back—whilst you wouldn’t give him the quick response he was undoubtedly after, there’s no way you’re going to put yourself in the position to wait by texting him mid-game.

The text you send reads “that depends what we’re doing” and it’s not until the read receipt pops up and you read it back that you realise it probably sounds quite flirty. It’s not not the message you were trying to convey but your palms get a little sweaty when it really kicks in that the flood gates have just been opened.

Cole’s unbridled joy is conveyed through his texts—the win probably doing some heavy lifting there—and the abundance of exclamation marks. Though, truthfully, they might not be that uncommon for Cole.

“We can go bowling!! Or ice skating!! Or you can come over??!!”

It’s endearing if not a little overwhelming.

Ice skating is the pick, and you can’t help but laugh at the idea of him using his day off to do more skating. It was his suggestion, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so you don’t bring it up at all.

He helps with your skates even though you’re more than capable; he just kneels down in front of you and starts lacing them up before you can even begin to tighten them yourself. He does look cute when he smiles up at you proudly, so you don’t have it in you to fight it.

Cole is holding your hand the moment you’re stepping onto the ice. You know how to skate and he knows you know how, so it’s not a tight, steadying grip. In fact, it’s having the opposite effect as your knees get weak because even through two pairs of thick, winter gloves you can feel every part of his hand against yours.

On the ice you can hear a guy yapping at his poor date about how good he was at hockey, how he could have gone pro, but he decided it was better for him to go to university and get a real job because of some made up reason that trailed off before he really finished his sentence. You couldn’t hide your laugh at it all, a full-bodied snort that drew the attention of the couple, so you curled into Cole to try and pretend it was something he’d said.

It did end up being Cole who was making you laugh, when he leant in closer whilst he kept you moving across the ice to repeat the guy’s ridiculous claims. The hockey bro voice he was putting on—or maybe just playing up—really sent you over the edge, and you had to hold onto him to keep upright as your laughter got to a point where breathing was problematic.

Being pulled effortlessly around the rink by Cole was something. It certainly wasn’t making it any easier to breathe, and even less so when you were able to gather some bearings and make eye contact with him. You weren’t sure anyone had ever looked at you with such softness and sincerity; you had to look away.

It’s so cliché when you step off the ice to get hot chocolate that you have no choice but to sit opposite him and ask him a question that’s been on your mind all day.

“Is this your go-to first date?”

“It’s…” he pauses briefly, sheepish. “It’s in the rotation, yeah. Seasonal. You’re my favourite.”

You avert eye contact, staring at your hands where they’re wrapped around the source of warmth that is your cup. Cole’s foot nudging against yours doesn’t do a lot to help keep your voice steady because your mind has conjured up an image of Cole and the poor date from earlier. She’s stunning, exactly the type of woman who would make a perfect WAG—no amount of makeup or otherwise traditionally feminine behaviour would ever make you feel like you could match her.

It’s with a weak voice you say, “You probably say that to all the girls.”

“No.” Cole doesn’t miss a beat. “Just you.”

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you’re filled with so much emotion that you screw your eyes shut because you don’t want to see the face he makes at your delirious smile.

Before you leave, the wannabe hockey player catches up with you and asks Cole for an autograph and a photo which are happily provided. He tells his date, before you and Cole can even get out of earshot, that he was a better player than Cole has ever been and would have gone higher in the draft had he kept up with hockey.

“Can’t believe the world doesn’t get to see the next Gretzky play just because he wants to…” he trails off into unintelligible mumbling.

The number of dates you’ve been on—and they are dates, Cole has made that exceedingly clear—is quite frankly outstanding for it having been two weeks. It feels like every day he’s free, and you don’t have classes, you’re together. It’s a lot, to be honest, but it’s not bad.

It’s not like you’ve never gone to a nice restaurant before—your parents were fans of the finer things in life, and you and your friends liked to treat yourselves on your birthdays—it’s just not something you ever pictured yourself doing with Cole. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t thought about doing much with Cole until he’d suddenly started showing interest.

The maître d’ knows Cole and you’re not so sure whether it’s because Cole is a regular or because he plays for the Habs. It’s likely both.

You don’t feel like you fit, despite any sudden interest in fashion and skincare you’ve developed—when you went out with your friends in Belgium, it was always met with judgemental, and disbelieving looks that you belonged.

You push down your discomfort and let Cole order your dinner because the menu is intimidating. He asks the waiter to bring the wine that pairs best with each course, and then turns to you and says, “Pop?”

“Just seltzer, please,” you say to Cole before turning to the waiter with a timid smile. “Thank you.”

When you turn your attention back to Cole, he’s visibly confused—his eyebrows pulled together, and his mouth pulled tight. You tilt your head, confused by his confusion but he doesn’t say anything to you.

“I don’t drink soft drinks anymore,” you explain. It doesn’t clear his confusion. “Just trying to take better care of my teeth. That seems to be the change that’s got you the most.”

“Just surprised. It’s not a bad thing.”

You tilt your head at him again, waiting for him to elaborate, but the waiter returns with your drinks and Cole easily shifts the conversation to his brother, Brock.

At the next table there’s a couple, probably in their early 50s, who are absolutely besotted with each other. You catch yourself staring at them a lot throughout the evening, hoping to learn what really makes a relationship perfect. Cole notices, too, though he stares far less at them than he does at you. When you catch him staring, the heart eyes he’s developed are enough to make your heart swell.

“You look really nice tonight,” he says after one of the times he gets caught, as if it’s not what he said the second he laid eyes on you at your front door.

The compliments have come through thick and fast since Cole came back into your life. You’re not mad about them, really, and you’re proud of what you’re now able to do with your makeup and the outfits you’re able to put together so that they are outfits and not just pants and a top, but every time he says something nice you’re reminded of the years where he said nothing of the sort—when you were just another person in the same room.

It comes out of nowhere, is much of the problem. It’s been a month, maybe two, of thoughts running through your head, of what you and Cole are and what he really thinks about you—about anything—and you’ve not asked. You probably should have because it’s not an inconsistent thought in your head about what any of this even means.

You and Cole are sitting on his couch, watching a 90s teen romcom, not having said a word for half an hour, when you sit up straight and stare at him.

He looks put out by having lost your body heat, instantly reaching out to pull you back, but you can’t get over Laney Boggs’ sudden transformation into a Prom Queen and so you start spilling a months’ worth of thoughts to him.

“I can’t keep this up, Cole,” you say with all the dramatics of the main character of a romcom.

It sort of feels like he’s in a constant state of confusion when you’re around and it adds to all the thoughts running through your head because what could he possibly see in you when he doesn’t ever seem to know what to expect next.

He asks, “Keep what up?”

“Pretending that it doesn’t kill me that you’re only interested in me now that I’m more of a girly girl.”

There’s a beat, where he stares at you, and you stare back, and his face screws up and your heart does the same, but you bite your lip because really, you need to hear something from him, anything.

“What?” he says—it’s less of a question than a silence filler. “No. No that’s—”

“But it is, though, isn’t it?” You cut him off before he can stumble over any more words. “Because you weren’t taking me on dates or showing any interest when I was drinking nothing but pop and wearing nothing but sports merch but put me in a dress with a boring water in my hand and all of a sudden you can’t get enough of me.”

