#I didn’t want to untangle them from yesterday so I just left them as is

[colesabi]

my view after I woke up this morning.

[jollyhunter]

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings! MDNI, explicit sexual content (light), fluffy smut, but also cuddling and lots of teasing, Dean being needy and touchy and soft!dom

EDIT: Whoa!! I just woke up to 100+ likes and I am speechless! I never found the courage to post any of my stuff, until yesterday. Thank you all so so much - you have no idea how much this means to me, especially since I just joined tumblr and felt a bit intimidated and lost. You’re all amazing <3

Now enjoy! …already sorry for the damn tease kishishi 🦊

A/N: Heya! This is my first fanfic post- woohzaa [throws glitter and anxiety across the post]. English isn't my native language but I tried to make up for it with spell-checking? Also, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger sweethearts! Let me know if you liked it <3

Word count: 1,700

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

The smell of musky sweat still hung in the thick air and the sheets around you looked like a strangled mess. So your sleep was deep, exhausted but also feeling all spent and fuzzy from the several rounds you and Dean had a couple of hours ago. Your breathing was serene, your nose nuzzled into Dean‘s arm which worked as a makeshift pillow. The other one was tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, holding your back against his slowly moving chest, keeping you warm and save in his tight locked arms.

A sudden bump against your butt stirred you slightly, but you assumed Dean was just being restless again. His arm tightened around you when you pressed your body further into him in a reassuring gesture, your hand meanwhile untangling itself from the sheets to interlace your slender fingers with his calloused ones.

Then the broad shoulders that were glued to your back, suddenly shift. His breath against your neck coming in short little excited puffs. And his hips gently rock against your arse, slowly and almost testing. You grumble in response and give his hand a little warning squeeze. „You have to sleep, Dean…“ you remind him with a dozily slurred voice. He‘d have to get up in an hour or so, as he and Sam were going to investigate a case somewhere up in Nebraska. It would probably take at least a couple of days, and you already knew he’d miss you just as much as you’d miss him, because he was always especially needy and touch-deprived before he left the bunker for longer.

Another bump against your back. You curl up into a ball, not wanting to leave his comfortable warmth but still trying to get your point across without having to use your voice.

When you cuddled up against him like a kitten, Dean stilled his movements. And you left a soft exhale of something like relief, snuggling under his strong arm, loving the feeling of his shielding presence all around you.

But Dean was not done. And you curling up like a cat didn’t help either - if anything, it just made his hidden sly smirk widen. Just when you went back to dreamland, you felt something brush against your knee. Then your thighs. Dean snaked his leg over yours, trapping you against the mattress. „Dean…“ you grumble again, your eyes still shut and your face buried under his arm while you tried to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine. He doesn’t reply. Instead his foot slips between your knees and he now slowly pushes your legs apart, parking his thigh between them to keep them spread for him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your sweet scent, his fingers slowly dancing down your body, tracing every curve like he knew them by heart. Another shiver went through your body and it became harder to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the sleepiness somehow just accelerating your arousal. You wiggle under him when you suddenly feel his hot breath waft against your ear, „uh-uh-uh…“ His gravelly voice earns him a little shaky exhale from your parted lips while he quickly pins you further down.

Dean traced the rim of your pajamas pants with his fingers, teasingly slow while his other hand tightened its grip around yours, to keep you from slipping away. „Just lemme take care of you, baby…“ he murmured with his lips pressed against your ear, his head keeping you flush against the mattress. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, stay sleepy, just relax and enjoy.

Not sure anymore whether you were dreaming or not, you found yourself nodding against his side, and that quite eagerly despite your half-asleep state. Satisfied with your answer, he slipped his fingers under the rim of your pants, taking his sweet time as his hand traveled down between your legs.

Just when his fingertip brushed against your clit, a loud knock at the door made you startle from your half-sleep-half-needy state.

„Dean? Come on man- we gotta go. Get your arse moving!“ Sam called out from the other side of the door, knocking again just to make sure he’d not ignore him.

Dean’s finger still idly circled your clit, torn between ignoring him or getting out of bed. After a moment he groans, his arms and legs still tightly in position around you, as he opens his mouth to bark back - but then is cut short by your lips on his cheek.

He turns back to look down at your curled up sleepy form, your cheeks flushed and goddamn you‘re already wet between your legs. „’tis okay” You reassure him, although you had to really force yourself to not sound frustrated and needy.

Dean grunted, knowing exactly that you were just trying to get him out of bed and out of trouble for being too late. But man he could have kicked his brother in the arse right about now.

He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and with a reluctant movement pulled his hand from your pants and untangled himself from your body. When he kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, he suddenly turned around again, his eyes darkening and his lips curling into a sly smile.

“C’mere” he said gruffly, making it sound like an order. But you just looked up at him with bleary eyes, blinking in confusion as your mind was still half asleep. “On your knees.” He patted the spot in front of him with an air of authority.

You weren’t sure where this was going but were curious enough to play along. So you sat up, swaying a bit as you scooted closer to the edge on your knees. “Uh-uh,” you stopped and tilted your head in confusion, giving him that befuddled puppy look. He circled his index finger, gesturing for you to turn around. “On your hands and knees.” He said with that iconic deep and firm voice.

You swallowed, a little shiver running down your spine again. Without any protest you did as you were told and backed up against the edge of the bed again, this time facing away from him.

“Wanna get a look again.” He began, while his hands suddenly cupped your arse, squeezing them. „Wanna memorize what I’ll miss.“ You bit your lower lip, glad he couldn’t see your needy eyes right now. With a swift motion, his fingers hooked under the rim of your pants and he pulled them all the way down to your knees. The moment the air hit your bare skin, you were suddenly fully aware of how exposed you felt, unable to see what he was doing, where his eyes were going and what his next move would be. Without a word his hands immediately went back to your hips, slipping up to the back of your waist and pressing you down with a certain strength that made you follow each of his movements like a tamed horse. He ran one hand up between your shoulder blades and pushed down there as well until your tilted head and your chest were flush against the mattress, drawing a small whimper from your mouth. God how he loved seeing you comply like this, exposed, open and vulnerable to him, filling his heart with pride.

He kept one hand on your back to pin you down while his other went to tug at your lowered pants. “Jesus… you’re dripping, sweetheart.” He mutters almost in awe when you felt his eyes roaming your wetted thighs and pants. Suddenly he slides his hand back up along your spine until each of them grabs your hips. He angles them so your butt would point more up for him, pushing you even further into the bed, just the way he wanted you. Then out of nowhere his firm hands grab your arse cheeks and without a warning he pulled them apart, getting a real nice look on your slick folds. „I want to remember this view…“ He mutters, spreading your arse even more while you felt him bend down, his hot breath hitting the inside of your thighs, „Want to think of that beautiful pussy when I‘m alone…“

And then you suddenly feel the tip of his tongue flick against your clit, the unexpected sensation almost making you buckle while a shuddering moan slips your lips. Dean chuckles, relishing the effect he’s having on you. „Hold still, baby.“ He ordered while his one hand trailed over your hip and to the small of your back, holding you down, and his other started to rub your arse cheek, affectionately and proudly. „God… you’re so beautiful… Want to remember your taste…“ He continued before his tongue flicked across your folds this time, wetting his lips with your sweet juice, followed by a deep groan, "God you taste so fucking good...". He pulled the stroking hand back, and then brought it down again with a sharp swat to your arse. You yelped and your legs trembled, which made Dean grin proudly that he managed to surprise you with that move. „You a good girl until I‘m back?“

He didn’t wait for an answer but swats your arse again, this time definitely leaving a red mark he knew you wouldn’t mind. „You be good?“ He asks again, his voice taking that gravely tone which always made you squirm.

„Mhm,“ you mutter against the mattress, trying to hold still for him. „I‘ll be good.“

„That’s my girl.“ He patted your red arse cheek, his lips widening into that cheshire grin of his, „Now you get some rest.“

Before you could protest, he wiggled the soaked pants up your legs and over your hips again. You stifled a soft whine but knew it was no use, he‘d need to go now. Dean chuckled at the needy sound that slipped your perfect cute lips and it took all of his willpower to not just take you right there. He leaned over you to kiss you on the neck, his lips lingering there for a little longer than usual before he whispered in a low rumbling voice, „We‘ll continue right here when I‘m back, sweetheart... and 'till then... I‘ll always think of you.“

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / This is Part 3! / Part 4 Here!

A/N: I don’t think the poll is over yet, but this one was very clearly going to have the highest percentage, I’ll do the “maybe if we were closer in age” one later though!

If you haven’t already please check out my Batman zine, it’s got so much fanfiction and beautiful art from five different artists! Please check it out, please. I need to find a way to compensate these artists. You can check it out here!

Bruce slumps in his chair, a longing glance spared to the decanter on the bookshelf.

He closes his eyes and wills away the craving. It’s always ten times worse when he wakes up the next day, and he can’t afford feeling worse at this point in his life.

Wasn’t it just yesterday he was twenty years old and he could spend all night playing Bruce Wayne’s party boy image, and be up in three hours feeling none the worse for wear. Now even after nine hours of solid sleep, he wakes up sluggish with an ache in his bones.

I have to be strong.

“Why did you keep her away from us?”

“Who?” he asks absentmindedly, his entire focus still on the brandy.

“(Y/N).” It’s the last name he expected to hear, especially from his oldest son. He looks up, hoping he’s misheard, but the look in Dick’s eyes proves him wrong.

Looks like I’m going to need that drink after all.

He reaches for the decanter, two crystal glasses retrieved from his desk drawer instinctually, glittering on his desk.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” He stalls by taking a sip, feigning casual, like the mention of your name alone didn’t set his heart racing.

“Don’t play this game with me Bruce,” Dick sounds more sad than angry, and it softens him. “Why didn’t you let us see her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Then start untangling it for me.”

Bruce sighs, taking another sip of his father’s brandy. There’s a million reasons he could tell his son, none of which would be lies entirely, but softer than the truth.

But when he looks up into Dick’s eyes, he can’t bring himself to say any of them. Armed with nothing but liquor at the bottom of his cup, for the first time in four years, after dodging this question from reporters and acclaimed journalists and new paramours, he finally tells the truth.

“Because I didn’t want her to see you.”

A simple, ugly truth. He doesn’t bother looking up to see his sons reaction, he already knows a kind boy like Dick, a boy who’s fully believed his entire life that good prevails, won’t be able to process that his father did something like this. He makes better use of his time by refilling his glass.

Dick slumps in the chair by the time he’s polishing off his second peg, and pouring in his third.

“You did it to punish her?” He can see anger begin to replace shock, and he doesn’t blame him for it, but Bruce is angry enough at himself for the both of them.

“I wanted her to forget we ever existed.” This truth is as kind as it is ugly, and the nuance confuses Bruce even now. But three glasses of brandy affect him in a way that makes his tongue feel lighter and his mind feel free.

“I wanted to give her a potato sack full of money and jewels, and send her far away where no one knew who she was. I wanted her to meet a good partner, someone who would always put her first, and if they decided to extend their family I wanted her to be able to move on without feeling like she left anyone behind.”

“So you wanted her to have a great life, far away from you, and you never wanted to hear anything about it,” Dick’s voice is cold.

Bruce shakes his head. He wanted to hear everything about your new life. What kind of partner you picked. How you spent your days. When you got married. When you had your first child. When you had your second. Everything. And on bad days, he’d close his eyes and let himself imagine it was him standing next to you, that in some alternate universe he made a single different decision that gave him permission to deserve you.

“I was just tired of hurting her,” when you came in to his life, for the first time, he felt like he’s been allowed to have something of his own. Not as Batman, protecting to the city, or Bruce Wayne the mask he carried, but him as a man. But he could never seem to return the reverie you extended to him.

“Do you think she’d ever be able to move on, to live even a semblance of a normal life, if all of you were showing up at her house all bruised and beaten?”

Dick stays quiet now, and Bruce hates himself for having to say it out loud. His son may be an adult in the eyes of the law, but some parts of him are still childlike. After all, Bruce isn’t the only one putting Gotham first.

“I wouldn’t call the way she’s living now normal.” Dick’s been to your penthouse, he’s seen the photo albums full of tabloid clippings and the rare pictures he and his extended family post on social media. He’s seen the journal you keep, hidden on your bookshelf that he mistook for a regular novel during his bi-weekly trips to your place, full of notes on every article and picture and what might be happening behind the scenes to prompt a public appearance like that. Years of deductions and question he could have answered with a single text message a month, but Bruce wouldn’t even allow that.

Dick’s anger grows.

If Bruce had told him he did it to punish you, he’d be angry, but he would understand. Sometimes when you love someone that much, someone who’s too good for you, you grasp at any way to keep them. But this is a million times worse than that.

“If you loved her that much why’d you even let her go?”

Again, another question he wasn’t expecting. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he doesn’t feel the sharp sting of surprise this time.

“Because sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Dick leaves. Bruce pours another glass, and when he’s sure he’s alone he pulls out his wallet, tugging out the family photo he keeps tucked beneath his black card, turning it over to see your portrait taped on the other side.

The corner of his mouth quirks up.

It was from when you’d both just gotten married, before you were used to upper class etiquette. You complained all morning about having to get ready and wear a bunch of expensive uncomfortable clothes designers had sent in for the article in the Gotham Times, emphasizing how ridiculous opulence like this was when there were so many bigger issues in Gotham.

He’d bought out every copy of the magazine in the city. He still had most of them, tucked away in a box in his closet that became the casket for your relationships. Every now and then he’ll unearth it, just to allow himself to be haunted again by your memory.

But for tonight, just your picture and a glass of brandy is enough.

“You’re so much better at this than I am.”

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 2

So ya'll have given me some amazing and lovely comments on A Man has Needs (which I'm delighted was so well-received), and I had a really shitty day so I wanted to upload something. Sadly don't have energy to write, but this was already done so here ya go. Ship: Dead on Main First | Masterlist

Chapter 2 - September 25th, Uranus at Opposition

Jason awoke slowly. He felt groggy and worn like he’d gone a round with Bane and, now that he thought about it, maybe also Black Canary; his ears of all things hurt for some reason. Groaning he pushed himself up, taking in the green and black bedspread… this wasn’t his bed. He looked around; bare stone walls with a strange almost purplish tint - no windows he could leave out of.

What happened yesterday? There had been something… an emergency? Shit. He rubbed his brow hoping against hope to relieve the sharp headache there. What kind of truck hit him? Come on brain, work.

Bruce.

Bruce had called him. He breathed slowly through his nose. Urgh, his brain was like a tangled ball of yarn that had been left to the mercies of a cat. Slowly he picked at the treads, trying to untangle them. Dick had been there, and Tim and Damian. And Superman? Why was Jason on a league mission? Jason wouldn’t have joined them unless the world was-

Oh, the world had been ending.

There was an invasion and John bloody Constantine and a ritual- and Jason was a small bit of supernatural insurance but that didn’t matter because-

Because!

His head throbbed sharply and he curled up on the bed with a whimper. Shit. Why? Okay, no remembering right now. He slowly unfolded and squinted at the room, there were two doors. One by the head side of the bed, which seemed the least likely to lead outside and one opposite. He confirmed the first door to be a bathroom, which left the other to lead- He opened the door into a windowless hallway. Looking left and right he didn’t see an end either way.

The hallways had the same purple tinted stone walls as the room. It was lit by green torches, but somehow they didn’t cast green light. Instead the light that hit Jason was more blueish. He decided not to think about that and moved on.

He walked hallway after hallway. The only change was the tapestries. Since they were the only thing that changed he couldn’t help but look at them. There was a man, large and armored with a flaming crown and his hand raised with something shining from it. Jason went down some stairs and another hallway had a tapestry with the same character directing an army of skeletons and other creatures fleeing from them. This theme continued through many hallways. World upon world, the king and his army conquering all on a backdrop of Lazarus green. Then finally something changed, seven robed figures stood over the fallen king.

Jason then stood in front of a winding stairwell: Up or down?

He looked down; there was something down there…

Dazed, he took a step down, before he shook his head and walked up. He had to get out. Walking down in a building he didn’t know what floor he was on was just asking to be trapped in some sort of basement, and he’d already walked down one staircase already, when the only other option had been to backtrack.

A sarcophagus was opened and the King released. In the next hallway someone in a black and white mech suit was fighting the king and Jason blinked at the sudden genre shift. He hadn’t expected that from the tapestry story.

The next one had several people pushing the sarcophagus closed again presumably to seal the king, but one figure especially niggled at Jason’s brain - the small one, the black and white one. He was familiar. He walked faster, urgency pressing him to find the next tapestry, he rounded a corner and there!

There were two tapestries on either side of a door. The first tapestry had a purple robed figure crowning a kneeling black and white figure in front of a crowd. Several were recognizable from the previous tapestry. But Jason didn’t look at that picture long he was drawn to the last tapestry; the one who only showed the new king:

Human skin tone, compared to all the light greens and blues. Snow white hair. Crown hovering over his head, and on the index finger on his right hand where it was folded over his chest was a green ring with a skull crest. The backdrop was a nebula of colors and only on the edges were the Lazarus green. The king’s eyes were closed, but Jason knew they were green.

He knew.

And as a key turning in a lock Jason remembered. He bent over holding his head with a groan. The invasion. The ghost king. His sacrifice, which apparently meant he was to do nothing for the rest of his life. Screw that! What was the ghost king gonna do? Un-save the world? Jason didn’t think so. He needed to get out. He very carefully avoided thinking of the risk of his brains melting out his ears if he angered the king again.

The door. Jason’s eyes snapped to it. It looked completely innocuous. He had been lead here for a reason. Fight or flight? Fight his body screamed at him. His chest rose and fell, his heart picked up speed in anticipation and he reached for the brass handle. His hand closed around it, it was cold and solid in his grip. He exhaled slowly out his nose counting down.