“I didn’t… I don’t… I don’t care about water,” he says, staring at you like you’ve grown three heads. Maybe you have. You’re not sure exactly what you look like at that moment. Promptly more unkempt than when you showed up, maybe a little crazier in the eyes—maybe doing a reverse She’s All That while the end of the movie plays behind you.

“You can’t even deny it,” you argue back, sitting further back against the arm of the couch and putting more space between you and Cole. He’s listening to every word you say, rolling them all through his mind one by one. “I thought I was alright with it, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Would you have ever looked at me that way if everything about me hadn’t changed?”

Cole’s face changes even more at that point, the confusion morphing into something a little pained and that makes sense to you if he feels like he’s been called out. He leans forward, trying to close some of the space you’ve created, but pulls back a little when you show any sign of helping the space disappear.

His shoulders fall and he says confidently, “I’m into you, babe. Just you.”

There’s part of you that wonders why he hasn’t made a move. There have been makeouts and cuddling but nothing more and you’re not mad about that at all, you’re quite happy that the pace has been slow in that respect, but the fact that it hasn’t come up at all has been playing on your mind because is he into you? Any version of you?

It’s not the most burning question in your mind right then, though, and you manage to get out, “But would you have ever asked me out the way I was before Belgium?”

“I didn’t…” All his confidence is gone. “I didn’t think of you that way before.”

You nod and stand, knowing that staying in that room is going to hurt even more than the conversation you’ve just had. So you say, “Okay,” as you’re walking to the door and following it up with, “That’s all I needed to know,” when you’re turning the doorknob.

Cole is standing, too, though he’s not moving towards you. He’s standing by the couch, looking small and curled in on himself. Your heart breaks just a little bit more when he asks, “Are we—Are we breaking up?”

Despite all the dates and the time you’ve been spending together, you’re not even sure that you’re at a point where you can ‘break up’. There’s been no conversation about what you are outside of calling the time you’re spending together dates.

“I don’t know what we are, Cole,” you say, tired and desperate to get out of his house and be alone. “I just need some time to think.”

You can hear your roommate open the front door, immediately telling whoever is there that you don’t want to see them. It’s not hard to connect the dots. Especially not when they line up perfectly with the Habs returning from a road trip.

Cole is talking before your roommate has even finished speaking, hurriedly trying to say he just wants to talk to you, and nothing else, and he has to explain things and the more the talks the faster he gets, and your roommate is trying to get a word in but Cole isn’t letting her.

It’s not anybody else’s job to be your bodyguard, so you prepare yourself mentally to rescue her from his rapid-fire speech. There’s no physical effort to put in, especially not when you putting in effort is what caused all your problems to begin with, so you step into the hall wearing a two-sizes-too-large Habs shirt with a hole in each armpit and the shorts made of sweatpants material that haven’t been seen outside your house since prior to you leaving for Belgium. Your skincare routine may or may not have been neglected in the last 48 hours, you don’t actually remember. The spots brewing suggest it’s more like in the may not column.

Yet, despite that, Cole’s eyes are on you the second you’re in his line of sight, and the relief rolling off him is palpable. He stops talking, finally taking a breath, and you just nod at your roommate when she silently asks if you actually want to do this. She takes a deep breath, waits half a second for you to change your mind, and then leaves you and Cole standing in your small entry hall.

“Sorry about the road trip,” you say, suddenly struck by his silence after how fast his mouth had been moving before you were standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds desperate, even more so than when he was begging to see you. “I—I’m into you. I don’t want whatever you think I think to get in the way of that.”

“But you weren’t into before I looked different.”

“You don’t look that different,” he counters. “I don’t think you’re wearing any make up right now and I am still really into you.”

Your cheeks warm, and you struggle to get out anything because you truthfully don’t have a lot of will to argue with him if he’s into you. You do manage, “You never showed any interest before,” which is just a repeat of everything you’ve already said.

“Then you disappeared for months, and I realised I missed you. The timing isn’t great for whatever you think is going on, but I promise I like you. A lot. And I want to keep going on dates and hanging out and all of that stuff. You can wear whatever you want or don’t want, it makes no difference to me.”

“Why didn’t you say any of that last week?”

He laughs, a snort which is largely self-deprecating, “I couldn’t wrap my head around what you were saying because it didn’t make sense to me. Kind of put me on the spot there, babe. Also felt like a bit of a trap with the movie if we’re being honest with each other.”

You sigh, “The movie was an accident. It did, uh, cause everything to kind of burst, though.”

“Can we go back to hanging out? To dating? The last week’s sucked sorta hard.”

You can’t disagree that it’s sucked sorta hard. Despite needing the time to think about it, the absence of Cole’s silly texts throughout the day or his random minute-long phone calls because his thought was too much for a text had left a huge gap in your day that you hadn’t even realised he’d been filling.

It’s easy, then, to move towards him and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

[incorrectbatfam]

Not sure if you’ve heard of the ‘dad reflex’ where dads just save their small children from imminent harm (usually because the child is still learning how gravity works or just completely unaware of the world around them). I know Bruce technically doesn’t get the bat kids young but either way his batdad reflex has to be off the charts. What are his best dad reflexes? (They can be smol kids or cannon ages whatever sparks your creative juices most!)

Thank you💙💙

They're at someone else's gala and 27-year-old grown-ass Dick is swinging from a giant chandelier in an atrium 3 stories high when it gives out and Bruce "Wine drunk and raving about his kids" Wayne, who hears the tiny snap across the room, stops mid-conversation, grabs a steak knife, slashes a curtain, and swings from the balcony in like fuckin' Tarzan to grab him in the span of 5 seconds before 300 pounds of metal and glass come crashing down

Tim gets mosh pit tickets for his favorite band and Bruce goes with him because Bernard got caught up in something last minute, and after hours of waiting outside, they make it all the way to the front where, on the last song, Bruce's dad senses tingle in time to shield Tim from a malfunctioning confetti cannon all while glaring at the crew in a way that guarantees someone's about to lose their job

In a recon mission gone sideways, Bruce and Steph are taking on some goons at the harbor when one of them knocks her into the water, and without hesitation he throws aside the person he's fighting, dives into the freezing waves, and gives her his rebreather, holding his breath for what seems like forever until they resurface, and despite the ache in his lungs the next morning, it's worth it when he watches her turn waffles into a breakfast burrito

Duke's driving the Batmobile while Bruce is in the passenger's seat walking him through all the controls, and they're listening to the scanner and joking about their last mission when, just before an intersection, Bruce suddenly grabs the wheel and swerves, and before Duke can say anything a semi truck plows through the exact spot where they would've been

Cass tries to cook one day while Bruce is sitting at the bar doing some work, and he forgot what she was making, but all he knows is one minute he's answering an email and the next he's sprinting across the kitchen and sweeping her out of the way right before the pressure cooker explodes—and afterwards he doesn't let her clean up because everything is still scalding hot

The middle school holds a fundraiser at the petting zoo, and everything's going great until someone forgets to turn off their flash and the whole enclosure descends into chaos, and all Bruce cares about is scooping Damian up before a bull rams into the fence he was sitting on—then he makes eye contact with Clark, who just did the exact same with Jon

Against orders, Jason pursues a lead that brings him right to the Joker's doorstep. Dazed and disarmed, he doesn't realize what's happening until a long metallic scrape renders him frozen as those moments replay in his mind, and he thinks this is how the universe wants him to go out. Then he hears a swoosh and a click. Jason opens his eyes to Batman pointing a gun at the Joker, his silence sending a clear message: no more chances.

BONUS: Teenage Bruce tried to sneak out the window and Alfred was at the bottom ready to catch him

[magnoliasandarson]

tiny tim

The holidays for Tim Drake were always a time of intensely heightened stress. When he was young, before he turned six, his parents would return from whatever dig site they were gallivanting around to pose for ridiculously staged holiday cards. They would drag him to high-society parties, his mother's manicured claws digging into his shoulder through his expensive suit. His father would pat him on the back, always a bit too rough, and tell all of the other business men how Tim was shaping up to be more brilliant than their respective heirs.

When he was six, they decided he could go alone. Little Tim, in his pressed suit, one of the Drake assistants, shepherding him through crowds to make the appropriate niceties before leaving. He made polite appearances, practiced smiles, and carefully rehearsed stories about his parents being too busy to show up, but they would never want to prevent him from seeing his friends.

He felt like an imposter, donning the silk suits year after year, stumbling over coached anecdotes to important people. Invariably, he would be found hiding on a balcony, shivering with blue lips and fingertips. He was more comfortable watching the partygoers through the window. It was better that way.

So when Jason left him sitting in the snow, staring at an icy gravestone and a puddle of blood, he stayed there. The feeling of deja vu kept him firmly on his ass. Poor Tim, freezing alone on Christmas.

He knew why the night failed, why it was doomed, but he wished he could've changed things. He wasn't meant to sit at that table, that was what he kept landing on. If he hadn't sat amongst them, Jason wouldn't have been half as tense, he might've been able to shrug off Bruce's words. Going even further back, if he had never shown up, Jason would have rejoined the family when he came back. It would've never been like this.

Tim thought about that a lot. He'd whispered his fears to Steph, who screamed them at Dick, who then sat with him on a roof and apologized for ever making Tim feel unwanted. It was a band-aid on a bullet hole. Insufficient and a bit insulting. Because Dick hadn't just made him feel unwanted, he'd made him feel useless.

If there was one thing in this life Tim prided himself on, it was being useful. So no, Dick crying through apologies didn't help the gaping wound in Tim's chest. The golden boy couldn't pretend he did what he did out of kindness; Dick taking Robin from him had hurt more than Jason's attack on Titan's Tower. One was forgivable

He was mostly over it; he mostly accepted his place in the family. He was a passive participant, an errand boy, a scapegoat. Maybe that's why he still gravitated to Jason; they were both imposters. In their own ways. His eyes wandered back to his brother, standing at the wrought iron gates, fumbling for another cigarette. Tim wanted to help Jason desperately, but he wasn't equipped- this was another one of those big wing- little wing issues. So he brushed off his pants and stood as Jason walked off down the road.

Tim pressed a hand to the stone next to him and wondered what Jason had been like at Christmas half a decade ago. It was almost too perfect, seeing Dick's battered pick-up squeal down the road to the cemetery.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and braced himself to be disappointed, calling out to the quickly approaching figure, "You missed him-"

Dick collided with him harshly, pulling Tim into his chest with deliberate force. Dick's pulse was loud and furious under Tim's ear, the drum beat of a soldier off to battle, but the way his breathing shuddered made Tim squeeze his eyes shut tightly, "You okay, Tim?"

Tim shoved away all the hurt, pressed down the old wounds and bitterness, and tried desperately not to cry at his brother's embrace-

"Fine."

[yertle-the-turtle6678]

IM BACK AND I HAVE PERCIVER HEAD CANONS TO SHARE!!!

They meet in first year on the Hogwarts express. Percy's holding a giant book on third year divination. While this makes him a less attractive friend in the eyes of others', it's what brings Oliver Wood to the same train car as him. They introduce themselves and shake hands.

In second year, Oliver makes the Quidditch team as their keeper. Percy still spends the majority of his time indoors, but he goes to Ollie's practices and games every once in a while. After one specific game, Oliver comes back to the dorm with his breath cut short and with tears in his eyes. He stops breathing and the world goes spinning between each of his eyes; a panic attack, madame Pomphrey later describes it. The crowd triggered it.

Percy comforts him, sits on the same floor as him, rubbing the boy's back, repeating reassurance: "you're safe here,"

"You were good out there, really."

"I'll sit with you for as long as it takes."

Oliver comes to with his head on Percy's shoulder.

In third year, Percy goes to every practice and every game. He rubs Oliver's back when he returns to the dorm. When he loses for the first time, Percy has to chase him to stop him from running away, never to be found again.

"Hey, listen," Percy says, out of breath from the running. He doesn't understand how Oliver's barely breaking a sweat. "Tell me, okay? What went wrong out there?"

He gives Oliver a minute to pause and think.

Oliver gathers his thoughts and his breath. The sweat dripping down his neck fuels him, gives him energy. It clouds his head. He needs to calm down.

"I slipped on my broom." He says finally. "I wasn't planted on it properly."

"Good. What are you gonna do to fix it?" Percy replies, breathing better.

"I'll improve my grip."

"Good."

The two of them stand there, just breathing.

"Thanks."

In fourth year, they have the Yule Ball. Both of them are fifteen. Their year mates are out and about minging, asking each other out. The two of them stay where they are. They don't speak of the ball.

They go to the dance together, as friends of course. Percy keeps adjusting the collar to his hand-me-down dress robes. Oliver assures him that his attire is charming.

He sighs.

"If you had to wear these, I guarantee you'd understand me." Percy says. Over the summer his voice has changed. It's deeper and richer. Oliver loves it. Wishes he could taste it. Wishes these thoughts would go away. He grins and laughs Percy off.

When it's time to dance, they run away to a balcony that Percy didn't even know existed. They laugh and chat, making jokes at the dancers' expenses. Percy's had a bit to drink, (had he known the punch was alcoholic, he wouldn't have gone near it) and his face is flushed deep red.

"AND- and then when the-" he howls laughter. Oliver has to stop him from falling over himself.

Oliver thinks... He can't think at all. Suddenly. The two of them are so close together. He's got his arm around Percy's back and Percy's leaning against him, hands on Oliver's chest, still laughing. When he stops and catches his breath, though, the two of them seem to freeze. Oliver's heart skips a beat when he can physically feel Percy tensing up.

He kisses him.

Very awkwardly.

He made little action with his lips, just gently brushing his against the other boy's. The boy in question grins. Now it's Oliver's turn to flush deep red.

"ha-HA! No, wait, no, Oliver, wait."

Percy pulls Oliver back towards him by the arm. They're tangled with each other again, Oliver giving in to the urge to smile, just a bit, even after being embarrassed.

They kiss. Properly this time. It's the best thing Oliver's felt in his life. When they pull away, he whispers,

"Are you my boyfriend now?"

Percy smiles.

"Yes."

In fifth year, nightmares attack. O.W.Ls. Percy never sleeps anymore.

Oliver has to drag him away from his work table and force him onto his bed. When that bed later becomes repurposed for more studies, Oliver forces him onto his own bed. They sleep together and their dorm mates start getting suspicious.