3

2

1

He burst into the room, hands on hidden knives, ready for anything! Then he froze.

This was the room he woke up in. There was that rumpled spot on the bedsheets from where he’d slept. He grabbed his head, there had been no tapestries in the hall he stepped out in, he was sure. No he was not gonna let this get to him he had to find a way out. He stepped out into the hallway through the still open door; the tapestries were gone.

He walked the opposite direction this time, but only five turns in he stood in front of the open door again. Shaking his head he kept walking, there had to be a way out. There were less tapestries now, but every now and then there’d be a tapestry of the King sans crown fighting someone. It seemed to be some of the more prominent people that had been at the coronation and then there were some others; a large plant creature, a person that looked part tornado, someone who looked like the night sky itself.

The message was clear: give up. See all the ones who has been defeated. What do you think, you can do?

Jason punched the wall next to the most recent tapestry.

“Let me out, you bastard!” he snarled.

Predictably there was no answer, but a small part of Jason had still hoped something would happen. His shoulders dropped.

A familiar door materialized in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to better see and yup, that was the door alright. He sighed.

“Fuck you.” But Jason was tired. He didn’t know how long he’d walked the hallways. He opened the door and walked the few steps that took him to the bed collapsing on top of it, in the spot he’d made earlier. He couldn’t be bothered to go under the covers.

Oo o oO

They say doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result is a sign of insanity. Tim would probably argue something about scientific methods and statistics in return, but Tim wasn’t here, just Jason.

So here’s what Jason knew:

He’d sacrificed his life to the Ghost King to save the world. The Ghost King had no interest in Jason and had just dropped him in a never used room like one of those gifts you really don’t want but can’t refuse. Oh, and the castle was magical and delighted in showing him right back to his room every time he left it.

Leaving the room was pointless. Jason knew it was pointless. But Jason couldn’t just stay in this room, hence the repeated insanity, but at least out in the hallways some things changed, even if he always ended up where he started.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. He’d lost count of how many times he’d slept. It was pointless anyway, he didn’t know if he could even count sleeps as days anyway. He was locked in a battle of wills with a fucking castle.

“For a magical castle, you’re boring, you know that?” He spoke to the ceiling. It didn’t even have any enchanted furniture or household items to talk with.

Jason wasn’t sure quite when he’d started feeling hungry, only that it shouldn’t have taken that long. Water came out of the tap in the bathroom, so at least he wasn’t thirsting. After the hunger came the lethargy. He was sleeping more and his forays out into the hallways were shorter.

The world was a hefty price to pay and maybe Jason’s suffering was just a part of his toll, but Jason would have taken being a servant or slave over this. At least then he’d have something to do. There’d be a focus, something to fight. He wouldn’t just lie here with nothing better to do but insult the walls.

next

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[separatist-apologist]

The Prophecy

Summary: No one has seen or heard from Elain Archeron in two months…until she turns up one day in the Spring Court with no memory of where she's been or what she's been doing.

Tamlin and Lucien will have to work together to untangle the mystery of Elain's missing memories.

My gift for @olenvasynyt- but other people can read, too. I wanted to update yesterday but work is ruining my life/fun

@acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

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Elain wanted to hate Spring. She hated the males living within the manor, hated that she wasn’t allowed outside even more, but she didn’t hate Spring itself. She woke that morning to rain pattering against her half open window, soaking the wood floor below. It seemed wrong to ruin them, even when so much else was already destroyed. There were no servants, no magic to keep it all clean, and so Elain set about doing it herself.

Tamlin and Lucien seemed to avoid the manor about as often as they avoided each other. There were terse words exchanged when they did interact, along with some hushed whispers she could never quite make out. It didn’t matter—Elain had learned, since she’d been made, that magic possessed loopholes. It wasn’t a perfect, infinite thing but rather a tool, much like anything else. Doors had locks, could be broken even without keys, and so too could spells, wards, and other enchantments. 

It was simply a matter of finding them. Elain spent the next two days following the chains from room to room. She could see the aura of them, the way she could on every living thing—magic was alive, in its way, and it had a specific, iridescent shimmer that marked it. To Lucien and Tamlin, it seemed as if she were merely testing the bounds of her new prison.

There were chinks, though it was strong. Lucien and Tamlin had woven the ward together before keying it with their blood. Lucien’s magic was warmer, a faint, orangish glow while Tamlin’s was brighter, a rose gold that smelled like grass clippings in the rain. 

She’d need to untangle them from one another before she could go about finding the holes in which she could slip through, and that was more complex. Lucien tended to show up every time she started working, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Something had occurred between them in the music room. She’d closed her eyes for a moment, preparing to play as a way to clear her mind, and when she opened them, she found Lucien on one knee before her, hand on her leg, face ashen. 

“What did you say?” he’d whispered.

“Get your hands off me,” she’d replied. 

Frustrating that she’d slipped like that. Lucien had stood without a word and stalked out of the room. A bigger woman would have asked him what she’d said so at least she knew as much as he did. She simply didn’t want to speak to Lucien. He, after all, had conspired alongside Tamlin to keep her locked up. Neither of them felt sorry for it, nor did they have any intention of letting her go.

Elain wanted to sit them both down and ask what their long term plan was. How long did they think they could keep this up before someone realized? A couple months at most, if that long. And then what? When Feyre brought the Night Courts vast armies to their doorstep, what then? Would they fight a war on her behalf?

No, they wouldn’t, and Elain knew it just as surely as they must. She needed to get out before they came up with some second part to their plan, which would almost certainly involve putting her somewhere no one could find. The manor was big, with windows and doors and walls that, if need be, could be destroyed. 

If only Lucien would stop trailing her. She didn’t always see him—but she could smell him. It was a distinct smell, the first she’d been aware of when she’d been dumped out of the cauldron. She couldn’t explain it, could tease out all the individual notes. All Elain knew was how it made her feel, and she didn’t like that feeling.

Everytime Lucien slunk in behind her, she felt safe. When he left, she was on guard again, nervous to the point of goosebumps and shaking, tiptoeing and peering around every corner for danger. When he was there, she was bolder.  She marched into rooms without care or concern, comfortable in the knowledge Lucien had no idea what she was doing.

He was with her then, as Elain made her way into the library. It wasn’t much larger than the one in the House of Wind, which she’d spent a decent amount of time in. Rhys and Ferye didn’t have one in their personal home, which meant anything Elain wanted to read had to come from Nesta, who could be quite judgy. 

Tamlin’s library was low on the sorts of classic romances Elain preferred, but heavy on history and folklore. Begrudgingly, she appreciated some of that—at least it was unrestricted. And the chains on the wards were vibrant there, swaying like windchimes just overhead. This was where she’d start unravelling, she decided. 

“You can come out,” she snapped, plopping down in a chair. Lucien appeared from behind the door frame, hands jammed in his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve made sure of that.”

“Just tell us where you were,” Lucien replied reasonably.

“Even if I remembered—and I don’t—why would I tell you now?”

“So you can go home?” he suggested.

Elain scoffed. “I’ll tell Feyre everything you did. We both know you’re not letting me go.”

Lucien blinked, his expression slack for a moment. He hadn’t considered that, then. Wasn’t he supposed to be smart? 

“What do you think she’ll do, when she learns?” Elain heard herself asking with boldness that didn’t seem to belong to her. It was the anger, she decided, pent up after years of polite silence. His expression was steely again. “Probably as much as she’d do if you were still there.”

Ouch. 

“Good talk,” she mumbled, blinking away the urge to cry in her frustration.

“I shouldn’t—that’s not—cauldron, Elain, this isn’t how I wanted things to go between us,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah, she bet not. Elain understood what it was Lucien wanted, the things he hoped for. She opened her mouth to tell him that was never going to happen, but something stopped her. Some tingling at the back of her throat, some anxiety that made her too afraid to force this confrontation.

“I’m not your enemy,” Lucien added softly. 

“You’ve locked me inside this house,” she replied, equally soft. “What does that make you?”

He winced, turning his head to the side as though it pained him to look at her. Maybe it should pain him, at least a little. Elain didn’t feel bad about what she said, nor would she force herself to soften her words like she so often did.

Maybe Lucien deserved whatever he heard, if only a little. 

“Just tell me where you were,” Lucien all but pleaded for the second time. “I can protect you.”

Elain laughed, then, gripping the edge of her chair tightly. “You can’t protect yourself,” she said, the words striking at the heart of him. She didn’t need foresight to know that—watching him all these years told her so.

Lucien’s expression hardened, again. “You’ve been protected your entire life, Elain. How will you fare without anyone looking out for you?”

Prick! That wasn’t…entirely…true. She only stared at him, hoping he saw the burning hatred she currently felt. It wasn’t just him that made her angry—Elain had been angry since she’d been kidnapped from her bed and drowned in the Cauldron. Often, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs until someone relieved her of the endless, consuming monster buried within her ribs.

But she’d seen how that went for Nesta. 

Perhaps it was inescapable for her, too. After all, here she was, trapped with Lucien with no way out and no rescue. Would Feyre even care once she learned it was Lucien who had her? Or would they look the other way for Elain’s own good? 

Lucien offered Elain a rather filthy gesture with his hand, which prompted her to yell, “I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman!” at his retreating back. His barking laughter echoed down the ruined halls, spoiling her mood. Ass. 

Elain spent the rest of her day hiding from Tamlin and Lucien and examining the chains of magic. It took her about as long to untangle Lucien’s magic from Tamlins, separating them so it was easier to pull them apart and slowly unravel the entire thing. The library was the worst place to start given she couldn’t slip out a window. But if she could get it through the floor, the ruined conservatory was just below and that had doors out to the wilted garden. 

She’d decided to start with Lucien, assuming of the pair, the High Lord would be the stronger magic user. Lucien, though…his magic was complex, each chain a puzzle. Some of them burned her fingers like real flames while others were so blinding they illuminated the entire room and the hallway beyond. 

A tray of food waited for her just outside her door, Lucien’s scent all over it. Guess there were some gentlemanly impulses left, though the flower in the little vase at the corner of the tray looked as if someone had squished it in their palm. She ate, door closed, before setting the tray back in the hall. She could open her window as the frame pulled inward, rather than outward, and the breeze felt nice on her skin. 

It hadn’t been a week, she reminded herself. She was far more clever than Tamlin or Lucien gave her credit for, and no one understood how her magic worked. Elain barely understood it, truthfully. She’d simply begun to lie and tell people her magic was gone after the Cauldron had been destroyed, and then repaired, and everyone was willing to believe her.

But it hadn’t. Her magic was, as if ever had been, potent. 

Elain rubbed at her eyes, falling backward to the bed. Someone or something had been in to clean given the lack of cobwebs hanging from the chandelier overhead. Her room smelled faintly of marigolds, strange given they were more of an autumnal flower. She turned her face toward the pillow, inhaling deeply.

Sleep came easy even when it shouldn’t. Elain found herself standing in that foggy crossroads, the path often impassible thanks to tangles of thorny creepvine. Many of the early nights, after she’d been turned, were spent at this crossroads trying to coax the vines back. It seemed important to explore them. 

When she hadn’t been able to, Elain just assumed it was some irritating nightmare she’d never be free of. As Elain approached the crossroads, she found one path veering left was open to her. A rocky, paved road lay beneath her feet. Squinting, Elain tried to see where it led but a heavy, green tinged fog obscured her vision. 

That didn’t stop her. Dreams couldn’t hurt, after all—right? If she got scared, she’d do what she always did and force herself to wake up. With an open path, Elain moved forward eagerly. Why now, she wondered—though it didn’t stop her. Even as she stumbled over little cracks and holes in the road below, all she felt was excitement. 

Something bright flared through the fog, the source of it impossible to discern. Light appeared so suddenly it might have been her imagination had it not created sunspots in her vision. Picking up her pace, Elain tried to move faster, but the magic of the dream didn’t allow her to arrive any sooner than the dream wished. 

Elain didn’t realize she was trekking up a hill until her breathing became labored, sweat sliding down her neck. If it was a dream, it certainly felt uncomfortably real. It wasn’t—this was only a dream. 

At the top of the hill, Elain could see something, though the edges of it were blurred as though she were viewing it from under water. The air warped around her, shimmering irridescent as it prractically begged to be touched. Elain did, surprised to find it was wet, like dew on the grass just before dawn.

She jerked forward as if someone grabbed her wrist and yanked, sending her stumbling forward. There, standing in a glen framed by distant mountains on either side of the early dawn’s horizion, stood Lucien. He hadn’t noticed her—perhaps he wouldn’t, given this was her dream. Elain trotted behind him like a spectre, careful to keep a healthy distance between them. He was making his way toward a creek, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his ankles. 

He’d nearly made it when he turned, abruptly, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Elain only shrugged her shoulders blithely, because this was her dream and in her dream Lucien had  to do as she wanted. She pointed toward the stream.

“Stand in it.”

What fun, to boss him around.

Only, he didn’t move. Lucien merely remained where he was, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re in my dream, Elain.”

She blinked. “This is my dream.”

He prowled forward, head cocked to the side. Tenatively, he reached out and poked her in the cheek, only for her to swat him away. That felt real. Elain blinked again and then, before he could say a word, snatched the dagger resting casually at his hip.

“Put that down!” Lucien warned, hands raised in defense. She wasn’t going to hurt him—Elain pressed the pointed end against her finger and pricked, surprised to find it hurt. Blood welled from the wound, and when she turned her hand over, blood dripped to the ground. 

“I’m real,” she said, more to herself than anything. “Where are we?”

“Autumn,” Lucien said moreosly. 

“You miss it?” She didn’t know why she was asking. Elain held the dagger in her hand, arm resting limply at her side. 

Lucien only shrugged, turning tol ook at the scene around him. She supposed she ought ot have guessed—the rainbow of colors dotting the mountain side certainly didn’t belong to Spring. 

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. Something about the magic of her dream made it easier to ask him the questions burning in the back of her throat. 

“This is the only time I can see home,” Lucien replied, misunderstanding what she was asking him. 

There was no point pressing the issue. She turned, wondering how to leave this dream meeting. Perhaps she could find Feyre and warn her sister she was being held hostage. Easier said than done given she had no idea how she’d walked into Lucien’s dream. The path had opened, seemingly of its own accord, and had brought her here. What did it want her to find?

But whatever clues lay in the grassy glen or the bubbling brook were a mystery to her. It looked serene—picturesque, even—but not anything more than a memory of Lucien’s brought to life by his own mind. 

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, gripping her arm. He was touching her. Why? She frowned—but he was shaking her shoulders, now…and his voice was garbled. Far away. “Elain!”

Elain jolted awake to artificial lights half blinding her. Blinking her eyes open, she found Lucien half straddling her body with shredded hands, his own expression panicked. She tried to sit up only to find herself restrained, half buried beneath thorny vines. 

“What’s happening?” she breathed, panic rising in her throat. 

Lucien hacked at more of the vines, sending the plant thumping lifelessly to the ground. Her own skin was scratched, though nowhere near as bad as Luciens. He continued to pull, revealing a room filled with creepvine. It had come through the window, winding around the room as it sought to smother everything within it. 

No longer restrained, Elain scrambled to her feet, breathing hard as she stared back at him. 

“You were in my dream,” Lucien whispered, as if needing to hear her admit it. She only nodded.

“That was magic,” he added pointedly.

“I…I don’t know anything about it,” she said honestly. That much was true, at least. Lucien only frowned.

And said nothing else.

—

Head in his hands, Lucien waited for Tamlin to say something.

Anything.

“I’ve never…I’ve never heard of that sort of magic,” Tamlin finally murmured. “Dream walking?”

“I swear she was there,” Lucien repeated, though that hadn ever really been in question. “She was looking around.”

“There are very few accounts of Seer’s and their magic,” Tamlin began, hands steepled in front of his lips. His study was the worst of the ruined rooms, barely functional with the ruined walls, floors, and furniture. They’d dragged in a chair for Lucien to sit in while Tamlin leaned against his desk, which leaned aggressively thanks to a splintered leg. “Understandably, the courts that employed them weren’t keen to inform the rest of the world what, exactly, their prophets were capable of.” 

“Does it matter?” Lucien asked. “How long before she goes waltzing into Feyre or Rhys’s mind and tells them everything?”

Tamlin didn’t seem concerned. “If she was going to, she’d have done it by now.”

“She doesn’t know how it works, but she’ll learn,” Lucien pressed. 

“Then we have time. We need to know more than she does, and get ahead of this before she sends Night to our door.”

“What do you want me to do?” Lucien asked. They were being watched—not by Elain, who had stormed off to the library that morning mumbling about the endless survelliance happening day in and day out. 

“We need to learn where she was those last two months and why she’s here,” Tamlin reminded him, though Lucien believed Elain didn’t know or remember. She seemed to have such a poor grasp on her magic that it was entirely possible she’d lost track herself in her dream world. Though, that didn’t explain how she’d ended up here. 

There was something bigger than Elain, and maybe even Rhys, happening. Would Rhys conceal this from Feyre? And could Feyre keep it a secret? Would she torment Nesta with Elain’s absence if she knew exactly where Elain was and what she was doing? No, Lucien didn’t think so. He believed she’d put on a ruse—that she’d decieve him. But not the rest of her friends and family. Lucien also believed Rhys would keep it from Feyre so long as Elain herself didn’t know.

“Are we sure this isn’t a daemati controlling her?” Lucien questioned.

Tamlin rubbed as his jaw, stubbled after sevral days of neglecting his apperance. “No, I’m not. Rhys has always been cagey about what he can and cannot do, and how far his influence extends. If she’s here, and he knows it, then he knows everything we’ve done and everything we’ve said in her presence.”

“It could be a ruse,” Lucien replied, trying to think of Rhys’ angle. “If he’s considering a rival for the throne, killing you for kidnapping Elain would certainly give him that.”