Oliver sleeps in pajama bottoms and nothing else. Percy sleeps in a sweater and boxers. They spoon and Oliver rests his arm in front of Percy's only exit to stop him from crawling out of bed to study. Little does he know, Percy would never dare leave.

During the waking hours, Oliver drags Percy to other important places, such as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The outdoors. Interaction with other human beings. It's a tough life out here for him.

When the exams finally start approaching, they do not stop making out. It's the only thing that gets Percy's mind off things. Only because there's nothing more distracting than Oliver's mouth.

To his own surprise and nobody else's, Percy passes his O.W.Ls with flying colours. Oliver passes alright despite not studying.

In sixth year it's the same for their N.E.W.Ts.

Something changes in the relationship between Percy and the rest of the student body, especially the girls. Oliver knows he's gotten taller. And his freckles have cleared enough for his gorgeous face to be visible. His voice is still as beautiful as it was in fourth year. He's started rolling up the sleeves of his sweaters, and the halls seem to swoon rapidly when they spot his forearms. Oliver always knew that Percy could have this power over people; he'd been subject to it himself. But it annoys him. And what's even worse is that Percy doesnt seem to notice when he's being flirted with.

He gets into the habit of writing on Oliver with pens, a strange Muggle device that's actually pretty nifty. Some mornings, Oliver wakes up with markings he doesn't even remember. Percy writes on his chest a lot. Draws on his collarbone. The most repeated word is Percy's name.

Oliver looks in the mirror one day, at his shirtless body.

PROPERTY OF PERCIVAL IGNATIUS WEASLEY

It says this all over his torso.

He grins. No one's stealing Percy from him anytime soon.

They pass their N.E.W.Ts.

The Summer Before Seventh Year

France is a gorgeous place, Oliver realises. Filled with gorgeous girls, too. He's lounging at the beach when one of them asks him out. He's put on the spot and exposed, wearing nothing but his swimming shorts and sunglasses. He fumbles over his words.

"Err, I mean, no..." The girl frowns. She has gorgeous eyes. "I mean, yes, sure. Is Friday at 7 PM okay with you?"

It doesn't even occur to him that she's a Muggle.

Immediately after he's uttered these words, he regrets it. But he can't stand her up. And she's already walking away. Merlin, Percy's gonna kill him.

It's just one date and Oliver doesn't even enjoy. They don't touch each other at all; they don't even hold hands. But Oliver knows what he's done, and he knows what he has to do.

He writes a letter.

I love you. I'm sorry. I couldn't live with myself if I kept it secret.

He sends it away with his black owl.

At the Burrow, Percy receives two letters back to back on his birthday. The first is from Hogwarts, confirmation that he's this year's Head Boy. He jumps around the kitchen, all dignity forgotten, and hugs his mother with an enormous grin on his face.

The second is from Oliver.

How quickly Percy's face turns sour. Mrs Weasley asks if he's okay.

Tears sting his eyes. Outside, he tells his mother everything.

One day before the start of the school year, the Weasley's are staying at the Leakey Cauldron overnight. Percy hears pebbles being thrown at his window and goes to see who it is.

Oliver Wood. Merlin.

Percy goes downstairs, striding towards his partner. Punches him in the face and immediately feels bad, but doesn't let that stop him. His voice is somewhere between a whisper and a yell and a sob,

"How could you?"

"I'm so sorry, Percy."

"Why did you do it?"

"We didn't do anything. Didn't touch her. I remember what you wrote on me."

Percy breathes in deep.

"I wasn't talking about just your body, Oliver. I was talking about you. All of you." He exhales, trying to hold himself together.

"I wouldn't think twice about rejecting some Muggle girl for you. You think I didn't notice when the whole female population at school suddenly wanted to date me? Just because of my body? I resisted them for you, Oliver. Because I love you. Why couldn't you do that for me?"

"I don't know. I'm so, so sorry."

They decide to take a break from their relationship. When they start attending school again, their dorm mates wonder why they've stopped sleeping together.

[orchidsangel]

The holiday season with Jason would be the most comforting thing ever, no matter how you spend it. Thanksgiving through Christmas through New Year is basically you being reminded every day why you love him in the first place. He's so attentive and loving, always doing exactly what you need him to do without ever asking, including skipping out on the annual New Year's Wayne gala to spend the night in with you. It's not like he wanted to go anyway, but if you had, then he'd be rifling through his bedside drawer searching for cufflinks just as he had done many times before when you'd wanted to escape the mundaneness of regular civilian life. This year, however, you'd decided to ring in the new year at home, the illustrious and extravagant gala not seeming too appealing this time around. Now, you sit together on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap while he gently massages the muscle of your calf.

Remnants of dinner and dessert sit in empty bowls on the living room table, streaks of brown ganache on the back of a spoon you'd almost licked clean before Jason had pulled it out of your hand, a hearty laugh escaping the typically quiet man followed by a question of whether it was good or not; it was, he knew it was. They were just a couple of delicious experiments you'd helped him whip up as a last hoorah of sorts before settling down to watch the New Year's Eve performances. A star-studded brigade in sparkly costumes dances around your screen, the backing track of some Hot 100 hit playing loudly over the sound of people cheering, visible breaths appearing on the screen every time the camera pans to the audience. They must be freezing, you think, and pull your blanket over your shoulders at the thought of waiting for the ball to drop in this temperature. You feel Jason gently move your legs off of him, getting up to grab the bowls and plates off the table before putting them in the kitchen sink. The countdown on the TV catches your eye, twenty minutes till midnight, and you stand up from the couch, sliding your slippers on, and walking to the balcony door.

The squeaky sound of the sliding door is faint under the sound of the first fireworks going off. Dashes of gold and white paint the sky, the streams of hot light reflecting in your eyes as you watch night temporarily turn to day. You're not sure how much time passes, but pretty soon, the feeling of warmth surrounding you multiplies tenfold, and strong, muscular arms pull you flush against an equally strong and muscular body. Jason cages you in his arms, keeping you close to him as the last few minutes of the year pass, and his grip is tight, like he's scared he's going to lose you when the clock strikes twelve. The sound of crowds on the street counting down gets louder as the year comes to an end. You and Jason stand in silence, numbness settling into your fingers despite the layers of blanket and man wrapped around you. An eruption of screams breaks out, mixed in with some laughter and Happy New Year's, Jason's cue to turn you around by the waist and kiss you intently, swallowing your surprised gasp until it becomes a smile. New year, new me, they say, but you hoped to god Jason had picked a different resolution because the man in front of you was a man you never wanted to change.

(more than) inspired by this ask, and ik it's not new years anymore but i hope you still enjoy it !! it's a little rushed at the end, and for that i'm sorry but i wanted to post it before it got too far away from jan 1. wishing you all the best this year, and thank you for 300 followers <3

[magical-reid]

Unknown Past (part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Barnes!Reader (No use of Y/N, reader is referred as Mrs./Dr. Barnes)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Word Count: 1.5 K

This is a multi-part story inspired by my fic "Remembering James".

The confrontation on the balcony left you shaken.

You’d gone to bed that night unable to stop replaying the sharp edge in Bucky’s voice, the rawness of his confession: “I can’t. I shouldn’t have even—” What had he meant? What was he so afraid to tell you?

But it wasn’t just the words that haunted you—it was the way his gaze lingered on you, especially when your dog tags caught the light. You could still feel the weight of his stare, the tension in his shoulders as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

And the dog tags themselves… they were a mystery that suddenly felt too important to ignore.

The Weight of the Tags

The dog tags had always been with you.

When you woke up after the bombing, they’d been clutched so tightly in your hand that the edges left imprints on your skin. At first, they meant nothing—a nameless object tied to a life you couldn’t remember. But over the years, they became a constant, a part of you as essential as your breath.

The name engraved on them—Barnes, James B.—had been little more than a puzzle piece for years. You’d convinced yourself they belonged to someone you’d cared for in another life. Maybe a friend. Maybe… something more.

But when you met Bucky, the name had taken on new weight. And now, as memories of another life started to bubble to the surface, the tags felt heavier than ever.

A Medbay Confrontation

It started late one evening. The medbay was quiet, the soft hum of equipment lulling you into a rhythm as you organized supplies. You didn’t hear him approach, but the familiar sensation of his presence made your chest tighten before you even looked up.

“You always wear those?”

You turned, startled to find Bucky standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He nodded toward the faint outline of the dog tags beneath your scrub top.

“Always,” you said, your fingers brushing the chain.

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he stepped into the room. “They mean something.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “They do.”

“To you,” he pressed, his voice quieter now, “or to him?”

The question made you freeze. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, slowly, he crossed the room and stopped in front of you.

“May I?” he asked softly, gesturing toward the tags.

You hesitated, but something in his voice—something raw and vulnerable—made you nod.

Carefully, he reached out and lifted the tags from where they rested against your chest, his metal fingers brushing against your skin. His other hand turned the tags over, his thumb tracing the name engraved on the worn surface.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I gave you these.”

Your breath caught. “You… did?”

His hand trembled as he lowered the tags, his gaze finally meeting yours. “Back then. Before everything.”

A Memory Unearthed

The words triggered something inside you.

The medbay faded away, replaced by the dim glow of a field hospital. You were sitting on a wooden crate, exhaustion tugging at your shoulders as you worked on stitching up a torn uniform. The air smelled of antiseptic and rain, and the distant sound of artillery punctuated the quiet.

Bucky had approached cautiously, his broad frame filling the narrow doorway. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he looked almost shy—an odd expression on a man you’d come to associate with confidence and charm.

“What’s that look for, Sergeant?” you teased, setting your stitching aside.

He pulled something from his pocket—a pair of dog tags, their chain looped loosely around his fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the low light.

“I, uh… I got these for you,” he said, his voice gruff. “Figured it might… I dunno. Keep you safe. If something ever happens, people will know—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted softly, taking the tags from him.

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s stupid, I know. You don’t even—”

“I love them,” you said, your voice steady.

His head snapped up, surprise flickering across his face.

“I mean it,” you continued, looping the chain around your neck. The tags settled against your chest, their weight oddly comforting. “I’ll keep them with me. Always.”

His shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he murmured.

The memory shattered, leaving you breathless.

The Photograph

Bucky’s voice brought you back to the present. “Do you remember?” he asked, his gaze searching your face.

You swallowed hard, your fingers brushing the tags. “I remember you giving them to me. And the hospital. I… I remember you.”

His breath hitched, his expression breaking into something equal parts relief and anguish. “They were supposed to keep you safe,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t—” He broke off, his voice cracking.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He didn’t seem to hear you. “They told me you’d died,” he said, the words spilling out in a rush. “In ’43. The papers said the field hospital was bombed. I thought—” He shook his head, his hand gripping the edge of the table. “I thought I’d lost you. And then Hydra—”

He stopped again, his shoulders curling inward as though the words were too heavy to carry.

“Bucky,” you said softly, stepping closer. “What happened?”

His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, battered photograph.

He held it out to you, his fingers trembling.

You took it carefully, your breath catching as your gaze fell on the image.

It was black and white, faded with age, but the details were unmistakable: a young man in a military uniform, his arm wrapped around a laughing woman. Her face was slightly turned, but you didn’t need to see the rest to know.

It was you.

Your knees went weak, and you stumbled back a step.

“That’s not possible,” you whispered.

“It is,” Bucky said quietly. “You just don’t remember.”

The Truth Comes Out

The weight of the dog tags against your chest was suffocating now, the memories swirling in your mind like a storm. The wedding band you’d woken up with. The tattoo on your wrist. The promise Bucky had made to you, all those years ago.

“You’re saying… we knew each other?”

“Knew each other?” he echoed, his voice breaking. “We were married.”

The words hit you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak. But when you looked up at Bucky, at the way his hands shook and his eyes pleaded silently for you to believe him, something inside you shifted.

“What happens now?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “Now,” he said quietly, “we figure it out. Together.”

Part 4

[yinlikesbooksandtea]

青のすみか

Where Our Blue Is

“Satoru?”

You never thought you'd see him again after you graduated Tokyo Jujutsu High. Being a sorcerer wasn't for everyone and that was clear. Seeing your own best friend fall apart and drown in their depression spiraling from their past. It's hard not to leave with your own mental demise. Dead. Dead. Dead. People fall one by one, and you knew you'd be soon if you didn't leave.

3:38am

Oddly specific. I can't sleep. We all can't. The burdens of society and capitalism hanging over our shoulders. Being a teacher wasn't the easiest either. You may have left jujutsu society but being a kind person never really left your heart. A beer in one hand and a cigarette in another. You promised yourself, you'd never smoke yet here you were. A certain brown haired girl would have chuckled at you now. Sitting at your balcony smoking like your old friend would. A knock at your door surprised you. Instinctively your head turnt to the noise, your body freezing for a moment. Feet moving against the wooden tiles of the cheaply rented apartment. A shiver going down your spine at the thought of someone knocking at your door at midnight. Though a familiar mop of white hair catches your attention through the peephole. Blue eyes you'd never forget in a millennia looking right back at you. Like he knew you were there. The sound of the door knob twisted, before you knew it your hand had opened the door to greet your friend. An acquaintance you'd count now with so many years that past. Everything changed.

Yet it still felt the same.

The familiar white hair, vibrant blue eyes that sparkled like the sky, the intimidating aura that came with someone as tall and big as him. It was all the same but so different. The white bandages that used to be wrapped around his eyes no where to be seen. How can someone grow even taller after highschool? You wanted to ask by decided against it.

“Satoru?”

His name glides off your tongue the same as it used to. As easy as ever as if a decade hasn't past. You're no longer 18, but you're 28 now. Wrinkles and smile lines are a little more visible on each other's faces. But there's a certain beauty to it. You were alive and had the privilege to age. If only your dear old friends had the same. Maybe things would have been different. Satoru didn't look a day over 20. Still the same, handsome as ever a masculine aura that complimented him had grew as well. A bittersweet smile emerges on his face as he stands there. A hand tucked in his pockets as he bends downwards slightly so you can see him better in the dim light.

"Hey. It's been a while."

It's been a while indeed.

And suddenly you can't help but smile back at him either. Your head tilting to the side as you did so like the teenager you once were.

"I brought some sweets."

That handsome voice said. Of course you did. He loved sweets and something's never change do they? Even in the sadness of being an adult, a flower blooms in the harshest weather. A sweet smile finally blooming on that face that was ridden with sorrow. Your feet carrying your body, as you stepped aside to let him in. It seemed that spring has come once more. Your spring.