“We need allies,” Tamlim mumbled, green eyes sliding to his feet. 

“Don’t—don’t ask me—”

“I have to. After…after everything, so many noble families fled. I need their gold to raise an army,” he told Lucien. “I can’t hold our borders forever, and if Rhys rallies the solar courts…” He could sweep into Spring with very little difficulty, topple their fragic, unstable government, and install a puppet High Lord that owed Rhys his allegiance. 

“I’ll send queries to Winter and Summer,” Lucien agreed, well aware news would travel. He’d need to be discreet and careful. “I can also…Eris…” he trailed off.

Many of the Spring Court nobles had fled to Autumn where Lucien knew they didn’t truly enjoy themselves. Beron was too controlling, demanded too much of their money, their resources, and whatever else he could squeeze from them. Transplants would be regarded as the lowest of the low, ranked just above the common fae but not as high as his favored families. 

If Lucien could guarantee them power and access, he was certain they’d return. If. Because he certainly couldn’t stroll back into Autumn after Beron had put that bounty on his head. He could appeal to Eris, but…Eris had allied himself with Rhys, and who knew how deep that alliance went? Lucien didn’t know if he wanted to gamble his life on his older brother.

Eris always put himself and his own interests first, after all. 

“Start with Summer,” Tamlin finally said, some scheming left to him. “After what happened in the second war…Tarquin is still bitter.”

“I’ll bet,” Lucien mumbled. “And Elain?”

Tamlin rubbed his eyes. “We could drug her to sleep every night.”

Lucien’s barred his teeth without meaning to, causing Tamlin to sigh. “Right. Then we will continue as we are and simply hope she knows as much as we know. Have you given any more thought to her vision?”

“The prophecy?” Lucien asked numbly. “No, I couldn’t begin to unravel it.”

“I have a contact in Day—a scholar who has quite the reputation. I’ll send it to her, see what she makes of it,” Tamlin murmured.

“And you don’t think she’ll find it odd our borders are closed, Rhys is on a manhunt for his missing Seer, and you just so happen to have questions regarding an errant prophecy?” Lucien snapped. 

“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Tamlin half snarled back. “We need to move quickly, besides.”

“Oh, this is such a mess,” Lucien whispered, rising to his feet. How had they even gotten here? If he could go back, he would have simply dumped Elain on Rhys’s doorstep and forgotten the entire thing. 

“Do you trust me?” Tamlin asked against Lucien’s retreating back.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” he repeated, looking up at his friend. “With your mate. Alone.”

“I—” It hadn’t even occurred to him to be concerned for Elain’s safety while he left. What was Tamlin going to do? He’d seen how his friend had once tried to court her sister and the wide berth of space Tamlin had given her.

“Of course,” Lucien agreed without hesitation. People could say whatever they liked about Tamlin—there was a lot to be said—but Lucien knew he wasn’t going to touch another Archeron even with thousands of marks on the line. 

“And if I wanted to keep her here?” Tamlin murmured, his voice softer. “A Seer.”

Lucien had to work to keep himself from snapping. “If that’s what she wants.”

“It could be,” Tamlin suggested, holding Lucien’s gaze. “You ah…you said she likes plants?”

“She can’t go outside.”

“The greenhouse is available,” he reminded Lucien. “I only thought…if she preferred being here…”

“We’re holding her hostage, Tam. I don’t think the greenhouse is going to impress her, but you’re welcome to try.”

Tamlin looked as if there were other things he wanted to say, swallowed when his better sense won out. That was for the best. In Lucien’s fantasies, Elain was content to stay wherever Lucien was and never missed the Night Court. 

“What about mothers estate?” Tamlin practically whispered. “The other courts aren’t aware of its existence. We keep the wards up, let them waste their time trying to get to the manor, meanwhile we’re at the border.”

“That’s risky, and is assumptive of a lot of stupidity on Rhys’s end,” Lucien began slowly. 

“He doesn’t find us particularly intelligent,” Tamlin hissed. “Why would he check anywhere but here? I can make my presence known on occasion—just enough for his army of bats to report I’m out prowling. Business as usual.”

There was heavy bitterness in Tamlin’s voice and right then, Lucien wished he could shake his friend. Rhys had taken everything that mattered to Tamlin, and then everything else that didn’t, besides. Some of it couldn’t be helped—Feyre had always been Rhys’ mate, and had always been on borrowed time with Tamlin. And some of it was merely his one-sided revenge that he’d never move past, regardless of the part Rhys had played in all of it. 

Tamlin had given them exactly what they all wanted—proof he’d never been the right kind of male to govern, to love, to even be friends with. And Lucien could admit that Tamlin hadn’t really tried to prove them wrong. He wanted to tell Tamlin that the best revenge was rebuilding his court and showing Prythian that he deserved everything he had. 

“Okay,” Lucien agreed, certain it would eventually blow up in their faces. “Lets do it—in the dead of night. I’ll winnow Elain if you drop the wards for me.”

“As soon as you return from Summer,” Tamlin agreed. Lucien didn’t bother to say anything else as he left, though he hoped that, perhaps, this was the start of something new. Sure, the circumstances were less than ideal, but maybe it was all of them needed—Elain included. Someplace new, without all their history hanging over their head. Maybe they could find peace, if not as lovers, than as friends. 

Lucien, at least, hoped for that.

Whether he’d get it was another matter entirely.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Dreams and Reality | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Reader!Magician ft the Sandman [Part 1/3]

Synopsis: The holidays are coming and as the Batfamily prepares with gifts and decorations, John Constantine knocks on their door with a surprise. 

~ Star City, 20th Century ~

Madeline Pryor could feel the shift in the air. After nearly a century, she could feel his presence once again. In the cold dark night of Star City, Madeline breathed out the name of her beloved, “Lord Dream.”

From the shadows, the figure appeared donning black robes. He strolled from the dark streets and appeared to her under the light of the lamp. He has not aged since she last saw him three-hundred years ago, since the day he saved her from the pyre and then left her in that hut after she had sent Gisella Sinner and her daughters to a brutal death with those likes she cried out.

“Madeline Pryor,” Dream said, her name still the same as he did so before. “You have not aged a day.”

“I did not feel you, Lord Dream… for a long time. I thought maybe you had decided to abandon me but then the winds changed.”

Madeline stepped towards him. “You are in pain… what has happened to you, my Lord Dream?”

Dream kept silent but he did not retract from her touch. He welcomed them, her arms, her breath, the kiss on his cheek. How he missed the sound of her voice, the warmth she gives.

~ Somewhere in New York, 20th Century  ~

“Alright, Vivian, time for bed!” 

Seven-year-old Vivian only glanced at her closed bedroom door and returned to her book. It was a fascinating book with colorful pictures of knights, kings, princesses, witches, and dragons. Her mother just bought it yesterday after coming home from a long day at work, since then she couldn’t put it down. The door of her room opened, and standing there with her hands on her hips and tired look on her face was Madeline Pryor. Her mother.

“I said, go to bed, Vivian,” said Madeline. “I’m tired, and I still have to do the dishes and prepare food for Benny’s poker game.”

Vivian frowned. Benny was her mother’s current boyfriend. At the young age of six, she already knew what an asshole was, and Benny was the posterboy of that word. She wondered why her mother even stays with him.

“Why doesn’t he make the food?” Vivian muttered and returned to her book.

“Vivian.”

She ignored her mother.

“Vivian. Close the book and head to bed.”

“Why bother sleeping when he’s going to keep me up all night with the noise?” Vivian muttered. “Why does he play at all when he always loses?”

Her mother closed the door of her room and locked it. Benny didn’t hear. He was too busy drowning in his eight o’clock show. Madeline went to her bed and took the book from Vivian and placed it on the bedside.

“Don’t ever say that to him, alright?” Madeline told her. “Do you understand, Vivian Pryor?”

Looking at her mother, Vivian saw the panic in her eyes, and nodded. “I promise.”

“Vee.”

“I promise!”

Sighing, Madeline brushed her daughter’s hair, untangling the ends and massaging her scalp. The sight of her daughter’s smile made her forget about the fear and that shitty poker game she needed to prepare for. “Come here, spitfire, let’s fix this before you go to bed,” Madeline pulled her daughter to sit up with her back to her, and started to braid Vivian’s long auburn hair. She started to hum, which then had Vivian singing along.

“Why don’t you just use your magic to make the food?” Vivian asked.

Madeline paused in her braiding. “Because if Benny sees that I can use magic he’ll call the authorities and we’ll be on the run.”

“Then do the same thing that you always do. Poof them away.”

Madeline frowned. “Not everything should be solved by magic, Vivian.”

“Why don’t you ever use your magic again, Mommy? I miss seeing you use your magic.”

“I do too,” Madeline whispered. “But I don’t want to.”

“Everything was easier with it.”

“Well, you can’t always depend on it. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because not everyone believes that magic should be here. There are those who… there are witches who were burned in the stake for having them. Some drowned. Some hanged…” Madeline frowned at the memory. “Like your grandmother and your aunt… so, do not use your magic when there’s anyone around. But you can always use it when I’m around.”

“Okay,” Vivian whispered. “Ever since we visited that man, Papa Midnite, you stopped using your magic.”

Madeline finished with her work and had Vivian lay down in bed. “You are too smart for your own good. You know that?”

Vivian smiled and held her mother’s hand. “Stay here tonight. Please?”

Madeline had every intention to. “I’ll come back after I make their food. Go to bed, Vivian.”

“I will.”

Madeline leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Go to bed, and pray the Sandman gives you good dreams that take you away from this place.”

“Away from Benny’s poker game.”

“Yes.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Vivian whispered and turned to her side to sleep.

Later that night, after setting the table for Benny and his friends, Madeline Pryor entered her daughter’s room where she locked the door, pushed the drawer against it, and drew over the fading protection seal on the washed-blue paint on its surface. She sat on the edge of Vivian’s bed and kept a hand on her daughter as she held a bat to keep anyone from getting to them, and a pendant that would keep anything from taking Vivian from her.

No one was taking her girl. No man, and no Endless.

~ Now ~

Three major encounters with the divine, the damned, and time and space in a year. Constantine more than had his fair share of those three and needed a break. Sure his everyday consists of battling demons, betting on his soul with them over a game of poker while dragging along Jason Blood, and some consultations for the Justice League as long as Zatanna or Vivian were present, but being called to the – as he calls it – boy-scout Tower in space, he had a quota and he’s – rather, they – have reached it. 

Mammon may be a year ago but the night called Battle of Angels and Demons by the Flash was still fresh in his memory. How could it be when he literally saw his ex-girlfriend and now best friend be possessed by a demon, butchered by an angel, and he literally unsealed her powers so she could be reborn and brought back to life.

Then there was the case with the JLA which he and Zatanna worked on about Destiny. 

Then the latest one, which happened months ago, involved traveling back in time, specifically in the 18th century, to rescue Batman who was zapped there by Darkseid. That adventure may have solidified his relationship with Vivian and Batman as a close friend, but still. He would rather come to that Manor for a pint than a life-threatening mission. It also gave him a good reputation in the Justice League. Which was not his intention. Now they were inviting him to join their little hero-club! 

First thing that everyone should know – and Vivian knows this very well – John Constantine is not a hero. 

John Constantine is the type of person who will kill his other dimension-self to save his arse from getting killed. 

So as he finished an exorcism for a priest he knew in London, which involved some noble woman who is the King’s fiftieth cousin/niece seventh times removed – he doesn’t really give a shit – and some American football star who turns out to be a demon, he told his priest-friend, “that’s it, John Constantine is going on a vacation! So make sure to tell those bastards below to not do anything that would piss me off, got it?! And tell everyone in mass to pray extra hard!”

It’s official, John was on holiday. Good thing too because the holidays were also coming close and he’s got a couple of invitations for him to attend to. Zatanna invited him to her place to celebrate days after her special holiday show, and Vivian and Batman invited him to join her ever-growing family for holiday dinner. He could pop by Wayne Manor for a drink, some takeaways, Alfred would always pack him a little doggy bag with a bottle of scotch from Vivian, then go to Zatanna’s show.

If only that were easy – and it should – but he was John Constantine and he is never given a day off in his life. 

The man standing by the broken lamp post was pale as the moon, he wore black clothing from head to toe, which made him look like some black and white TVcharacter too. 

“John Constantine,” he called for him.His voice sounded ancient that was a cross between a narrator of a dream while still holding the horrors of nightmares. A voice that goes beyond time. It brought chills down John’s spine.

“I think you just missed him, mate,” John walked past him and lit his cigarette.

The man appeared before him again, this time blocking his path, and above them a raven flew around. “John Constantine,” the man said again. “You are just as stubborn as your ancestor.”

“What can I say? It runs in the family – if you didn’t get the message, mate, I’m on holiday. I already got more than enough demons and angels and whatever the fuck you are.  See you next year!”

“We have business, you and I,” the man continued.

“Get in line! The lot of you always say you do!”

“Vivian Claire Pryor.”

John stopped on his tracks. Turning to the man, John glared at him, “I’m telling you now. Stay away from Vivian Pryor. Do you understand? Unless you want your sorry immortal-arse turn to cosmic dust.”

The man approached him. “I need to speak with Vivian Pryor.”

“Everyone does.”

A smirk came to the man’s face as he said, “You still do not know who you speak to, Constantine. Your relative was quick to identify me upon our meeting.” Not exactly true, but when Johanna Constantine did learn his name she knew immediately who and what he was.

Looking at the man, Constantine turned to the sky where the raven continued to fly above their heads. 

“Endless,” John concluded. “Not just any Endless too, Lord Morpheus. Dream. Where’s the sand, the ruby, and the helm?”

“In my possession.”

“What do you want with Vee? Better yet, what do you want with me?”

“You were quite close with her, yes?”

“Jealous, mate? Then you’d be more jealous of her husband. Big man, wears a bat costume.”

“I am not interested in Vivian Pryor in such a manner. My concern for her is beyond such a thing.”

“What is it then?”

“There are those who find her existence an abomination. She is in danger.”

“Why would they —” brown eyes that almost looked like darkness. John cursed under his breath. “Bollocks!”

~*~

Gotham in the holidays is just as chaotic as Halloween. But unlike Halloween where it only happens for one night, this goes on for at least a week before the  holiday itself. Vivian remembers clearly the first Christmas she spent in Gotham, she was homesick then and had not enough money to eat in a fancy restaurant. So she spent the day volunteering at the Martha Wayne Foundation by handing out food and clothes, and after that she went to a local bar that serves good food and drinks. She called her family to wish them happy holidays and that was it.

The past holidays started to be filled with fun as she had Christmas parties with colleagues and friends, and now she celebrates the holidays with her family. A family she never thought she would have nor share the traditions of going through the war of shopping for dinner and gifts with.

Of all her adopted children, it was Dick who had the patience to go through the troubles of Christmas shopping. Maybe it was because they developed this tradition ever since he came to Wayne Manor and became Bruce’s ward. The first Christmas he had there, Vivian invited him to join her to buy gifts and food that they’ll prepare for dinner. At first he hated it, absolutely hated it, he was tired after that day, but as he got older he looked forward to coming to Gotham so he could help out Vivian on the list of things she had.

Which was where they were now. Walking out of the shopping district where Riddler set a huge riddle fiasco inside. Batman’s got it covered, along with Robin and Orphan, which let Dick and Vivian to leave the place with their purchases and a long and dragging sigh.

“Gotta love Gotham in the holidays,” he mused.

“It’s not the holidays without the Riddler turning the toy store into a real life Five Nights at Freddy’s,” Vivian sighed. “I hope Bruce and the others are okay.

“They are. Don’t worry about it. They’ll be back home before we even get through this traffic.”

Dick was right about traffic. He and Vivian arrived at the manor thirty-minutes later than Batman, Robin, and Orphan. Upon reaching the driveway, they were met outside by Bruce and the others who went to help with bringing everything inside.

“Are you both alright?” He asked her.

“Yeah, nothing we can’t handle. I’m sure you’ve seen Eddie now, so no point in giving his message,” Vivian said.

“What message?”

“He told me he wants to wish you a happy holiday and that he says hi.”

“I’m not sure if I should be happy about your casual relationship with the Riddler.”

“It’s more of an acquaintance type of relationship.”

Coming inside, Vivian smiled at the sight of the decorations that everyone helped in setting up. The first time she had Christmas in the manor, she was surprised by Alfred with the festivities and wondered if she went to the right manor in Gotham because, in her words, “this looks like a mini Christmas Village”, and as of now Alfred still has the knack for making the place look like a page torn from Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol. Which was fitting since Wayne Manor has all the remnants of the past, with the present bustling with life, and the future of… actually, the only thing that reminds Vivian of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was her husband whenever he comes home from patrol in the snow in his Batman uniform.

“Ah, welcome back, Mrs. Pryor!” Alfred greeted them.

“Hello, Alfred, sorry we’re late. Dick and I got stuck in traffic,” Vivian told him.

“Not to worry, Ma’am, all is well. I have prepared snacks for everyone while I whip up some dinner.”

“I’ll help –”

“No need, please relax in the study with this,” he handed her a glass of scotch. “You have already tired yourself with the shopping, which was supposed to be my errand for the day.”

“Alfred, you’ve already made this place a holiday wonderland, I should at least do the shopping and the cooking.”

“No offense, Viv,” Tim spoke. “But we all know that Alfred makes a mean pie. Even if you agree on that.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll just start with wrapping the presents then,” she snapped her fingers and had the bags of presents sent to her study before any of them could get a peek on what they were getting. “I’ll be in my study if you need me. And don’t try to find out what you’re getting. I placed a glamor on each of those.”

They all groaned in disappointment.

“I’ll help you in wrapping,” said Bruce, joining her at the stairs.

“How come he gets to see the presents?” Jason called out.