"Come in, Satoru. I'll make us tea."

"At 3am? We aren't gonna be able to sleep later."

"It's not like we plan to do we?"

I guess somethings never change.

We did meet again.

Like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy. Spilling through the gaps between my fingers.

-------------------------------------------

Hello it's been a while since I wrote something! I wrote this at 4 am so if there's some mistakes I'll check in the morning but honestly it's been a while since I felt like writing something. I got a little sad and wrote something a bit melancholic ish I guess. Highly highly recommend reading the lyrics of Where our blue is before you read this fic! Sorry it's a bit short and request are always open.

Anyways hope you guys like it :)

[throneofsapphics]

midnight panic

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Request: dark!Rowaelin x reader angst to fluff, she wanders around the castle and they can’t find her and think she ran or something. 

Summary: Rowan and Aelin find you missing in the middle of the night 

Warnings: darkish rowan/aelin, sleepwalking, hypothermia, fighting, toxic relationships

Word Count: ~3.2k 

A/N: this is a standalone, but also fits between parts 4 & 5 of my dark poly!rowaelin series (have your little girlfriend), but you don’t need to read the actual series to understand this one!

Aelin squinted, the light from the full moon hitting at the perfect angle to shine directly on her face. Keeping her eyes shut, not wanting the sleepiness to disappear, she turned back towards her, reaching her arm over to pull her back into her side, to cuddle into her warmth again. 

Aelin’s hand hit the bed, the space beside her warm - but empty, her eyes shot open. Majority of the time, she slept between her and Rowan. Lifting her head, she wasn't on his other side. Things had been … testy, lately. She couldn’t shake the feeling that y/n wanted out, wanted to leave the two of them, to escape to gods-know-where. She listened carefully for sounds in the bathroom - or even the sitting room, but nothing. How had she left without them noticing? 

“Rowan,” she said, trying to keep her voice low enough she wouldn’t startle him. Wouldn’t trigger the battle-honed instincts. A grunt, and he rolled towards her, reaching his own hand out and - his eyes shot open as well. Rowan checked the bathroom, and she peeked out onto the balcony - empty. Nothing was out of place, no missing items, if anything she’d left with only the clothes on her back.

“What the hell,” she muttered under her breath. 

“She was here an hour ago,” Rowan said, all traces of sleep gone. A good bit of distance could be covered in an hour, especially if she’d shifted into her animal form. 

I’ll check inside the castle, she said silently

I have the city, he assured her. In bird form, he’d be able to cover more ground. Signal if you find her. If we don’t in two hours, meet back here. 

One they’d used throughout the years - a pulse of magic, strong enough the other could recognize, but subtle enough to not cause alarm to the general public. 

It was midnight, and absolutely freezing. There was snow on the ground, ice covering the windows, the temperatures well below freezing. Even inside the castle, a bitter chill set in. Within minutes, they were dressed warmly and armed with their usual assortment of weapons. Rowan propped the window open, and with a flash of light a white-tailed hawk soared into the night. 

Aelin knew all of the routes to take to avoid any guards or sentries. It went without saying that they’d keep this under wraps. When they found her, there’d be hell to pay. She raced through the halls, checking her workshop, the private library, every place she usually liked to spend time. Every scent was faint, she hadn’t been there in the last few hours. Each minute she grew angrier and more worried. 

Tracing back, on impulse she checked on of the older passages out of the castle - and caught her scent. Running, she’d tried to run. Breathing deeply to tamp down her anger, threatening to flow over into her magic, she focused her senses. There’s no way she’d let her get away. A mating bond was for life. There’s nowhere she could run that her mates wouldn’t find her, even if it took years. 

-

Rowan flew over the city, backtracking through every route she could take out, searching for any trail of her scent. He spotted Aelin, following a path out of the castle, and shot down, shifting to fall in step with her. 

“She went this way,” Aelin said quietly, and he picked up on the same trail. Fae, at least she hadn’t shifted, that would make this much easier. 

This was familiar, something they’d done in their time before her. They were going on a hunt. 

Did she really think they wouldn’t notice? He needed to figure out how he’d given her the impression he was that stupid, and fix it. 

They trailed her out of the castle grounds, past the gates - a guard currently sleeping on duty. He’d quickly find himself out of a job in the morning, but he didn’t have the time to address that now, instead sending a sharp wind towards him when they were out of sight. A shield wrapped around them, hiding their scents as they stuck to the shadows, tracing her steps. 

She led them out of the city, just past the gates, right to the edge of the forest. His anger was rising to dangerous levels, and he knew that. Rowan prayed she wouldn’t fight them. 

Aelin held a hand out, as they paused just before a clearing. 

They’d found her, and it wasn’t what he expected. 

Barefoot, in only  her nightgown, not a weapon or any kind of provisions on her, she walked back and forth along the edge of the clearing. She crouched every few steps to pick up something, but her hands came back empty. Something was wrong - there was a daze in her eyes, murmuring random phrases under her breath, low enough he couldn’t hear. She didn’t drink any alcohol that night… Could someone have slipped her a drug? No, they ate all of the same food in their rooms, and he always made a point to check for any kind of poison. 

Following Aelin’s lead, they slowly approached her. 

“Y/n,” Aelin called. She didn’t react, didn’t even turn around. Aelin repeated her name - louder. Still nothing. 

A warm flame caressed her skin, starting to warm her back up. Gods, she’d be hypothermic by now. He’s surprised she hasn’t passed out on the ground.

All Rowan wanted was to sprint towards her, to grab and shake her, to find out what the fuck she was thinking, but instinct had him moving carefully and slowly, keeping his footsteps purposefully loud.

Aelin met his eyes; what do we do?

His breath caught as she turned, but no recognition flashed through her eyes. Actually, it was like they weren’t there at all. 

Aelin tried calling her name, again and again and didn’t get a single reaction. Nothing to register she was aware they existed. 

An exasperated sigh, and she closed the distance, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Y/n screamed, stumbling backwards, her ass hitting the ground, hands scrambling on the rocks to try and get away. A wall of flame, but not one that would burn her, blocked the path. As she reached the warmth, something in her calmed. Almost like she’d recognized Aelin’s magic, even wherever she was right now. 

Did she ever mention sleepwalking? Rowan asked her. 

Not that I know of. 

That doesn’t mean it’s not possible. There’s a chance she would hide something like this from them, probably not thinking it was important. He’d bet a decent bit of gold that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Gods, they’d be putting locks on everything now. 

After five minutes of trying to reach her, five minutes of her increasing distress, five minutes of fear starting to fill the air, he gave up. Palms already bloodied, wiping them off on her nightgown, he crouched as close to her as he could get. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and pulled the air from her lungs, catching her before her head could hit the ground. 

-

Mercifully, she stayed asleep as they ran back to the castle, moving as quickly as possible while staying hidden. Aelin kept the flames going, kept slowly warming her temperature back to healthy levels. Rowan had thrown her over his shoulder, one arm securing her legs in place. It didn’t look comfortable, but it was the quickest way to get back. Comfort could come later, after she was home, warm, and safe. Her mind whirled with the things she needed to do; find a way to secure the room, run a warm bath, hope she’d wake easily, and figure out if she was hiding this from them. 