“Because it won’t last long in any way, why bother prolonging the inevitable, right?”

Another groan from them all, making Vivian laugh and pull Bruce up the stairs and before they disappear into the hall she said to them, “Mrs. Clause won’t be the north pole helping with making gifts!”

“VIV!”, “MA!” “MOM!” They exclaimed at her and she laughed loudly as she dragged Bruce to the study and locked the doors. 

He wasted no time as he pressed her against doors and kissed her feverishly. “I missed you,” he said between kisses. He’s been busy for the past few weeks with trips around the world to see Wayne Enterprise offices, duties as a Justice League member, and for Batman’s cases. There was a time he didn’t come home for four days straight and the only time Vivian saw him was during a video call when he was off Earth. Floating in space. 

“I missed you too,” Vivian moaned as his hands squeezed her thighs, telling her that he was going to lift her up. She wrapped her legs around him, making her taller and easier for her to kiss. “Bruce, are you — hey!” She laughed as he hastily unbuttoned her shirt. “I’m not wearing it now!”

He hummed in disappointment but he still continued kissing her chest and down to the exposed parts of her breast. He brought her down a little so he could press his crotch against hers. It always sends a wave of electricity across her body. With that simple act he has her in the palm of his hand. She would be telling him – not begging, never begging – to stop messing around and bend her over the table if needed. 

“I almost wanted to,” she struggled to speak as he kissed her lips again. “Call you when Batman comes to stop the Riddler.”

Bruce laughed between kisses and finally pulled away. They both looked at each other, disheveled from the heated session earlier, flustered with raw lips, and Vivian’s chest covered with love-bites that made them both laugh at their behavior. 

One last kiss, Bruce said to her, “Happy Holidays, Mrs. Wayne.”

“Happy Holidays, Mr. Pryor,” Vivian replied and got down from his hold and took the floating drink from midair and went to where the shopping bags were, and Ace. They only noticed Ace’s presence now as the dog came out of his hiding place behind the couch. On its head was a kitten wearing a large red ribbon around its neck.

“Poor babies, we didn’t know you were here,” Vivian hugged the large dog and the kitten. “I’m sorry.”

Ace barked and happily licked her cheek, while the kitten, which she named Echo, happily purred and nuzzled in her arms.

“They didn’t seem to mind,” Bruce said.

“Still, it’s weird to know that our cat and dog were here the entire time.” Vivian finished her drink and went to the bags to start unpacking. “Yeah, just so you stop wondering which one is yours. I already bought it weeks ago, and hid it at my desk in the University. So just help me wrap these.”

Bruce sat on the ground with her and started unrolling the wrapping paper. Echo climbed onto Bruce's lap and laid there where she could get a scratch on the back or on the head. Despite having magic to help with the task, Vivian preferred to wrap her presents by hand. She mentioned doing it when she was a child and carried on the tradition as a grown up. Bruce had to remind her that at that time it was just her and her mother, then her father and brother and sister. But Vivian was adamant in keeping this certain tradition even if it meant wrapping presents for their family which has now grown beyond their fingers’ capability to count. 

But she’ll admit that she’ll use magic to wrap the other gifts to those who she’s not too close with, such as certain colleagues at work, her students – which she gifts with three pieces of biscuits. 

Sitting on the ground with Ace at their side, and Alfred the cat on his head, Vivian and Bruce wrapped the presents for each member of the family. They were halfway through when he asked her a question that he always does, “are your father and siblings coming over?”

“Not this time.”

“They never do.”

“What are you talking about? Of course they do!” Vivian writes Cassandra’s name on the present. “They went the last time.”

“That was three Christmases ago, Viv. And that was the only time they did since… five years ago?”

“Do you want them here?”

“Of course, I do. Adam and I are getting along, Olivia too. Oliver has always been nice and I remember you mentioning that he and his husband are planning on adopting a baby.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“I think we should see them and so you can greet your niece or nephew.”

“Our niece or nephew. But with the baby in mind, do you really think it’s a good idea to bring them to Gotham with what just happened at the mall? Remember the last time they were here?”

He does. “Joker thought it would be funny to have a bomb of Joker Gas go off at Christmas Eve at the top of Wayne Tower so everyone would be smiling and laughing.”

“Yes. And it was chaotic – I mean, you had to go and stop Joker, and I had to tell them that my husband is currently making sure that everyone gets out safely…”

“Then we go to them during the holidays.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that. We’ve already planned the dinner here.”

“How about after? We can take the jet. Take the kids – Adam mentioned wanting to meet them all, especially Cassandra. It would be a fun trip to Liverpool.”

“Remember the last time we went to Liverpool?”

Bruce sighed. “Mary, Queen of Blood.”

“Yes. It’s not that I don’t want us to go visit my family in Liverpool or them coming here, it’s just so sudden if we do. And we don’t have any intel to make sure that it’s not another case that we’re facing if we head to Liverpool.”

“I understand. But I do wish we could go there someday. The entire family. For a vacation.”

Vivian gasped teasingly. “You go on a vacation? The most workaholic person I’ve ever met? Oh no! Bruce, it’s too soon! Duke and I were just discussing about Geriatric Batman the other day –”

“Geriatric Batman?!”

“No, my love, please! It’s too early for retirement,” she laughed.

Bruce reached over the gifts and dragged Vivian to his lap, Vivian tried to get away by calling for Alfred the cat and Ace to save her but her husband had her in his arms and carried her off the ground. “Does this look like a Geriatric Batman to you?”

“A joke, Bruce. We were just messing around — wondering how long you’ll still be doing this… I mean, you’re not getting any younger.”

“Thanks.”

“It was just a thought…” reaching up, she brushed her fingers through his hair that had a white streak at the side. “But I do wish that we’ll come to that… retirement. The both of us here, old and gray. With Ace and the other animals.”

“I know,” Bruce smiled softly and kissed his wife passionately. “We’ll get there. I promise.”

“And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that you do,” Vivian pulled him down to kiss her again. 

“Bruce! Vivian!” The door of the study was kicked open by Tim and Stephany.

“What is it?” Bruce placed down Vivian as they sensed the alarm in their tone.

“Someone’s in the living room. It’s urgent.”

~*~

“So, that someone is John,” Vivian said as she saw the man in the coat smoking a cigarette by the fireplace. Looking more worried than usual. “You could have said John, right?”

John threw his cigarette into the fire. “I told them to do that or else you and the husband won’t come down. Happy holidays, Vee.”

“The present that you can give me now is not a case, John,” Vivian sighed. “Please, we just want the closest-to-normal holidays.”

“I do too, I was looking forward to the pie and the other things Alfred’s going to make tonight and on Christmas Eve, but there’s something important that you need to know. I think it’s best if you have a couple of drinks in your system and you’re seated down when I tell you something.”

Before John’s magically levitating bottle of scotch approached her, Vivian waved it away and said to him, “I do not need a drink, and I do not need to sit down. What is going on, John?”

The man sighed and looked around the room. “I guess you also want to know?”

Jason shrugged. “What gave it away?”

“Nosy brats.”

“If you’re here to ruin the holidays we should at least know what for.”

“Constantine,” Bruce said, telling him to get to the point. 

“Fine. What do you know about your father, Vee? Not your stepfather but your actual Father,” Constantine began.

Taken aback, Vivian couldn’t find the words to his question and was silent for a time. In her place, it was Jason, Dick, and Damian who questioned him about why it is important. All of them knew of Vivian’s upbringing, how her mother raised her as a single-mom, moving from town after town in America until they got the money to go to England, where they settled in Liverpool. Not one mention of her father but for stepfather. As far as they and Vivian knew her biological father was simply a man who didn’t care. Her mother never seemed to tell her anything about him, so why bother knowing, right?

“Vee!” John pulled her back from her shock. His voice is commanding. “Tell me. What did Madeline Pryor ever tell you about your father?”

“I… she never did.”

“I doubt it,” John walked around the room as if searching for something. “Not even a profession?”

“No.”

“Did he ever go to prison?”

“How should I know?!”

“Constantine,” Bruce warned him.

“How about a song, did she mention a song? Was there a song she always sang to you before going to bed? Or a story?”

“John, I have no idea what the hell you’re trying to do. But if it’s to piss me off, it’s working.”

“How about your eyes, Vivian, did she ever tell you about that? Did she ever say how much your eyes looked so much like Daddy’s? Did she ever tell you that you’d see Daddy in your dreams? Or how about the tattoo, did she mention why she had to give a six year old that seal? ”

“You know why, John to keep this magic inside me, which by the way is this close to sending you flying across the fucking country.”

“What’s your point, Constantine?” Bruce demanded.

“Do it, send me across the bloody country. I dare you,” John marched up to her, towering over Vivian with his smug smile. 

“Constantine!” Bruce tried to push him away but a wall was built between him and them. 

In fact there was a wall that kept the others from them, a dome, which Vivian hasn’t noticed and will not notice as rage filled her eyes that were slowly turning gold. Good. He just needs one more push. One more to get her to blow up, like she usually does whenever she is angry. But this time he had her in a contained environment.

“Forty years and you’re still crying for Daddy, aye? Still gets on your nerves whenever we talk about him. Is that what this is about? A make believe for you to fill that hole in your heart because you never met him? I mean, look at this, the husband is – well, he’s not a spitting image of him but he’s got the look. The color black seems to run in the family. The kids too. Good job in keeping them alive, yours never really knew how –”

“Into the light, I command thee!”

Here we go.

John cast the spell to protect himself from the bright flames. With his arm shielding his vision from the blinding flames he reached out to the purest form of the Phoenix that floated before him and cast the spell. “Corporis et animi capio imperium tuum!” Now holding Vivian’s mind and body, he closed the gates that opened for the Phoenix: “Back to the darkness, I command thee.”

In an instant Vivian was back to her normal self, the steam of her magical fire exhumed from her body, and only her body. The place where he had contained the fire was left untouched. 

Removing the shield, Bruce went to Vivian’s side. He hissed at the heat she emitted and asked for ice or a cold blanket for her. Alfred and Tim were quick to get them.

“What the hell did you do?” Bruce got up from her side and grabbed Constantine by his shirt.

“Correcting a mistake. Actually, it was a back-job,” John raised his hands in surrender. “The seal was more than just to keep your magic locked up, Vee. It was also designed to keep certain entities away.”

“Evil entities – I told you that before,” Vivian accepted the ice pack.

“Not just that. Something that’s way out of our league. Just like what Gabriel said.”

“Gabriel?!” Vivian exclaimed. “Bruce, put him down – what does that fucker have anything to do with you pissing me off and almost burning my house?!”

“You’re not just some cosmic-magical being, Vee. This is about your Dad. And I did all this charade because he came to me and asked for my help to find you.”

Vivian scoffed. “He had all the time for the past forty years to do that, John.”

“It’s not that simply because Madeline Pryor made sure he can’t find you. Him and the others of his kind! You’re an Endless, Vee. A Child of an Endless.”

“What is an Endless?” Jason questioned.

John ignored the questions that came and focused on her. He was running out of time now, any minute he would arrive and things would just get more chaotic than it was now. Better he caused the explosion than have two primordial beings going head to head because of an ordinary family dinner.

“You know what they are — we’ve read about them, back in Liverpool. We read about them, we’ve heard about their existence.”

“No, that’s impossible. There was never an Endless who had children –” Vivian clutched her aching head. Bruce held her steady as she started to sway. So much was going on in her head right now.

“Think. Who of them was known to have fathered sons and daughters. At least one of them had a thousand names. Known in many stories and songs.”

Darkness came to the room of the manor and an ominous voice echoed in the living room. "Thank you, Constantine, you've done enough," from the darkness a figure emerged. It was a man with skin pale-white, eyes and hair black as the abyss, and robes that let him blend in the night.

He stood there, at the corner, without a care of the crowd as his eyes were fixed at one person in the room. No one dared to move in the room, normally they would immediately engage at the trespasser but this was not human. He may look like a human but they knew all too well that he was not one. His presence emitted something that brought a feeling of power they cannot take on. 

Batman has trained all of his Robins to have a backup plan for everything. Even against gods and Kryptonians, and demons now, but this was not in his lectures.

 "Hello, Vivian..." the man smiled. "Your mother placed a spell on you that would keep me from finding you in both the Waking World and the Dreaming.”

“The Dreaming…” Vivian swallowed. She observed the man before her but her gaze was stuck with his eyes. Deep brown eyes that twinkle in the darkness. The same brown eyes as hers. “Lord Morpheus,” she realized. “Dream.”

The man bowed his head. "I am Dream of the Endless, and you mentioned. And I am your father, Vivian Pryor."

[hockeyboysimagines]

hi!! Can you do romance prompt for Arber #9 “However many years we have left, I want to spend them all with you.”

you write him so sweet🥹thanks in advance I can’t wait to read it!

Thanks for this anon! Enjoy🤍

“Hey babe? What do you want for your birthday this year?” Arber asked from behind the laptop. You would be turning 20 next month, thankfully on a weekend free of games and practices. It gave him a free and open 4 days to cram everything celebratory he could think of for his favorite girl. You deserved it and now that he knew how unserious you thought of your birthday, he wasn’t going to let you get away easy. He’s gasped and nearly had a hissy when he found out you didn’t celebrate and hadn’t for a long time, scoffing at the suggestion that you continue with that theme. “Uh. No.” He said holding up a hand to silence you “We’re celebrating your birthday.”

“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head “Come on. Don’t be like that. I can’t take you out at midnight, so you have to let me get you something or throw a party.”

You leaned around the doorframe from where you were folding laundry to smile mischievously “Even if I was old enough, you would take me out where? You barely make it past 8pm every night.”

You weren’t wrong.

It wasn’t uncommon for Arber to suggest watching a movie only for him to asleep within the first ten minutes of it. He still glared at you either way. You were always giving him shit for the gap between your ages, though it wasn’t huge. Arber however felt most days like he was 80 years old, and being held together with screws and tape. So while he was only 4 years older, the constant beating his body took made the gap seem wider.

“What are you saying?” He turned completely around.

“I’m saying there’s no way you’d be able to party till all hours. Midnight is way past your bedtime.”

His mouth fell open “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. Old man.”

You immediately regretted it because the ‘Old Man’ in question was out of his chair and across the room before you even had time to scream. In one swoop he had you airborne and then on the bed with a squeal with an “OOF.” As you landed and bounced.

“Take it back.” He said fingers digging in to your sides.

You screeched and started to kick“Never.”

An all out wrestling war had started and you were losing until you heard a loud crack.

He shot straight up eyes squeezing shut “Oh Jesus!” He yelled, chuckling as he held his lower back.

“Careful grandpa.” You gasped out as you started laughing “You don’t wanna slip a disk.”

“You-“ but you had already slid out from under him and made to run before he caught you again and pulled you down on top of him.

“Okay okay you win. You win. Oh god, I think I threw my back out.”

You started laughing and took a deep breath attempting to untangle yourself and sit upright to straddle him ���So when you kick it are you gonna leave me all your stuff?”

He made a face and closed his eyes “You say the sweetest things to me.”

You gave a little giggle and reached a hand forward to rub his shoulders. He closed his eyes and groaned head falling to the side “Oh my gosh that feels fucking phenomenal.”

“Your pretty beat up here.” You said tracing a finger over the scar from his shoulder operation and the scattered bruises from the game yesterday “How many good years do you think you have left?” He smiled and let out a low chuckle, eyes still closed and rested a hand on either side of your hips.

“However many years I have left, I want to spend them all with you.” A bunch of tiny butterflies started flitting around in your stomach and you smiled very slowly as he peeked at you out of one eye “Pretty smooth eh?”

“For a guy who’s almost halfway to 50 it wasn’t bad.”

He gave your hips a squeeze “Just promise me one thing. If there’s ever a time when I can’t get it up put me out of my misery.”

You gave him a smack and then a kiss.

“Deal.”

[dinoplantsghost]

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time accurate r@c!sm (xen0ph0b!a) and comments, canon-compliant prejudice, teenage behavior (boys smh), language (swearing), mentions of murder & death, violence, bodily horror

word count: ~3783

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- really pushing it with the out of pocket comments here but it's the 1940s bro, these dingdongs wouldn't know how to be nice tbh 😭💀

Chapter List

Defense Against the Dark Arts [3]

Saoirse didn’t know whether she enjoyed the Ravenclaw Tower or if she wanted to jump out of the windows that surrounded it. True to the House, everything was blue with a hint of the brown notes bronze held. It was almost always cold, something Saoirse hated the most about the Ravenclaw Tower; as the end of the year and the end of the first term creeped closer, the colder nights became, the shorter the sun seemed to stay before running back to its hideout in the west away from Scotland. Saoirse wasn’t fond of the school colors either, though she supposed it was better than the awful standard pink or gold Mahoutokoro had to offer. 

Begrudgingly getting out from the thick blue duvet, Saoirse forced herself to dress, tears pearling in her eyes as she fought her hair with a hairbrush until she finally used magic to untangle her cerulean strands. She ignored the other three girls she had to share a dorm with; they were none of her concern. Having shared a dorm prior, the other girls were huddled on one bed together, the morning gossip seeming commonplace between them as they got ready, albeit very slowly, Saoirse noted. 

Without a word, the Asian girl left the dorm and her legs were already dreading walking up the spiral staircase to the main lounge of the eagle common room. Saoirse thought the use of a spiral tower as living quarters was quite nice, actually, despite her other thoughts concerning the interior designing. It gave the common room an endless feel as her legs continued their way up the stairs. It allowed for a full study room, something she presumed to be a staple of the Ravenclaw students as they were expected to be academic and diligent in their classes. The lounge held bold ingenuity; the roof was an exact reflection of the night sky, no matter the time it was in the day. It was helpful for students taking Astronomy, as Saoirse saw last night when she woke up to grab a glass of water. Her eagle peers were huddled in the lounge, as they always were, parchment thrown around and ink pots dispersed, risking the chance to fall over and ruin the rugs. 

When she finally made it out of the Tower and onto the moving stairs of the rest of the castle, her mind cleared. Though she had met with the lady yesterday, Saoirse had no time to speak with Merrythought in private. Her lesson was very boring, she noted; Saoirse had been taught those spells long ago, when she was about twelve years old. The girl walked past the Great Hall, ignoring her need to eat as she made her way to the professor’s office in her classroom. 

Merrythought seemed to be a very cluttered person. Once Saoirse found herself opening the door to the lady's room, her feet instantly rubbed against piles of parchment and books that covered the tile floors. “Oh, Saoirse," Merrythought said, popping her head out from a hoard of stuff from a far away desk. “I apologize for the mess in here; I can never get things done sometimes. Time is funny that way." 

"That's alright, I just had a few questions. I would have asked yesterday but there was no time for privacy.” Saoirse carefully stepped over to Merrythought, wincing as she heard cracking under her feet. Hopefully the professor wouldn't notice. "When I first met you, you inspired me to explore the Dark Arts, to experiment; you said I was a natural. But during my tour, the boy who walked me through Hogwarts, I always forget his name; Don Fiddle? Anyways, he said that you never advocate for the use of Dark Arts, which is the exact opposite of what you have told me in the past.”

Merrythought nodded, a hum of understanding passing through her lips as she reached for her bifocals to clean the lens. “My dear, I only say that because not many understand that, the Dark Arts is not evil inherently. It is the intentions of the user that determine whether it is evil or not. Your reason for being expelled, it was because your experiment failed and that girl died. You had no intentions of harming her and she willingly offered to help. I see no reason why that should stop you from continuing fueling your curiosity.”

“But the book I was reading, The Soul and Its Properties, said that a soul unable to latch onto the chosen object would latch onto the nearest living specimen. Does that mean I'm cursed, ma’am?”

Truthfully, Saoirse had no clue what she was doing with the ritual. The book was difficult to translate and the pages were extremely faded, but somehow she was able to capture even a sliver of understanding through the step-by-step pictures. That girl, Himiko, was Saoirse’s disturbed roommate. She happily offered herself up to help when she found a bunch of surgical materials on Saoirse’s side of the room under a floorboard. Saoirse herself had never really talked to her, the experiment was the one of the first times she had ever talked to the girl. The Ravenclaw vividly recalled how the lamps flickered, so the ritual had worked in a sense.

“Define cursed," shrugged Merrythought. “Usually you are only cursed when there are bad intentions. If a soul is angry, then yes, you would be cursed." She walked off, going back to her paperwork piles up on her desk. 

Merrythought had always been a cryptic person in one-on-one conversations. During the training camp she had met the woman, Saoirse had constantly heard how confusing Merrythought was, and those sentiments were coming back in harsh waves now as students struggled to complete assignments even with the lady’s direct help. She was a good teacher, yes; her lessons always allowed for hands-on experiences for students, but when it came to writing notes for an exam, or an essay deep diving into the nuances of a spell, Merrythought was not the person to go to.

“I think I’ll figure it out myself later on, then.” Saoirse murmured, sweat dropping as she coughed in her hand before pivoting on her foot to make her way out of her office. 

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

The classroom filled quickly as students made their way out of the Great Hall, like ants in a single file line. Defense Against the Dark Arts was fairly easy for the group of boys who had designated spots in the middle of the room, who were forced to sit there by Tom, who liked being in the professor’s direct vision. When they walked into the room, however, Abraxas groaned under his hands, light waves of platinum blond tickling his cheeks the moment he saw the annoying color of Cerulean near the front of the classroom. 

Eloise, being nosy as he is, turned his gaze to Abraxas’ predicament. “It’s her,” he gasped dramatically. “Oh, Merlin, she looks so exotic—look at the color of her hair!” 

Patrick hit Eloise in the shoulder, causing the boy with copper strands to stumble on his feet. “You’re always so loud, El’.” 

Eloise shrugged, pushing Patrick back harder and laughing as the thin teen fell to the ground. 

“Can you stop messing around,” Abraxas frowned. “Sometimes I hate being around you guys, honestly…” 

Miles helped Patrick up, swatting his back to get rid of dust and grime from his sweater. 

“Do you think I should try to talk to her?” Eloise asked, a sparkle in his eyes that the rest saw often. “I can see it now; she’ll be swept off her feet by my gorgeous smile and my luscious hair. I’m so glad I decided to wear my good cologne today.” Without consulting with the rest of the boys, Eloise marched up to the quiet girl at the front of the room, tapping an index finger against the wooden table. Saoirse glanced up, raising her eyebrows in confusion as she waited for him to speak. “Good morning,” he said. “You’re the new student, right? I’m glad Hogwarts gained a new beauty in our midst, though it would have been much better if you wore a bit of green on your person—it would really bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours.” 

Saoirse was stunned. This random European boy was flirting with her from the get-go. “Thank you,” she coughed, her cheeks and ears cherry red. “I’ve always been told my eyes are weird…” 

Eloise kissed his teeth, shaking his head in disappointment as he promptly hopped over the elongated desk to sit next to the foreigner. “Well those gits are colorblind, I doubt those squinters could ever fully witness your exotic beauty.” He said, running a hand through his hair before putting his arm around her shoulders, blissfully unaware of the way she tensed up under the sudden contact. 

Miles, Louis, and Patrick walked over, faces flushed red as they fought to drag Eloise out of the chair. “We’re so sorry about him,” laughed Miles. “Sometimes he just sees a girl and he can’t control himself—ew, are you biting me?” He yelled, tugging on Eloise’s red hair to get him off his hand. Patrick was elbowed in the face by Eloise, his glasses clattering to the floor in the process. 

In turn, Abraxas and Orion joined the fray to help the other three, careful to not touch or interact with Saoirse as she leaned down to pick up the Austrian boy’s frames. “Here you go,” she said, taking Patrick’s hand by the wrist to plop his glasses into his palm. 

Eloise pulled away from Miles and the other athletics as he saw Patrick being touched by the girl, yelling as the boy’s neck and ears turned pink. “No, don’t touch her,” he cried, tackling Patrick to the ground in front of a flustered Saoirse. “I’m supposed to be the one having a moment with her, not you, you stupid, scrawny nerd!” 

“Avery, get off of the floor, you look like a desperate peasant.” 

At Tom’s words, the boys coughed, straightened out their backs as they muttered apologies to the raven haired teen, falling in line as they followed him up the steps to sit down. 

“I can’t believe she touched you. You’re not rotting, are you, Patrick?” Orion asked, frowning as he witnessed the meek boy scratch at his wrist. 

“I feel itchy…” Sniffed Patrick, his bifocals barely balancing at the tip of his slim nose. 

“You’re just falling in love, Patrick,” sighed Eloise, stretching out on the table as he squished his cheek against the wood. “It’s okay, though, I won’t pursue that girl any longer if you fancy her; I’m happy for you. Maybe she’ll cleanse you of that nerd energy and make you join the Quidditch team.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with reading, Eloise. Besides, maybe she likes reading.” Louis said, shrugging his broad shoulders as the rest of the classroom filled in with other students.

Today’s class was an extension of yesterday’s lesson: the evasion of spells. The main focus was the realization that you will never know all the spells in the world; some are either too complicated to know or newly created by the caster themself. Being aware of your surroundings is better than trying to fixate on spells that are close to burning your face off. 

“It is important to try and find your opponent’s weaknesses. Now, they might not be as obvious, but becoming detail-oriented is imperative to your success. This skill will sharpen with time the more you come to rely on it.” Merrythought waved her thin wand, white chalk hovering in the air as she drew a simple model of two stick figures, their wands magically moving as they threw dusty chalk spells at one another, puffs of white flying off the board. “Now,” she continued, the desks and chairs clattering as they were shoved to the edges of the room. “To figure out who was listening to the lesson, I will need two volunteers. Whoever wins this duel will gain 20 points for their house.”  

Murmurs flew around the room, uncertainty and excitement from many. With multiple hands beckoning in enthusiasm, one hand in particular stood out to the professor; one so dainty and fair it could be mistaken for a maiden’s. It belonged to a boy, a boy with auburn hair, its length falling to his cheeks as it fell from it side-parting. He was ever one to usually participate in one-on-one demonstrations, often opting out in exchange for “free entertainment” as he had put it countless times before. 

Curious, Professor Merrythought pointed her wand towards the male. “Avery, it's interesting to see you participating.” 

The boy in question let his hand fall back to the side as he feigned innocence through his gleeful smile and squinted downturned eyes. “Well, I’m not particularly concerned with participating myself, you see,” he laughed. “I want to personally suggest two perfect candidates who are more than exceptional for the demonstration, Professor.”  On que, he jabbed a finger downwards to Saoirse, then leaning back to point to his friend in the middle of the row. “I volunteer Saoirse and Tom to duel, Professor.” 

Voices echoed throughout the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. A duel between the presumed posterboy of Hogwarts and the transfer that had only been in class for less than forty-eight hours? It was clear to the audience how unfair this was as the boy with coal hair had a large advantage. 

Galatea Merrythought clapped her hands in anticipation. “For once I like the idea that came from your head, mister Avery; five points to Slytherin!” The lady waved her hands, shooing the students to the sides of the room, making space for her two most prized students. 

Tom, with irritation bubbling in his throat as he thought of the numerous ways he was to have a talk with Eloise later, watched as the girl was pulled to the side, nodding as she was given personal words from the teacher. How she was sorted into Ravenclaw was beyond him. There was no way she knew any spells with Latin roots, especially with her accent. 

Saoirse rolled her robe off her shoulders, her dress sleeves now to her elbows as she strode up to him in full confidence. In her right hand was a wand of dark wood with a long, notch shaft, her thumb placed snugly under the hilt. 

Merrythought coughed in her hand. “The rules are simple: de-wand your opponent using all spells you know, as well as deflecting techniques we discussed earlier. Do not intentionally harm one another or I will have you in detention as quickly as a snitch.”

TR~S

An eagle and a snake, back to back, wands in hand. Others watched as they took ten steps forward, with each making them more and more agitated. Flicked their wands to the side, they stood in silence. The snake struck, turning around and throwing a spell toward the eagle, who was able to successfully redirect the jet of red towards the crowd. It was a mystery as to how many tricks the girl had up her sleeve; being a new transfer, no one knew of her potential. The spell hit a nearby desk, making it explode upon impact. The shards were raised in the air as the eagle was quick to make use of the situation. “Oppugno!” 

The shards flew to attack the boy, ready to piece and stab him, but with a quick Incendio Duo the shards danced in flames, smoke forming. Closing in on his opponent, Tom waved his arm to throw in multiple incantations of the arrow-shooting spell and Diffindo. Smoke swelled and whirled around the two at the hands of the eagle and her Nebulus charm. 

Their vision darkened as the smoke burned their noses, blocking them from the concerned crowd on the outskirts of the gray, fluffy barrier. The faintest shouts from rowdy boys could be heard until Merrythought got onto them for yelling in her classroom. 

“How did you learn Latin-based spells,” Tom asked, yelling slightly over the hum of the moving smoke. “I doubt whatever school you went to previously used any.” 

Saoirse hummed, blinking slowly before flicking her wand at the boy. “Dueling camp comes in handy.” She frowned as Tom raised his own wand to get rid of her hex. “Professor Merrythought said I could use any spells I’d like this time around; she said that you would be on par with me.” 

“What did she whisper to you before this duel? It’s hardly fair to give a student the upper hand.” He pulled a desk from outside the smoke barrier to throw at her. Her eyes widened, running off to the side before tripping and falling on her feet as the desk crashed next to her, her knees rough and red against the concrete. 

“She didn’t whisper anything of that sort to me,” she argued, her glasses skewed on her nose. “She said I could use the spells I’ve been working on for the past few months. But I don’t know if you’d be able to handle them.” 

Tom scuffed, his usually sculpted hair dancing in wild strands as the smoke barrier picked up enough momentum to create wind. He had created his own spells before, ones he doubted she knew any solution or counterspell to. His patience was growing thin; Eloise was a fool for throwing him into this stupid duel. “Stand up, you stupid girl,” he hissed. “I have better things to worry about than some weak foreigner. I’m surprised your wand hasn’t blown up in your face with how thick your accent is, you bloody Jap—”

His chest tightened, the air knocked out of him as Saoirse threw an Expulso his way. His eyes stung as he flew back and fell to the edge of the smoke barrier, coughing and heaving as his lungs begged for fresh air. The smoke was becoming less and less controlled due to the sudden fluctuation in Saoirse’s demeanor. Struggling to sit on his knees, Tom stuck his wand out to let a spiral of wind fly out of his yew wand, the smoke dissipating before closing in again, the barrier tightening as Saoirse kept the smoke up. 

As he stumbled on his feet, Saoirse shot a spell he did not know, nor was he able to figure it out. It was in Japanese—or at least, that was what he thought it was. A jet of orange hit his shoulder, a flutter of stinging pain similar to that of nettles echoing in his skin. Ignoring the tickling sensation, ropes conjured from his wand with Incarcerous, wrapping around Saoirse’s wrists, ankles, and neck so effortlessly, constricting her from any movement. 

Her eyes widened as she raised her joined hands to scratch at the bind around her neck, desperate to get the tiniest bit of air. “You’re pathetic,” he laughed, the tickling in his shoulder spreading to his neck. “Merrythought will be disappointed to see her favorite student on the verge of asphyxiating.” 

Dots appeared in her periphery as her hands struggled to pull away the rope, choking her red and irritated neck even further. With a lack of strength and concentration, the smoke barrier fell, revealing to the long-forgotten crowd a passed-out girl with blue lips and a red neck littered in scratches and a prominent rope burn. The boy standing in above her, who quickly pivoted around to pack up his belongings, ignored the professor’s calls as he left the classroom. His posse followed suit, and the bell rang, ending Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

13:15 - Lunch

“She really tried doing that to you?” Abraxas asked, listening intently to Tom’s influential words like the rest of the group. Tom nodded, his fork flinging a piece of vegetable across his plate. “She also used this foreign spell, I couldn’t figure out a counterspell because it was in a different language.” 

“Was it harmful,” Patrick chimed in, closing his book in front of him. “That smoke barrier blocked the entire duel; it takes a lot of concentration to keep something like that up for so long.” 

“My shoulder has been irritated the entire time since it made contact,” Tom frowned. “Though I doubt it’s of any concern. The pain hasn’t spiked at all.” 

The Austrian boy shook his head, pushing his frames along his nose bridge. “You said it yourself, though, she said she knows Dark Magic.” He leaned close across the table, careful to speak in a low voice. “What if the spell was fatal?” 

“There’s no way, she’s too pretty to be that dangerous,” Eloise said. “I refuse to believe it; my exotic muse being a sly minx is beyond any reasoning, Patrick.” 

Louis rolled his eyes, looking off to the side as he drank his pumpkin juice. “That girl isn’t anything special, Eloise, there’s better looking girls in our house.” 

“Oh? Then why don’t you introduce me to them, Louis? I didn’t know you fancied any girls in our house.” 

“That’s not what I said, I—”

“What Louis meant,” Miles smiled. “Is that you can’t make assumptions off of someone based on their appearance.” 

Eloise made a noise of disagreement, wagging a finger into the boy’s face. “No, I can make all the assumptions I want when peacock boy over here literally theorized the girl to be a murderer.” 

The boy with platinum hair kicked Eloise’s leg under the table, making sure to make a bruise into his delicate skin. “Don’t say that so loud, you idiot—and stop calling me that, those peacocks have been in my family for generations!” 

Tom pinched the dip of his nose, a terrible headache coming along as the floating candles from above made harsh glares on the metal of the numerous goblets in the Great Hall. His neck buzzed, and so did his upper arm now. “Excuse me, I need to use the lavatory.” He muttered, getting up from his seat before making his way to the Prefect bathroom. 

Somehow, the tickling sensation had turned into a sting, a pain he was familiar with. Swinging the door open, Tom let his Hogwarts robe fall to the ground as he undid the first two buttons of his dress shirt. As he looked upon his skin, a sharp breath flared his nostrils as he winced at the desiccated flesh now pale and gray, flaking in a way. The scent finally hit his senses, the faint but recognizable smell of putrid, rotting dead skin all the way from his upper bicep to his jaw. The spell he was hit with, the one he didn’t deflect, was rotting him from the inside.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

[tellthatbrokebitch]

snippet from chapter 5 of the zombie apocalypse au

She holds him gently and murmurs nonsense words into his hair, along with telling him he’s okay and she was so worried and she loves him so much.

And suddenly he realizes that, for all the maudlin thoughts that ran through his head (yesterday? today?) not once did he consider how his mom would feel. It seems like they’ve barely spoken in the past few months since their fight, and the last thing he said to her was something passive-aggressive – words he can’t recall, but the sight of her crestfallen expression burned into his brain. And then he almost left her, chose to leave in a way, without making things right.

“Mom,” he chokes out, as those tears finally well up and spill over, making her hand falter mid-stroke. “I’m sorry. That fight was so stupid. I was just. It was dumb, I just lost my temper and said stuff I didn’t mean-“

Joyce shushes him, pulling back to frame his face with both hands in that same familiar way she does. “Hey, no, sweetie, none of that,” she chides gently. “You don’t need to apologize. You weren’t wrong, Will. Maybe you were a little harsh, but… that’s okay, too. Sometimes we need to stand up for ourselves, and sometimes that means we need to yell.” She tugs the hem of her shirt up and begins to carefully wipe at the tears and snot and god knows what else on his face. “As for your temper…” She smiles ruefully. “I can’t be angry at that. You get that from me.”

“I… not from Dad?”