They made it back without incident, taking all of the hidden passageways through the castle. Nearing one in the morning. She’d been outside for two hours. Anything could’ve happened to her. Especially considering how gods-damned vulnerable she was. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but Aelin was still pissed off. 

Not how they’d thought, but they came so close to losing her without even knowing. 

-

She felt warm water around her, her muscles tense and aching. Wasn’t she asleep? How the hell did she get into a bath? It took more effort than it should’ve to open her eyes, but she saw Aelin, right there, watching her every movement. Relief flashed through turquoise eyes, followed by … anger or resentment. 

“Do you know what happened?” Aelin asked, voice rough. 

“What do you mean?” She moved her foot up and down, her leg feeling weaker than normal. The water was warm, she knew that, but a shiver still ran through her and she wrapped her arms back around herself. The bath heated a few degrees, and she felt Aelin’s magic running through the water. Soothing and comforting. 

“We found you in the gods-damned forest,” Aelin hissed, struggling to keep her voice low. 

The door swung open, revealing Rowan. She noticed they were both fully dressed, weapons still sheathed. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Have you ever sleepwalked?” He asked mildly. A dangerous kind of mild, especially considering the rest of his body language, and the anger she could feel radiating down the bond. 

“Not since I was a child,” she admitted. Green eyes darkened, fixed on her, like he’d located his newest target. Her throat bobbed, chest tightening. It was never good to be on the receiving end of that look. 

“And you didn’t think to share that?” 

“It’s been years,” she focused on keeping her tone quiet and calm, on staying steady, even as her hands threatened to shake. She didn’t like this side of them. Darting her eyes to Aelin, she found herself on the receiving end of that same look. 

Liar, her eyes seemed to say. 

“I never lied,” she knew what their reply would be. 

“Lying by omission is still lying.” 

She was tired, aching, and still dazed. Her mind could barely focus enough to actually get a grip on the situation. The forest. Sleepwalking. Lying. It was too much effort to speak, to keep her eyes open, darkness swirled in her vision. 

“Stay awake,” fingers pinched her cheek, and she startled, water splashing over the sides of the tub. Fire evaporated it before it could reach the ground. 

“I’m trying,” y/n mumbled, running a wet hand over her face. The water heated again. How long had Aelin been doing this with her? “I don’t understand,” she gripped her hair with both hands, yanking at it. Frustrated. None of this made sense. 

Hands gripped her own, tugging them away from her hair. She was lifted out of the bath, towels drying her, leaning against someone as they slipped a nightgown over her - too weak to stand on her own. The next thing she knew, she hit soft and warm sheets, cradled between two warm bodies, and let sleep take her under. 

Every so often, her name would be called, eyes blinking open, gazing up at either Rowan or Aelin, they’d give her a small nod and she understood that - she could go back to sleep. There wasn’t enough space in her mind to question what was going on, it was easy to listen to what her mates said, to sense and follow their intentions. 

-

Aelin met Rowan’s eyes in the bathroom; she’s too confused. 

We won’t get anything out of her tonight, he finished her thoughts. 

Seeing the state of confusion, the distress, the vulnerability, all made it easy to just take care of her, to shove away the other emotions for now, to focus on making sure she’s safe. Free from anything that could harm her, including the sleepwalking. But, the major concern now was making sure her body recovered from her little adventure. Neither of them slept that night, Aelin didn’t try - she only grabbed a book and tried to focus on it. Inevitably, her eyes would switch to the clock, waiting for the next half-hour to wake her. It probably wasn’t necessary, or recommended, but she had to know y/n would wake. 

When dawn broke, she finally felt like she could leave the room, Rowan still keeping a careful eye on her. Just a week away from Samhuinn, the days rapidly got shorter and shorter as they approached the coldest months. They’d get maybe ten and half or eleven hours of daylight today. The sun always disappeared too quickly for her liking. 

A fire roared in the sitting room behind her, and she busied herself making tea, adding extra honey to y/n’s. She was out in the cold for a few hours, and her voice did sound hoarse earlier, Aelin figured she might have a sore throat. If not, she had a sweet tooth anyway.  

“I’m perfectly capable,” Aelin heard y/n’s voice rising, “I can get out of this damned bed on my own.” 

“Don’t fucking move,” Rowan snapped at her. She agreed with him, and carefully balanced the three cups. 

Pushing the door open with her foot, she found Rowan standing over the side of the bed, ready to pin y/n to the bed if she tried to move again. She was propped up against the headboard, fists clenching the comforter. Aelin could tell y/n woke up ready for a fight. Good, she wasn’t feeling particularly calm either. But first, tea. 

-

Aelin came back in, but y/n knew she wouldn’t be on her side. It was two-against-one now. Even as Aelin shoved the cup of tea into her hands, taking up the space next to her on the bed, legs crossed, and hands cradling her own cup. Silently, Rowan took the other from her, and dragged his chair closer to the bed. 

Y/n knew exactly what the cups would have. A good amount of sugar for Aelin, plain and boring for Rowan, and based on the scent - honey for her. She’s not sure how, but Aelin picked up that her throat was sore. It was enough to soothe some of the sting from the impending argument. 

Sure enough, honey exploded on her tongue - more than usual, but it was soothing her throat, and she wouldn’t complain. Complaining would only make her situation worse. She debated just accepting blame, letting them win this one, but truly - she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no indication to think she’d end up sleepwalking again. Gods, she’d forgotten about it. 

“I haven’t sleepwalked since I was seven years old,” she kept her eyes on her cup, swirling the liquid to give her something to focus on. 

“If we’re going to talk about this, you need to look at us,” Rowan said too calmly. Fuck. 

Throat bobbing, she looked up at them. Seeing the gleam in their eyes, she went right on the defensive. “I was asleep, how the hell is this my fault?” Rowan stiffened, and she looked to Aelin.

“The problem is, you didn’t think to tell us,” Aelin’s voice was neutral, but she knew that was the sign of her growing anger. 

“You never asked,” she hissed back at her. 

“Watch your fucking attitude,” Rowan snarled. 

Closing her eyes, a few deep breaths later, she tried something different, “my parents always told me it only happened when I felt safe, when my mind - even asleep, thought I couldn’t come to any harm.” 

Emphasizing that she feels safe with them, that even though it was dangerous - the deepest parts of her mind believed she couldn’t come to any harm around them. At least she’s hoping that’s what they’d read out of the situation. 

“We thought you ran,” Aelin said quietly, her hand reaching out, and y/n slipped her palm into hers, giving her a light squeeze. She could tell Aelin had already softened, that her anger was slowly ebbing out. Rowan, however, would take a bit more time, and maybe some more soothing. 

“I’m not running,” she murmured. It’s the truth, she doesn’t want to leave, even if she craved some space away - something she could never tell them. Truly leaving them, she doesn’t think she could ever do that. Her heart and soul might not survive it, even if her mind says it could be better. 

Rowan was still assessing her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, and she read the words in his eyes instead, the silent communication; you didn’t think. 

I’m sorry, she answered. 

Are you really?

That I put both of you through that. Rowan seemed to be waiting, waiting for her to add something. And myself, she tried. He gave her a short nod, and she understood; conversation over. 

She’d expected a much larger fight, but gods she’s glad it didn’t come to that. Y/n stretched, trying to place her mug on the table, but Rowan was there before she could get halfway, snatching it from her hands to place it there himself. 