She shakes her head, a scowl flashing across her face. “Absolutely not. Your dad didn’t get angry, he got mean. And when he did apologize, he never really meant it.” She gives him a warm, gentle smile, and the love in her eyes is unmistakable. “You’re nothing like him, sweetheart.”

“But – the way you look at me sometimes, when I go out on runs – when I have my gun – you really don’t think I’m like him?” The confession comes out rushed and the words are barbed, delivering a thousand tiny cuts as they tumble out of his mouth.

“Oh, Will-“ Her face crumples in on itself with the force of her grief. “Never. I promise you, I have never thought that. You’re a good boy. Will, you’re so sweet and kind, and your heart – you couldn’t be like Lonnie if you tried.”

When she tugs him back into her, he goes willingly, burying his face in her abdomen and letting himself break down, just for a bit. An indeterminate time passes this way. He’s forgotten about the others in the room – hadn’t even looked around to see how many others are in the room – but when he finally pulls back, only El and Jonathan remain. El is leaning against the wall against the door, watching him with overly bright eyes, and Jonathan is sitting Indian-style on the floor by the bed.

This strikes him as odd, and he has to take another look around before he realizes why. “This is Mike’s room,” he says.

“He insisted.” At Will’s blank stare, Jonathan shrugs. “We thought you could use the space.”

Joyce gives his hair one last stroke, then untangles herself from Will. “I’ll go get you some water, honey,” she tells him, kissing the top of his head again before leaving, pausing to press her hand briefly to El’s shoulder and offer her a kind smile. Then she’s gone, and Jonathan hasn’t looked away from Will once.

He hesitates before finally stretching out his hand across the sheet palm up, and Will doesn’t hesitate to reach out. “You really scared me yesterday,” he says, which answers at least one of Will’s questions. “When Erica rushed in to report you’d vanished-“ His voice breaks on the first syllable of the last word and he cuts himself off to take in a shaky breath.

“Jonathan. I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Before Jonathan can retort – and he wants to, Will can see it in the tightening of his jaw – the door opens. Claire and Mike walk in. Will doesn’t care if it looks weird to the rest of them, he holds out his free hand and Mike is immediately there, taking the spot by his side that Will is only now realizing wasn’t empty, but reserved. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” Mike says, quiet enough that Will has to strain to hear it.

Now that he has Mike back where he belongs, by his side, Will finally feels ready to face this – or as ready as he’ll ever be, at any rate. “It’s okay,” he replies, a beat too late. “Really, you just missed me throwing up and breaking down.”

Mike pretends to be put-out. “Damn, that’s a good look on you.”

“You’re so gross.”

[joannamjohnson]

Chapter 5 - The First Step is the Hardest

(also available on AO3)

What are you doing? He asked himself, when, as promised, an elven escort arrived from Lindon with a horse for Arondir.

What are you doing? rang again, as he wrapped Bronwyn in a hug, relishing the discomfited glares of his three escorts. He was loathe to let go, because it seemed so… final. This is not a goodbye, he told himself.

“When the fireflies come,” he whispered in her ear, then pulled away to take a long look at her face. She cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled.

“I’ll see you home.” She finished.

He returned the smile, then cupped her face and pulled her forehead to his, mouth suddenly dry and eyes burning with tears. She placed her hands on his, caressing them for a moment, then pulling herself away. With a final squeeze, she dropped his hands and nodded. They are waiting for you.

He mounted the horse, and they were off. Will they think I’m abandoning them? hewondered, as nearly the entire village stopped their work and play to watch four elves ride back the same way the three had come. Not that any of their opinions of him mattered, aside from Bronwyn and Theo. Theo.

The boy hadn’t been home all week, and had actively avoided speaking to or even seeing both Arondir and Bronwyn. Arondir had sought him out, yesterday.

“You do good work.” He said, unsure how to really say anything that needed to be said.

Theo did not even look up, only moved with rote precision, taking one stick at a time and carving branches, leaves, and bumps off to prep them to become arrows.

“They are coming tomorrow and I must leave.” He tried again. “I have a duty to you… and to them.”

Still, Theo worked without pausing, his cuts quicker, sharper. Arondir stood a moment longer, then nodded and left.

Is this how Bron feels? He wondered. Wanting to let him alone to grow, but desperate to mend the connection.

“He’s young.” She’d said that evening as they laid facing each other in bed. “We were all young, once.”

“Yes.” He agreed. It felt so long ago that he’d been young. Well, in human terms. “Did you feel much like him, when you were young?” His fingers rested on that little spot just between her hip and waist, tracing a lazy circle.

“A bit.” She smiled. “I craved independence. Married quick. They always hoped I’d make a lord’s wife. Or anything, to get out of the farm or toiling as a healer. But…” she shrugged. “I like the land, and healing.”

“The land likes you too.” He murmured, moving closer so his forehead rested against hers. He pressed his lips together, tight, willing his breaths to maintain a steady pattern. Her hand found his face and gently stroked his cheek, as though she knew he was one stray breath away from tears.

He didn’t know how long they laid like that before both drifting off to sleep, only that morning came far too soon. He woke as the first rays of sunlight lit the horizon, but did not move. Bronwyn breathed in the slow peace of a deep, unadulterated sleep. Arondir rested his hand on top of hers and just laid there, matching his breathing to hers.

A familiar trumpet sounded outside. Arondir’s breath caught in his throat and he tightened his arms around Bron’s back. They were here early, and would wake the whole village to see him off, it seemed.

Bronwyn shifted and woke as he untangled his arms from their embrace and moved off of the bed. She laid and looked at him as though committing him to memory, until he finally broke his eyes away and turned to dress.

Arondir was gone. She’d stood outside watching for an hour as they rode further and further away. Until the tiny specks disappeared completely.

Finally, she turned and walked back into the cottage. Small as their home was, it felt cavernous now. She sat at the table for a long moment, just taking in the silence. After a long pause, she breathed deep, then stood. Arondir would be back, that she knew. Whatever that elf-king had in mind, she could not trust, but Arondir would return.

She stepped outside, the morning sun lighting their little village in a pinkish glow. The air still hung with that sleepy silence of the night. It felt as though she were the only person awake in the world. No, there was someone riding a horse through paces along a flat stretch of field. Well, attempting anyway.

Theo.

The horse then, would be Unnamed. The stallion had come to them a few months ago, riderless and in a frenzy. Clearly a warhorse, and likely Númenórean, but wearing no colors or tack at all. He’d reared and stamped and pawed at the ground. Arondir had been the one to temporarily calm the animal, lead him to some food and water. The horse had been with them since, Theo having claimed responsibility to care for him.

It appeared the current exercise was a bit of a challenge for the both of them. Theo pulling tight on the reins and the horse rejecting every command. He did not buck, but would not behave either. Every command Theo tried to give was openly defied.

She wanted to call out to him and give a wave, then thought better of it. Arondir just left, she reminded herself. He was likely to be unhappy to be reminded. And being called to in this failing attempt at managing a horse would be embarrassing for him in any circumstance.

Her eyes fell to the ground, surveying the little garden. The chamomile flowers were in bloom. Echinacea was growing well, though it had not flowered this year. Too soon, next year it should. She retrieved a clipping knife from the cottage, then knelt and began cutting flowers from the chamomile branches.

The day was well underway by the time she stood, basket full of chamomile and weeds she’d cleared. Indistinct voices hummed through the air, accompanied by the ring of an ax against a tree and a hammer on metal. She looked for Theo, but he and the horse had vanished.

[james-is-here]

Kai huffed as he leaned back against the door, shutting it in the process before sliding down to the floor. He lazily kicks his shoes off and moves them to the side.

Sighing again, his head thuds against the door as he closes his eyes. Why did he agree to three photo shoots?

He picks up his head and looks around. His whole home was dark, no light except some streaks of moon light or lamp post from the curtain that was half shut in front of the patio door.

Willing himself to push up to his feet, dragging them to his room before he stopped. He should shower, a lot of product was used on his hair and the lazy sink wash he did before coming home didn’t do much, which is obvious cause he only did it to get the majority of the products out.

He sighs and walks to the bathroom instead. Just a quick shower to clean his hair. He hopes he doesn’t wake anyone up as he turns the shower on and undressed.

When he stepped under the water, he’s glad he chose to wash up. His muscles relax and he exhaled deeply. He wanted to relax more but didn’t want to be in the shower more than needed so he opened his eyes and grabbed his shampoo and lathered it through his hair, wincing whenever his fingers got caught on tangled strands covered in gel.

He sighs as he realized he also had braids in his hair, the twinge from how tight they were braided becoming nothing as his day went on, forgetting them completely.

He needs to clean his hair but he doesn’t want to stand in the shower forever, unbraiding his hair as the water ran so he switched to filling the tub with hot water before sitting down and leaning back, enjoying the warm water before he tilts his head and reaches up to undo his braids. The soap he still had in his hair kinda helped as he untangled each one.

Lathering the shampoo through his hair again, he sinks under the water to wash off the soap. He does the same thing with his conditioner but he stayed under the water for a moment, the warmth surrounds him as he’s left to his thoughts before he sits up out of the water when he hears muffled knocking.

Wiping his face and spitting water away from his mouth, he calls out. “Yeah?” “Kai, what are you doing?” He huffs before standing up and draining the tub. “Sorry, one sec.” He grabs a towel and dries off quickly but enough so he could at least get his boxers on.

With his clothes and towel held in front of him, he opens the door to be greeted by a sleepy Hyunjin. “Sorry.” “S’fine. How were your shoots?” He asks through a yawn. “Good, tiring but good nonetheless.” Kai smiled and stepped out of the way. “Good. Uh, last i remember, Chan was trying to wait up for you.” Kai nods, returning Hyunjin’s hug when he stepped forward before walking into the room he just left.

Quickly shuffling to his room, he grabs random clothes. Black sweats and his favorite soft hoodie before he leaves his room and goes to Chan’s.

He smiles softly when he sees Chan in his bed, looking closer he sees a goose plush tucked into his arms. Kai brows furrowed, wondering where he got it before he remembered: Chan’s birthday was yesterday…

He walks out of Chan’s room back to his to grab the small gift he got for his leader before returning. He pulls out his phone for a moment, going to their youtube to see Chan’s Live. He tapped on it, scrolling through the video quickly to see that the gifts he spun for. That explains the grey material on his desk chair and the plushie.

He puts his phone away before walking over to the side of his bed and crouching down. It might be creepy, watching someone sleep, though Kai couldn’t help but admire Chan. He looked adorable bundled in his blankets, hugging the goose closer. Looking closer, at the hood draped over Chan’s head, he sees he’s wearing his hoodie, Him and his sibling initials embroidered on the hood, a gift from his mom.

Kai smiles, he doesn’t want to bother him but Hyunjin said he was waiting for him. Why was he waiting for him?

He reaches a hand up, moving under the hood to lightly scratch at Chan’s scalp and brush a hand through his hair. The male groans before turning into a whine as he turned his face into the pillow. “Channie-Hyung?” With more movement and sounds of denial of wanting to be awake, Chan opens his eyes and smiles. “Hi…” He whispers. “Hey, Jinnie said you were waiting up for me?” He hums, taking Kai’s hand into his own and he sighs, closing his eyes again. “What for? I told all of you that I had photo shoots today for different brands.” “Was worried when you came back after the second one…looked tired…wanted to check you.”

Kai chuckles softly at his sleepy speech. “I got you something.” His eyes open and light up as he shifts to try and see what it was. “What is it?” Chan may sound greedy but he loves every gift Kai gives him, no matter what, even on random days, Kai gifts him something handmade with occasional times of bought gifts from stores.

“You want to open it or what?” “No, comfy, can you?” Kai laughs. “Yeah, but I need my hand.” He pouts but let’s go of Kai’s hand. He sets the bag between his knees, still squatting next to the bed, before reaching into the bag and pulling both items out.

“Two gifts?” Kai flushes before speaking, softly rubbing the material. “Uh, sort of. They are matching hoodies, you are always stealing my family hoodie so during any free time I had, i embroidered these hoodies for us. My mom ironed the custom patches on but I was able to pick them up to stitch them.”

They were black hoodies with a patch on the back showing Kai and Chan’s SKZoo cuddled up to one another. Kai’s sister machine sewed ‘My only Hyung’ on Kai’s and “My Duckling” on Chan’s.

When Kai got a hold of them, he embroidered a heart and their initials on the left sleeve along with vines and roses on the hood edge and the pull strings were white.

He holds it up for Chan to see and when Chan read it, he sat up quickly, taking his hoodie from Kai and laying it out on his lap, a finger tracing the patch. “They’re so cute…” He mumbles as he looks up and grabs Kai’s hoodie to look at it too. He read Kai’s hoodie a couple more times before he looks over when he feels Kai’s hand on his face.

“Hyung? Why are you crying?” Chan chuckles, moving the hoodies to the side before moving the blankets. Kai barely blinked before Chan wrapped his arms around his waist and squeezed, resting his head in the crook of his neck to hide his tears. “I-I’m sorry.” “No…” Chan says. “It’s fine.” He pulls back, looking at Kai’s eyes as he smiled. “The hoodies are amazing, it’s so cute.” “Oh, well, thanks but why are you crying?”

“Cause every gift you get me, even the random ones for days that don’t mean anything, it’s so personal and heartwarming. Even for the others, it’s mostly all handmade gifts, I can’t remember the last thing you gifted to me that wasn’t handmade.” “These.” Kai poked Chan’s chest, gesturing to the necklace he was wearing which he bought for their fifth anniversary, Kai felt like it was a gift for saying thanks for choosing him and believing in him. It was a small silver chain with a small ‘KC’ pendant.

“Really?” “Yup.” “Wow…” Chan replied before hugging the male tightly again. “Thank you.” “You don’t need to thank me.” “I do though, when picking you, I didn’t know how thoughtful you would be.” “My mom taught me to give from the heart.” He says causally as he wraps his arms around Chan.

“I…I love you, Kai.” Kai laughs. “Love you too, Hyung, we all do.” “N-No…I-I really…” Chan steps back shakily, removing himself completely from Kai as his hands fidget. “Channie?” “I’m sorry…” “It’s okay, what were you going to say?” “I love you…but more than…I love the other boys…” Kai’s brows raise as his mouth falls open slightly.

“Oh…” “I’m really sorry, I- Thanks, again for the hoodie…” Chan was trying to dismiss what he said and move on but Kai snapped out of his daze, placing a hand on Chan’s cheek and turning him to meet their gazes. His thumb wipes away the tears under his eyes, trying to sooth Chan. “I’m sorry…” He whispers, almost inaudible, as he tries to look away.

“It’s okay, Hyung…Look at me, jagiya…” His eyes widen as he stops trying to look away, his eyes glossy. “It’s okay.” He smiled softly before kissing his forehead, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and hugging him tightly as he shook with silent cries.

His left arm stayed around his shoulders as his right moves so his hand rubs up and down his back. “C-Can you say it again?” “Say what, jagiya?” Chan exhales and Kai can feel him smiling into his neck. “Do you want to be babied? Do you like that name, agi?” Chan tries to hide his face further into his neck as he giggles.

“I can, y’know?” “What?” “If you want to have less responsibility during our free time, you can come to me and just relax.” “Thank you.” “Of course, bubby.” “How many names do you have?” “So many, it may or may not get worse.” Chan laughs and pulls away from Kai. He smiles, taking Kai’s hoodie off and putting his new one on. Giggling, he hands Kai his, receiving a smile and head shake as he removed his hoodie and put on the other.

Chan tossed to hoodies somewhere and sat on his bed before grabbing Kai’s writer and pulling him forward. Chan slides over, giving Kai room before he fell on top of him and forced Kai to cuddle.

The older snuggled further into Kai, who wrapped his arms around Chan tightly, and took a deep breath. “Hey, this is my cologne…” “Yeah, mine is sprayed on yours.” Chan shyly lifted the collar to his nose to smell it and he gasps softly. “You didn’t think I would know what you favorite cologne of mine is? I know it’s you getting me new bottles of it whenever it low.” Chan blushes, tucking his face into Kai’s neck as he pulled the blankets over them and hugged Chan closer.

Who would’ve thought his heartfelt gifts would get him into dating his group leader…feels weird, but a good weird that has Kai falling asleep with a smile on his face.

[kybabi]

telling their s/o they’re being too clingy

w/ kenma, osamu, and suna!

part 2!

series masterlist here!