Another realization struck her. Rowan told her briefly that she nearly froze to death. Now they’d be absolutely insufferable until they were satisfied she was healthy again. Knowing them, it could take much longer than necessary. Maybe this was her punishment, she met Rowan’s gaze again, reading the gleam in his eyes. Yes, it’s definitely her punishment. 

She debated reaching back into that part of her, trying to shift into her fox form - where everything would be easier. 

Rowan - the bastard, sensed that. “Try to shift and I’ll rip the air out of your lungs.” 

“A bit dramatic,” she huffed, but it put an end to that idea, and her attention switched to Aelin, who looked tired. A bit of guilt crept in, she’d been up all night for her. “Will you take a nap with me?” 

She is tired. Sleep sounded very, very nice. Aelin latched on to the idea, almost chucking her mug at Rowan before sliding in next to her. 

Aelin tugged her into her chest, their bodies molding together, legs tangling. Aelin ran her fingers through her hair, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. It was sweet, seeing Aelin in her fussy mode. At least this part of it. “Sleep, my love,” she murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. She heard Rowan rustling around the room, but every time she tried to look, Aelin tucked her head back in. Based on the movements, she figured it out pretty quickly. He was setting up something on the various doors in the room, some kind of noise or object would fall to alert them if she made it out over there. On the off chance both of them were asleep and didn’t notice. 

Without having to ask, she knew there would be locks on the doors by the end of the day. Locks she wouldn’t be able to access the key to, at least during the night. It felt vaguely like a cage, but the bed dipped again, a strong arm wrapping around her waist, Rowan’s strong chest pressing against her back.   

“Rowan,” she murmured, struggling to stay awake, “how the hell did I get past you?” 

A low growl from behind her, and she hid her laughter, tucking her face into Aelin. 

“I’m the one that found you,” she chuckled, hand resting on the back of her head, like she might protect her from the glare she could feel coming from Rowan. 

Y/n jumped as he pinched her arm, letting out a slightly-embarrassing squeak, but heard Aelin slapping Rowan’s hand away, chiding him.

[ya-zz]

It Has to End - It Will End

Ramattra x Reader

!! sa r/pe warning !! A/N: I am fairly open about my experience, having written about it in the past with a character from a different fandom. What is written below from the readers POV is what happened to me back in 2018. Some of you may ask or have wondered why I'm comfortable in writing r/pe, and this is why - I have been through it. If this helps even one person, then I have done something right... Also don't ask about word count I did this here and not in a doc-

Something had been off with you for awhile but the omnic couldn't place it. The distant stares, vacant eyes and shaky hands were anything but normal. He ruled it down to the nightmare you recently had, it was still eating away at you, he thought.

One night, when the two of you were seated on the balcony to watch the meteor shower that was supposedly happening, he figured that it was the right time to ask.

"Is everything okay? You have not been yourself recently." His head tilts to the side, optics glancing over at you.

Ramattra notices the hesitation before you peel your eyes away from the night sky. "Yeah. Suppose I'm just on edge."

"We have time-"

"I don't want to ruin the mood." You half smile at him.

"Your health and feelings are more important than some balls of dust falling from the atmosphere." He states, turning his entire body to face you. "Talk to me. Please."

You can hear the desperation in his voice as you follow suit, turning your body to sit in front of his. A shaky sigh escapes you as you look down at your hands resting on your lap.

"I can't forget what happened to me." You start, not wanting to look up at the omnic before you. "It happened so long ago but it still feels recent."

Ramattra stays silent, the only noise coming from him was his inner workings, the soft hum of his fans against the cool night time wind.

"It took me so long, no, too long, to realise what had happened to me. The way his hands grabbed my body. I can still feel them on my sides, my hips; the bruises from how tight he held me." Closing your eyes, you try to dismiss the scene, but it replays. A constant, torturous loop that never seemed to end. "He pushed himself inside of me… I was screaming, shouting at him to stop, but he didn’t, no matter how loud I cried… It felt like glass being dragged back and forth. After he… After he had finished, he just cleaned himself up, leaving me bent over his bed trying to collect myself."

The next sentence that leaves your mouth hits the omnic like a brick.

"He was a friend, Rama... Someone I trusted. Someone I knew for years and he did this to me." It was hard to hold back the tears that started falling down your cheeks. "It took me so long to realise what had happened, but by that point it was too late. I have to live with the fact that I was raped and there is no justice."

Ramattra freezes, hands tightly gripping the cloth around his thighs.

"He's out there living life as if nothing happened, and the worst part about it all?" You look up at the omnic as you wipe away the tear on your cheek. "I still had to see him."

The silence rings loud before being broken by the passing chilly wind. Ramattra goes to speak but nothing comes out. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; all this time, the anxiety, the flinching, the nightmares... You snap him out of his thoughts by continuing to speak.

"We had the same friend group. I avoided him as much as I could when I realised what happened, but nobody believed me when I finally said something... If they didn't believe me, why should anyone else?"

"You have the worst friends." Ramattra chimes in.

"I'm no longer friends with any of them." You laugh awkwardly. "I cut them off soon after."

"That does not change anything." He wants to lean forward, to hold you close, but your body language says otherwise - stiff, ready to push back.

You manage a half smile before continuing. "It comes back every now and then. I'll be having a good day and then it gets ruined by that... I want to it end."

"You have come far already. Opening up to me is the first step. You are holding on to it for what reason? You do not need to relive that moment anymore." Ramattra finally takes that leap and takes your hand in his.

You shrug, taking a moment to think as you watch his thumb smooth over your knuckles. "It's hard to let go of something so traumatic. I can't just snap my fingers and forget it. Something will trigger it and I go back to that isolated state."

"You have thought about different outcomes, yes?" Ramattra asks with a firm tone.

"Too many times." You breathe deeply. "I should've left or I should've fought back. I should've realised what had happened at that moment and gone to the police-"

"Does it make you feel better?"

"No. Worse. It makes me feel weak."

Ramattra hums and nods. "Then why do you keep doing it?"

You stutter when trying to come up with a response. "I suppose it made me feel better for a moment before it made me feel like shit."

"Perhaps you should try a different approach. Yes, it happened and no, you cannot change the past, but you are still here. You are living your life despite the event holding you back in some aspects. It does not make you weak. You are strong." Ramattra speaks softly. "You are stronger because of that."

You smile softly at his words but it quickly fades.

"You are not weak, [y/n]." He reiterates as he squeezes your hand. "Should I ever see this particular individual, I will make sure you have justice."

You couldn't help but laugh at his threat as you wipe away the remaining tears. "You are like a guard dog, you know that?"

"A very good one, no?" Ramattra shuffles closer to you, letting you lean your weight on him. "You deserve closure, to be free from that nightmare."

"One day..."

He keeps his optics on you for a moment longer, your heartbeat had slowed and you seemed more relaxed than before. There was a twinkle in your eyes as they widen, your body shifting forward as you point out a falling star.

"Rama, look!"

Though, he doesn't. His optics were still on you. Admiring you. He brings his head down, resting on the side of your neck. A soft buzzing, a kiss, is felt before he speaks.

"I am proud of you and how far you have come. Do not let this hold you back. You deserve the happiness and you are worthy of love. I am here each and every step of the way, no matter what comes your way. I have you, now and forever."