(a/n: ok so i got a couple requests for a second part of this prompt but i didn’t wanna post them separately so i compiled them here!!

there were different character requests so i’ll definitely keep that in mind for future reference :)) for this prompt, i wrote all of them in the timeskip if anyone needed clarification💞 anyways thank you guys so much for requesting; i hope you like it!

this is not my best work; i wrote this when i was really tired :( but i’ll try to make it up to y’all later hehe)

kenma

your boyfriend is pretty lazy himself honestly

he doesn’t like to go out and do stuff all that much

but at the same time he is pretty busy at home

most of the time he’s just gaming

even though he does most of his work at home, you don’t get to spend that much time with him

but today kenma was in an even worse mood than usual

he was irritated, tired, and felt like he was going out of his mind all day

but you hadn’t seen him at all today, so you’re not aware of this

you walk into his work room with some food (he hadn’t eaten all day) and sneak into his lap, pressed against him tightly, as you usually do

you talk about your day, rambling about random things and combing your hands through his hair, untangling the knots

you ask him if he has any laundry for you to clean, and he doesn’t respond

you poke at him

“kenma? babe? were you paying attention to—”

“fuck, y/n, can’t you just leave me alone for a day? i’m in a bad mood already, and i don’t need you smothering me. you always do this, y/n. i don’t need you to take care of me; i can do everything by myself.”

you hadn’t realized how annoyed your clinginess was

so you disentangle yourself, muttering an apology under your breath, and leave, closing the door behind you

the next day, kenma wakes up feeling a lot better than he did yesterday, despite having fallen asleep at his gaming desk.

for once, he’s actually hungry, since he refused your dinner last night. he feels a little bad about what he said to you, but you probably know that he didn’t mean it. sometimes he gets in these moods, and you know them better than anyone.

he gets up and goes to the kitchen to see what you’ve made for the both of you. surprisingly, you’re not in there, like you would usually be, and there’s no delicious aroma or evidence of use at all. maybe they left it in the fridge? he thinks. but the refrigerator is empty, too.

now that he thinks about it, the apartment is a little more out of shape than usual. some of his clothes lay wrinkled on chairs and his mangas are scattered where he left them, instead of in his work room where you always put them. strange, he thinks.

he sees you on the couch and brightens. he’s missed you, and he wants to ask you if you’d like to do something together today. it’s been so long since he’s been able to just be with you.

but when he approaches you, you just smile at him and get up, retreating into your room and closing the door. he stands there, confused.

he doesn’t understand why you’re acting so strange today.

but on your end..

his words from yesterday stung. you really loved to care for your boyfriend; it was one of your favorite ways to show him you loved him. but he didn’t see it that way, because he expressed that he felt smothered; that he could take care of himself. so you’ve decided to back off a little bit.

kenma is working in his room when he hears the door open. he sits, up, setting down his controller and waiting for you to settle on his lap like usual and cuddle him for a little while he plays. but instead, you creep in warily, like you don’t know if you’re allowed to be there. you see his eyes on you and freeze before slipping back out like you were never in there to begin with.

“y/n, wait—”

you’re already gone though, and now kenma’s actually concerned. he gets up and ventures out into the bedroom, where you’re huddled up on the bed. he sits down next to you and attempts to pull you in, which you refuse.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he whispers. “why are you being so distant today?”

there’s tears in your eyes, and you’re attempting to smile for him, but it just looks wobbly and wrong.

“isn’t that what you wanted?” you ask shakily. “y-you said i was smothering you, so i just thought—”

he cuts you off with a kiss, pulling you in sweetly and firmly, and you sigh.

“i’m sorry for lashing out at you last night,” he apologizes. “i didn’t mean anything i said to you, okay?”

you look up at him with teary eyes.

“i love the way you do things for me and tell me about your day and cuddle with me. i know i’m absolute shit at expressing it, but i really like it when you take care of me.”

he nuzzles your nose with his, pressing short and sweet kisses on your lips between sentences.

“so what you’re saying is.. cuddles?” you ask, hopeful. he stares at you, golden eyes half-lidded contentedly.

“whatever you want.”

osamu

you love everything about your relationship with miya osamu

the dates, the food (oh my GOD the food), the everything

but more than anything, you LOVE cuddling with him

he’s always warm and soft and snuggly

but yesterday, you and osamu got in a fight

you argued that he was spending so much time managing the restaurant that he was forgetting about you

he thought you were being absolutely ridiculous

“y/n, you’re overreacting. stop being over dramatic.”

“over dramatic? is that what this is? okay, sorry for wanting to have a moment alone with my fucking boyfriend!”

“it’s not my fault that you’re so fucking clingy?! don’t put this on ME. always forcing your dumb affection on me when it’s CLEAR that i don’t want you to!”

ouch😐

even after the both of you apologized and called it quits, you thought about it all night

maybe he was right

you went to bed and drifted into a fitful sleep

today is osamu’s day off, and he’s looking forward to having a day to relax with you.

after the fight the two of you had, he’s just happy to have the whole day to make up and spend some time together.

when he wakes up with you next to him, he nudges at you affectionately. you’re already half awake, and you smile back at him. he waits for you to take the cue and snuggle into his side like usual, so that the two of you can continue resting together, but you turn around on your side. he frowns.

later in the day, you’re watching a movie, and he tugs at your sweatshirt, hoping you’ll settle into his lap and give him some kisses. instead, you sit next to him, a little bit of space between you, and don’t look at him again.

then, the both of you are making dinner, and he comes up behind you, to which you dodge him skillfully. he almost whines; desperate for some affection. you’re not giving him anything today, and he’s getting touch-starved.

“baby, is something wrong?” you ask at his frown.

he shakes his head and continues chopping vegetables.

the two of you have gotten ready for bed and are laying under the covers when he crawls over to you and lays his arm over your torso. you push him off gently, only for him to put it on you again. you sigh.

“babe—”

“why won’t you let me cuddle you today?”

honestly, you want nothing more than for him to cuddle you all day, holding you in his arms. but clearly it’s annoying, and you’d like to avoid fights like the one you had last night at all costs.

“last night.. you mentioned that i force my affection on you. and i realized that you were right. and i’m just working on it, okay?” you look away.

osamu’s heart sinks. you’re still on this? he thought he’d made it clear that he truly didn’t mean anything he said during the fight, but he realizes that insecurities don’t just go away.

“baby..” he whispers, pulling you into his lap. you won’t look at him. “look at me.” you shake your head, so he brings your chin up with his hand.

“you don’t ‘force’ your affection on me, okay? i love how affectionate you are with me. i like that you can feel safe in my arms and that you like being close to me all the time. it’s the way you express your love for me, and i think it’s perfect.”

tears well up in your eyes, so you bury your face in his chest to hide it.

“i love you so much, ‘samu,” you whisper, sniffling.

he smiles softly down at you, and pulls you in even closer, flush against him.

“and i love you.”

suna

suna is a very lowkey, chill person

this applies to basically everything in his life

but when he gets angry it’s very easy for him to lash out

yesterday, suna had a terrible day

he was just getting irritated by everyone and while he wanted to come home and rest, he didn’t want to deal with your questions

but you didn’t know about how his day went, so you asked him questions anyway, hoping to find out how he was feeling and if he needed anything

but his annoyance was growing, and you weren’t picking up on it

you laid a hand on his arm, and that’s when he finally lost it

he shoved your hand away, irritated

“can’t you just leave me alone? i don’t want to talk to you right now, and you being clingy isn’t helping.”

you reeled back, stung, but decided you’d leave him alone

you slept on the couch, afraid to upset him even more

suna wakes up to the sun filtering through the blinds, and slides a hand over to your side of the bed, expecting to find you lying next to him, but comes up empty. he frowns, missing your warmth.

he gets up and moves to the living room, finding you lying on the couch. he nudges you gently to wake you up.

“good morning, baby,” he whispers against your lips, and you don’t even smile at that, just grabbing your blanket and relocating to the bedroom. he’s confused by your mood, and follows you back into the bedroom.

“you wanna cuddle?” he offers, slipping into the bed next to you, only for you to hmph petulantly, rolling over on your side, away from him.

that’s weird, suna thinks. y/n almost never refuses my cuddles.

you do wake up later, seeing rintarou in the kitchen, and take out a snack from the pantry, ignoring his own offers to make you food.

it’s not that you’re mad at him, because you’re really not, but you’re still a little hurt at how he treated you last night. you know he was just having a bad day, but now you don’t want to receive his affection, scared to come off as annoying again.

“baby, are you mad at me?” he asks when the two of you are in bed. you shake your head, eyes still glued to your book.

rintarou tries again to cuddle you, but you push him away again. he sighs, unsure why you’re acting this way. he takes your book and closes it, inciting a reaction from you.

“hey, you didn’t even bookmark—”

you stop short at seeing his gaze locked on you and shrink back.

“then why aren’t you being affectionate with me?”

you sigh, not wanting to get into this now.

you do anyway.

“you called me annoying, rin. excuse me for not wanting to be affectionate when apparently that behavior is irritating,” you mumble.

suna stops short. annoying? how could you have ever been— oh.

suna had completely forgotten about last night. he never apologized for lashing out at you.

ignoring your protests, rintarou pulls you into his chest and noses at your hair.

“‘m sorry,” he mutters into your hair, breathing you in and basking in your warmth. you still, and he pulls you close. “i’m sorry for calling you those things, okay? please don’t stop being affectionate with me; i miss it,” he admits, and you finally look up at him.

“i’m not annoying?” you ask, voice tiny.

“no, baby. i love your cuddles and your kisses and how adorable you are when you’re sleepy. i just love you.”

you’re speechless at his honesty, so you just nuzzle at his collarbone and breathe his scent in instead.

“you know, you acted like a child today,” he teases.

“shut up and cuddle me.”

[heavenlybarnesss]

My Eternal

Pairing: Druig x reader

Summary: Druig walks in on you during a little fit of nostalgia.

Warnings: A little bit of smut, but mostly fluff & fun with the enemies to lovers trope, which I’m obsessed with 🧚🏻‍♀️ Also slight spoilers! Nothing too bad but I just wanted to throw it out there

Author’s Note: I literally only saw Eternals yesterday and I couldn’t help myself. This idea has been bubbling and brewing since I listened to “You Oughta Know” this morning when getting coffee and I got to typing asap. The world needs more Druig fics, it has to be done. Happy reading! 📚

You walked into the bedroom, the dust on the window sill proving just how long you’d been away. Sure, every so often you would visit Makkari and bring her little trinkets and staples of the decade you were in. But each time you came you’d only stay for the span of a few hours, never long enough to have to sleep in your old bed. You placed your hand on the white duvet cover, smoothing out any wrinkles lingering on the cotton surface. You turned to sit down, the long rusted bed springs creaking beneath you. You felt something hard on your backside. You peeled back the duvet cover and smiled. It was the portable CD player you had brought and misplaced when you last visited the ship.

You picked it up and clicked it open, revealing none other than an old Alanis Morissette CD. You laughed quietly to yourself, reminiscing about all the times you screamed the lyrics aloud to yourself in your car. You had gotten accustomed to the mortals and their taste in music, so to say you were heartbroken when you’d lost it was an understatement. You looked around, making sure nobody was near before you untangled the headphones and placed them over your ears. You skipped to track number two, and pressed play. You closed your eyes and let the nostalgic words flood your brain. “I want you to know, that I am happy for you. I wish nothing but the best for you both.” You bobbed your head up and down as the lyrics came back to your memory, until eventually you felt confident enough to sing along.

“And older version of me, is she perverted like me? Would she go down on you in a theater?” you sang, not realizing just how loud you were being. “Does she speak eloquently, and would she have your baby? I’m sure she’d make a really excellent mother!” You were lost in the music as your hips swayed along to the beat. You had removed your jacket, tossing it on the bed and dancing shamelessly around the room. Little did you know, Druig had been watching from the doorway, captivated by your free spirit and your intoxicating movements. You were a ray of light, casting your beams onto his dark and brooding nature. He had a soft spot for you, his beautiful, beautiful Y/n.

“And I’m here, to remind youuu of the mess you left when you went away! It’s not faaair to deny me of the - oh my god! Druig!” you screamed, clutching your chest. “What the hell, how long have you been standing there?” you asked, your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Oh, just long enough to hear you admit you’re perverted. I always knew you thought about me naked from time to time, Y/n,” he replied cockily. You rolled your eyes, smacking his shoulder.

“Oh please Druig, I can assure you that’s not a thought I want swimming around in my head,” you shot back. Sure, it was a total lie. But he didn’t need to know that. There was a time or two when showering after battle that you’d caught a glimpse of his sculpted physique. More than once he’d caught you staring, smirking as you looked away suddenly. You were certain he would bring it up it front of the other Eternals, but he surprisingly never did.

“And going down in the theater? Well I didn’t know you could be so nasty, m’lady. I quite like this side of you.” You turned back to face him, your eyes like cold daggers.

“Don’t you have something better to do than watch me dance in the privacy of my own room?”

“Well I suppose so. But Ikaris isn’t as fun to look at, and not nearly as pretty.” Your cheeks grew hot once again, and for a reason besides embarrassment this time. Druig stepped towards you, his slender fingers moving a stray hair away from your face. He tucked it gently behind your ear, allowing his thumb to linger on the supple skin of your cheek.

“Careful, I might have to tell him you said that,” you whispered.

“As much I love seeing Ikaris all bent out of shape, I’d much rather look at you. I could watch you dance forever, pretty girl,” he whispered. His hand left your cheek and ghosted down the length of your bare arm. Goosebumps soon covered the skin his fingers danced upon. “It’s been centuries since I last saw you, and you’re still as breathtaking as the day we departed.”

“And you’re still just as full of yourself,” you smiled. He smiled back, pressing his forehead to yours. Your noses touched as you closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of your sweet Druig. He smelled earthy and masculine, a scent you’ve searched for a hundred lifetimes. He soon pulled away, his hands finding their way around your waist. He leaned in, his cool breath fanning over you as his plump lips hovered over yours. You moved your head to close the space between the two of you.

Your lips met his, first delicately and then passionately. There was a hunger within both of you that had laid dormant for centuries. You craved one another, your kiss a desperate mess of teeth and tongue. Your hands tugged at Druig’s soft locks, his grasping roughly at the flesh of your hips, thighs, and backside.

“I love you,” he said feverishly between kisses. You stopped, blinking as if to make sure you heard him correctly. His eyes widened, worried you might not feel as strongly as he did.

“You love me?”

“My dear Y/n, can’t you see that my heart beats only for you? Like us, my love for you is eternal. Not a day went by that I didn’t imagine you showing up at my doorstep in the middle of the night, asking if you could stay with me for the rest of time. Every night for years, you’d visit me only in my dreams. And every morning I’d wake up disappointed that it was all a figment of my imagination.” He caressed your hair, letting his fingers run through the tangles carefully. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you Druig. I’ve missed you as well. There were so many sleepless nights where I’d just pace around the house, praying you’d show up out of the blue. You can imagine my disappointment when Sersi, Sprite, and Ikaris showed up on my doorstep and you had yet to be found. For a second I was afraid you’d declined to come with us.”

“Oh trust me, my darling. Any battle you’re fighting is a battle I’m showing up for. Someone’s got to protect you.”

“You know I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. I don’t need you to fight for me.”

“No of course, my love. I know you can hold your own, and I love that about you. You kick all the ass you want, I’ll just be there if you need backup.” You giggled, reconnecting your lips.

“You know, I was thinking -“ you started.

“Oh no, that can’t be good,” Druig cut you off, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek.

“Shut up!” you squealed, shoving him away from you. He laughed, grabbing your waist and pulling you back towards him.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” he said between placing wet kisses all over your face.

“I was thinking about how after we stop the formation of the celestial, we’ll have nothing but time to catch up.” You raised your eyebrows mischievously at Druig, who in return smirked back at you.

“Oh is that so? Because I was actually just thinking I’d head back to the Amazon alone, you know?” I think it’s what’s best.” Your expression faltered, your smile fading.

“Oh, I just thought - you know, maybe it’s too soon, so I shouldn’t have even -“ Druig placed his hand on the back of your neck, kissing you intensely while using his other hand to guide you to your bed. He laid you back, ensuring not to break the kiss while your head hit the mattress.

“I’m only kidding, my beloved. Of course I want you to come back with me. Please. Say you’ll come home with me, darling.”

“I want to come home with you, Druig. Home is wherever you are. Take me with you.”

“My beautiful, beautiful Y/n. Oh, how I’ve missed you.” You sat up, pulling at his shirt as your mouths fought for dominance once more. He slipped his hand beneath your blouse, kneading your breast. He hummed in appreciation at the feeling, for his eyes had always lingered when you wore a low cut top.

“Oh my - oh my god! You guys, please! This is a communal space and we’re all here. Come on!” Kingo yelled. “No, no Karun. Do not film that, that is called pornography. Give me the camera!” Druig being ever the gentleman, covered you with a blanket before letting Kingo have it.

“Aye, Kingo! Get the hell out of here! Go film your stupid documentary someplace else!” He even went so far as to remove his boot and throw it at him.

“Alright, alright! Geesh.” Kingo replied.

“Give me one second, yeah?” You nodded your head, smiling as Druig got up to shut the door and lock it behind him. He walked back and leaned down to hover over you. “Now, where were we?” he winked, leaning down to finish what the two of you had started.

“I adore you, Druig.”

“And I adore you, my love. Perverted or not.” You erupted with laughter, for you never grew tired of Druig’s wholesome teasing.

[imthebadguyyy]

Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

..

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

[shapeshiftinterest]

Bets And Bells: sun x moon x monty (CH 4)

based on THIS pic i drew

monty meets moon during their security route and sun finally has a speaking roll

story under the read more

Bets and Bells (also on ao3)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Monty paced outside his greenroom, grumbling to himself. He forgot the pizzaplex was getting a deep clean today  when a group of staffbots and their janitor leader swarmed his room at 2AM. The gator had just enough time to snag a few knickknacks that would have registered as trash before being booted out.

He couldn’t even hang out with the other Glams; all the animatronics were getting system updates and his appointment was last. Not to mention his tail was acting up since yesterday. Getting the DJ to juggle him was totally worth it, but waiting for his turn was soooo boring!

The bassist huffed and started stomping over to Kid’s Cove. He’d been meaning to explore it for a while so why not now?

                                                    Kid’s Cove

“Wonder ‘f I could get away with taking one of these...,” he muttered under his breath, staring at one of the treasure chests strewn about the area . If he emptied out the coins he could get more plushies to shove in his room; his closet was getting a little full anyway.

Before Monty could think about sending a message to one of the deep clean coordinators his audio processors picked up the sound of... jingling? Wait-

“Hello~.”

“OH SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA!” Monty screeched, stumbling back and falling on his tail. Oof, yeah that’s broken; sucks to be the P&S mechanic who had to fix that later.

Moon had basically jumpscared the poor gator by rapidly dropping upside down from the ceiling and stopping right in front of his face. The cove’s cable was artistically twisted around their left leg for balance. Not that Monty was paying attention what with currently having the equivalent of a robot heart attack on the floor.

Moon froze, staring upside down at the Glam, hat miraculously still on their head. Monty stared back.

“... pfff hehehe.”

Moon snickered, shoulders shaking from trying to hold back. One hand covered their mouth as they untangled themselves from the cable and gracefully dropped down.

‘Moony!’ Sun chastised from their headspace. ‘It’s, pfff, it’s not nice to laughahaha!’

Moon sent them a smug ‘>;3c’, prompting their partner to burst into a fit of giggles. ‘SNRK!’ Sun choked out, fumbling for composure. ‘Oh my stars, you’re terrible.’

‘And you’re a hypocrite, Sunny Sun. uwu.’

‘Stooop! XD,’ Sun whined, fake pouting. ‘Meanie Moonie, go help Mr. Montgomery.’

‘Only after you admit it was funny, Sunny~’

‘Ok ok. It was pretty funny when he got startled hehe.’ They rolled their eyes, blowing a raspberry at their other half when Moon sent them another smug cat emote. ‘Now go go go! We still haven’t told him why we’re here yet!’

Moon suddenly scuttled closer, but before Monty could react they plopped down on the floor next him, criss cross apple sauce.

“Uh.”

“We’re sorry for scaring you, Mr. Montgomery.” Moon said, picking at a loose thread on the carpet. “We just wanted to thank you for the new uniforms; thought it was ok to give you a little startle since you did it last time.” They picked up his shades, which had fallen off when he stumbled, and offered them to him.

Monty blinked and felt his face. Huh, no wonder everything looked brighter. Taking the shades from Moon he grinned and put them back on.

“Heh. Not gonna lie, y’got me good, lil guy.” Monty said, shooting them a finger gun. “The new threads look good on ya. Nice t’see P&S didn’t skip out on our deal, wouldn’t wanna be seen as a promise breaker now would I? Gwahahaha!” The bassist amiably thumped Moon on the back a couple times.

Moon lurched forward at the force and gave a little grunt, hands gripping their knees to keep balanced. Oh wow, validation from a Glam; could this day get any better?

“Y’know y’all can just call me Monty though, right? Everyone already does.”

Well stars n’ garters, apparently it could. Sun was doing cartwheels and squealing in their headspace.

‘Oh. My. GOODNESS!!!’ They grabbed Moon’s conscious and started shaking it, bells jingle jangling and echoing all over the place like crazy. ‘HE’S GIVING US PERMISSION TO SAY HIS NICKNAME, MOONY!!! AAAAAHHHHH I’M SO FLIPPIN’ EXCITED!!’

‘Sunshine, calm down! You’re making us blush!’

True enough, Sun’s excitement was transferring over, half of Moon’s face was glowing a little and getting stronger.

‘Sorry, sorry! I’m just so- so- a;lsd;LSAKDFJ;ALDK;lasLKJL;kLASDAS!!!’

“Welp, speakin’ of P&S, it’s almost time for my update. See ya later, darlin’.” Monty made to stand but almost toppled over if Moon hadn’t caught him midway. The two looked around to see the gator’s tail bent at a few weird angles.

Huh, how did that happen?

Moon stiffened at the sight, eye lights shrunk to pinpricks as their face plate darkened. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no no no no. They’d injured a Glam. It was one thing to damage the Daycare Attendant, P&S didn’t care much about them anyway. But a Glam?? One of the main band???

Inside their headspace, Moon smacked their head with the palm of their hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid Moon. He was going to get decommissioned. Oh Faz, he was going to get Sun decommissioned. Moon’s grip on Monty tightened as they panicked.

“Uh, darlin’?”

What were they going to do? They were head of security, what kind of security guard injures the coworkers they’re supposed to be guarding??

‘Moony, breathe!’ Sun called out. ‘You’re fine, everything’s fine!’ His counterpart whined internally.

“Moon!“

“Hngk!”

Monty’d smacked both clawed hands on either side of Moon’s face, forcing them to focus on him. “Dude, don’t worry. My tail was already messed up before I went to Kid’s Cove. Y’just busted it a little more is all.”

Moon started shaking. Wow Monty, way to go; wordsmith of the year over here. A real smooth operator.

“Tell ya what, let’s make a deal. You help me get to P&S in the next few minutes, and I don’t tell anyone you scared me so hard you helped break my tail a little. ‘Kay?”

Moon nodded, calming down. Sun took a breathed a sigh of relief. His partner tended to overthink to the extreme sometimes.

“Cool. So how’re we doing this? Do I lean on you or- WHOA!”

The Daycare Attendant wasted no time in scooping the other up princess style and calling for their cable. Once it was secured and they made sure Monty was holding on, they bounced a few times before leaping into the air and ‘flying‘ towards P&S.

“This is awesooommeeee!!!” Monty yelled, his mohawk getting mussed by the wind. The two touched down in front of the elevators, Moon figured they might as well just keep carrying the Glamrock all the way since it’d be faster than helping him walk.

"We know you said it was fine, but we’d like to apologize again for accidentally hurting you.” They said, letting him down in front of the P&S entrance.

“It’s fiiiiine.”

“But we-”

A spark went through the bassist’s mind. “Actually,” Monty said, tilting his head to the left and tapping his chin with blunt claws. “There is one thing y'could do that'd make us totally square.”

The jester’s eyes brightened at the suggestion. “What is it? We could fly you around again, or, or-. Bandaids!”

Moon started counting on their fingers what they thought they could do. “We have first aid in our chest cavity. We usually kiss booboos better for the little comets but we don’t think that works for robots... Mmmm, only Chica can ingest food so Moondrops and Sundrops wouldn’t work on you. Uh-.”

 “Whoa whoa, cher. Nothing like that.” Did they really just offer to kiss his tail better? Pfff, man these guys were a riot. “I was just wonderin’ if you’d be fine with me keeping your old bell is all.”

“Our old... bell?” The Daycare Attendant’s face plate spun in confusion. “You still have it?” To be honest, they’d thought the Glamrock had thrown it away or lost it. Or maybe it’d gotten snatched by one of the cleaning crew or children. Kids sure did love shiny objects. Heck even their assistant, Nina, loved to hoard little trinkets that fell around the craft area or into the lost and found.

“Yeah, I uh, y’kno.” The bassist scratched the back of his head. It sounded kind of weird now that he was saying it out loud. Stupid Roxy, forgetting how bad he was at lying on the fly. Yep, it was totally all her fault. “It’s shiny an’ round. I like the sound it makes.”

HHHHHhhhhhh stop explaining, you idiot. You’re making it worse! Monty could feel his servers heating up as he rambled. Oh Faz, he couldn’t stop. Shut up, shut up, shut uuuup!!

Moon tugged the cap over their face as Monty kept talking. In the dark lighting, Monty could clearly see the left half of their face plate glowing through the fabric. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward.

‘Say yes, say yes, say yes!’ Sun chanted, flapping his fists in excitement. Their rays were spinning out of control.

“You can keep it.” They said, interrupting both animatronics with a slightly muffled voice. And before the gator could say anything else (please no, let the convo die with some grace), Moon blurted something about finishing their patrol and they were gone.

The only evidence of Moon being there was the sound of jester bells getting farther away and, at one point, the animatronic tripping over a fallen endo in their haste.

BONUS:

chica is finishing up her appointment, freddy is in a recharge station, roxy just got out of her update

roxy: what the fuck kind of train wreck did i just watch with my own 2 eyes

monty, muzzle hidden behind his claws: shut uuuup

roxy: what happened to lying about the bell. oh my god were you flirting with the daycare attendant :D

monty: LEAVE ME ALOOOONEEE ( /)////(\)

roxy: this is amazing, i’m telling chica once she’s done charging

monty: /groans/

side: moon tries to copy ch 1 monty in this in a permission/ example kind of way

like when you’re not sure if your friend is ok with being called babe and then someone calls them that and you’re like 'ah! that nickname is ok for them!’, except with sneaking up on each other

[levixreader]

Dad!Levi x Mum!Reader - It's Just a Hobby

Charlotte: French name meaning freedom Summary: You woke up alarmed at the metallic shriek echoing in your room. Your angry husband sat a the far end of the room... sharpening his blades?... at three in the morning? Oh God, what did Charlotte do this time.

Warning: Pure fluffiness, Levi deserves happiness ;v;

Inspired by @cakeswashere prompt:

Y/N: are you angry? or...

Levi: no.

Y/N: so sharpening your blades at 3am is just a hobby then?

Daughter of Mine(Chapter I)| Master List|Requests| Next Chapter

It's Just a Hobby

Sheeeeeeek

It was a sharp, almost metallic in nature shriek. You tossed in your sleep, your brain still half unconscious.

Had you imagined it?

It sounded familiar. Where you having another dream of your time at the Corps?

All this talk about Charlotte joining the military was definitely not doing you any favours. It was scratching at the back of your head the obscure memories you kept hidden away. Ever since you had pushed Levi into taking her to work, every night, without fail, the deformed hands of your demons came to grab you at night.

Yesterday Levi had shaken you awake. You were sweating in your sleep, haunted by the last expression of your friends, of your family. Some nights, your dreams were so vivid that you were convinced that the life you had now was… imagined.

How had Charlotte convinced you that it was a good idea to join? Ah, yes, her unwavering spirit. Stubborn and passionate to the core, just like her father. Erwin had earned Levi and his constant devotion to the cause had earned Charlotte.

Truly, she had worn you down. She would talk as if she had been in the military for as long as she was alive. She had convinced every single one of her friends to join. Of course, she had worn you down. Children, you had discovered, had a way to make you feel like you could endure anything as long as it made them happy. Even if that meant spinning directly into a titan’s jaws. You shivered. Tonight, marked the beginning of winter and with it the fast approach of harsh months.

How could you selfishly stand in her way? She was the carbon copy of your husband, down to his unhuman like traits. She was fast and strong, but that didn’t make her cocky, it made her aware of just how far she could go. So when she had implored you to let her join the military… You caved because you knew your daughter, nothing you could say, not even the hellish nightmares you conjured now, would deter her from joining.

Levi could though. You didn’t have the heart or the will power to stand against her, she was, after all, a force of nature like Levi. So, it made sense that he could and did stand against her. So firmly opposed that he would rather sacrifice his relationship with her than watch her wear forest green.

I would never want to feel responsible if something were to happen to you.

His words had rung deep within you. Levi was strong, the strongest in fact. He had carried with his best friend’s death, carried the guilt of every death, carried the title of strongest, but, he could never carry the responsibility of the death of his only child.

Your heart ached. For months now, you had tried to convince yourself that you already waited with your heart of your throat every time Levi sat you down at the kitchen table to tell you there would be a new excursion. You could do the same with Charlotte. Right?

It was different. You knew it was different. You were all too aware of it. So, you settled. Settled to be thankful that where you lack the willpower, Levi could. Maybe, you had thought, that having her shadow Levi for a couple of days would show her a glimpse into a world she could never have thought of. You hadn’t. Not even Levi, who lived in the underground, had.

Sheeeeeek

You shot up. Straight up.

That had been the sound of a knife getting sharpened.

In a panic, your eyes scanned the room, your hand already reaching for your bedside table, inching into the drawer on the hidden weapon inside. You could feel your heart lodged in your trachea. All you could think was of your daughter and how to get to her as quick as possible. But, then, your eyes landed at the corner at the far back. It was Levi, seated in the leather chair he liked so much.

Relief, ice-cold relief washed over your stiffened body. Instantly, you relaxed at the sight of the familiar presence. Your heart unable to dislodge from your throat, the exhaustion weighing down at your body once again.

What the hell was he doing?

Shreeeeeeek

You felt a new wave of alertness wash over you. Something glimmered, you squinted, your tiered eyes fell to his lap.

There was a blade.

Shreeeeeeek

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades at three in the morning.

Oh, God.

Shreeeeeeek

Cried the sound of metal. He was hunched in the chair, hadn’t bothered taking off his uniform, or boots for that matter. His right leg on top of his left thigh. One of his blades rested across his lap. You sat there watching as he expertly manoeuvred the blade making it glimmer even in the darkest of nights.

Something was bothering him.

You sighed, the adrenalin leaving your body. It had been a minute since you last felt it course through your body like earlier. You had genuinely thought that there had been an intruder in the house. You were a light sleeper, years retired from the military could never kill that habit. It had saved you more than once.

You wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until you untangled whatever Levi’s brain was scrambling. It was Charlotte, you were sure of it. After the little incident at the beginning of the week, she had somehow squeezed a promise to not react like he did that day. How she did it you would never know. It took years -years- to get him to not impulsively confront any man that would even slightly look at you the wrong way. You were certain that something must have happened again and the frustration of being powerless had him sitting, sharpening his disposable blades at such an ungodly hour.

This was it. The time had come to have “The Talk” with Levi. You had been preparing for this ever since Charlotte turned sixteen. You had already noticed the attention she garnered whenever she accompanied you to the market. How some of her oldest male friends would stare a second too long. It was bound to happen eventually. You had prepared for it, Levi… not so much.

“Morning”, you said the bedsheets still pooled at your waist. Even with the window closed, you could feel the cold air prickling your skin, like small needles. He frowned, not really expecting you to wake up. He had already spent an hour on his other blades, this was his last one. “How was work today?”, you insisted. He grunted. He at least acknowledged you. He wasn’t feeling all that talkative at the moment.

Shreeeeeek

The sound of the metal echoing across the room. This man was impossible. Like father, like daughter, two stubborn mules unwilling to bend or move in their convictions. You were convinced that when God created stubbornness, Levi was first in line, closely followed by Charlotte.

“Somethings never change”, you thought shaking you head slightly. Unceremoniously, you yanked the sheets from your lower body. You shivered, the cold air now attacking your legs. Levi’s face remained turned down, his eyes, however, sneaked a peek at you. He had heard you move. You were, to his dismay, heading towards his direction. He noticed the hair of your forearms standing to attention. You were cold. He clicked his tongue; he wasn’t ready to go to bed, anger still bubbling at his feet. He frowned, returning his attention at the weapon in his hand.

Shreeeeeeek

“Are are you angry?”, he heard you ask softly. No answer. You grouched in front of his legs so that your face was in his direct eyesight. He gripped the handle of the blade, his eyes moving to observe the end of it. He was avoiding you. “no.”, he curtly answered. He looked stoic. “Stubborn, stubborn man”, you thought. You placed a numbed hand on his twisted knee. His eyebrows knitted together refusing to look at you, opting to look at your hand. You looked paler than usual.

Did she have another nightmare?

You smiled amused, “So sharpening your blades at three in the morning is just a hobby then?”, you asked sarcastically. His frown deepened, he didn’t answer. “Tell me what’s bothering you”, you pushed, the tips of your fingers going a bit numb. He sighed knowing you weren’t going to let this go and if needed would freeze half to death until he talked. “And you think Charlotte is stubborn because of me”, he thought. Charlotte, he frowned again the anger bubbling up again.

“Is it Charlotte?”, you asked, even softer than before. You gripped his knee in reassurance. He sighed again, of course, you would know exactly what was bothering him. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I can’t believe she is sixteen”, you said truthfully.

Sixteen years went by like nothing, one day she was too small to even reach the kitchen counter and the next she had a queue of boys lined up. “Fucking hormonal teenagers”, he thought to himself glaring down at the polished blade. He wanted to break the thing in two.

“Our brat is an adult now”, you said giggling pulling him again out of his thoughts. His eyes lifted slightly to look at you, clearly disagreeing with your opinion. Charlotte wasn’t an adult; she was just a brattier brat. “Did one of the cadets flirt with her again?”, you asked smiling sympathetically. His eyes widened and immediately narrowed to the point you thought he had closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, his grip on the weapon made his knuckles turn white.

“A boy”, he corrected. You smiled sadly at his words. “You know she is at that age”, you said earning you a glare. “You know I’m right”, you insisted. He clicked his tongue. You were right. That doesn’t mean he had to voice it. “I know this is very hard for you”, you continued, he looked pained. It had taken everything in him today to not march and punch the titan shifter straight in the face. He knew the look he was giving Charlotte; it was the same look he had given you. He felt his chest burn.

His eyes looked pained, the cold controlled captain melting away. You wanted to hug him, console him and tell him that his baby was still just that: a baby. That Charlotte would not grow up and that she would always call him ‘Daddy’. But this would only hurt him more and would do Charlotte a disservice as her mother.

“Here”, you said standing up offering a hand for him to take. He looked at your hand, eyebrow cocked upwards with curiosity. You rolled your eyes, “Well, take it”, you insisted shaking your hand. Cautiously, he placed his free hand on yours. His eyes narrowing when he felt how cold your fingers felt. In a quick movement, he rested the sharpened blade against the nearest wall and grabbed with both his hands the hand you had offered. “You’re cold”, he commented, making you roll your eyes again at him. “Well hurry up then”, you answered pulling him up. He pouted, finally complying with your request.

You pulled him out of the room towards the hallway in front of Charlotte’s room. His frown returned, “What are we doing here”, he asked, not appreciating the surprise. “Shh”, you said tightening your hold on his hand. As carefully as you could you opened the door to your daughter’s room. She looked tranquil, completely at ease. “Look”, you whispered moving out of the way. Reluctantly, he peaked into Charlotte’s room. His eyes softened and his chest, previously burning with anger, filled with warmth. She looked like a child hugging her favourite stuffed animal. “She isn’t quite an adult yet”, you whispered, “not because some boy is flirting with her means she stopped growing”.

He sighed closing the door just as carefully as you had opened it.

“Let’s have another one”, he said turning to look at you straight to your eyes. “What?”, you said in complete shock. “Let’s have another one”, he repeated closing the gap between the both of you. “What?”, you repeated louder, his hands grabbing your hips. “I said”, he whispered pulling you towards him, “Let’s”, you heard him next to your ear, “have”, you felt his breath on your neck, his nose caressing the base of your neck, “another one”. His teeth dug into your soft skin.