#I had also already begun writing plots with it so I didn’t want to give them up

[indieyuugure]

I like how you made Mutagen like it's kryptonite to the turtles, a cool(and I'm also guessing unintentional) callback to the character trait of muckman.

Oh! I didn’t even think of the relation it had to Muckman. It was actually accidentally base it on kryptonite 😅

At the time I was writing that, I was binging the My Adventures with Superman show, so that concept was very fresh in my brain. It’s not exactly the same of course, but it’s like a reverse kryptonite (instead taking away their powers, it amplifies them, but like WAY too much). It’s definitely still incredibly dangerous, but for different reasons I guess.

Glad you liked that! :]

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming | Part 2

Summary: After accepting the mating bond, you and Azriel explore some missed opportunities. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

A/N: Thank you for the love on All My Dreaming!!! Not to be horny on main but I couldn’t stop writing for this story, here’s ~8k more words of extremely sweet and very nasty Azriel. I really wanted to write a fun scene with Mor and the gang Rita’s but couldn’t find a place for it in the first part, so y’all are getting it here. There is like, so very little plot here, I just wanted to write a few more scenes and give some additional backstory on these two because I think they’re cute. Also, I love writing little vignettes for this storyline so I might post a few more, much smaller (lol) snippets of them as an epilogue! 

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

WC: 8.4k (i have no self control)

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, cunnilingus, face sitting, more love declarations, Cassian being a lil flirty in flashbacks, soft dom!Az, little hints at jealous!Az, the slightest amount of angst, talk of previous abuse (but nothing too descriptive) and slight breeding kink because Az has one (I feel this in my bones). Azriel is down astronomically bad for the reader in this one y’all. The last 2.7k is literally just porn lol 

Part 1

True to his word, Azriel kept you in the meadow until dawn. The sun beginning to paint the night-sky with sepia hued pinks and oranges. You’d long since finished the wine, eaten half the bread, and most of the fruit and cheeses. He laid against the quilt, wings spread magnificently as you laid against him, thigh over his abdomen, head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing idly at the tattoo inking his chest. He hummed contentedly, and you ventured your eyes up his, finding his gaze already on you.

“Can I ask you something?” You tested the waters of this new thing; bond, love, cocoon that enveloped you. “Anything,” he smiled. “When did you know?” You asked softly. He furrowed his brow. “That I loved you?” He asked and you nodded, turning your upper half to rest your chin on the hand that had stilled against his chest. He laughed. Mother above, he laughed so warmly that it made your eyes crinkle and lips spread into a grin from the sound alone. 

“You’re going to hate this,” he said as a preface, smiling, dimples appearing as he looked to you, “but it was a few weeks after you joined us, and Cassian mouthed off at you about being late to training.” You raised a brow. “You fell in love with me, while I was being…….degraded?” You asked, a little deadpan. “No,” he shook his head in correction, still chuckling. “It was what you did after.”

Cassian kept a strict training schedule. He trained in the early hours of the morning on the balcony at the House of Wind, ate breakfast, then moved to outdoor weapons and flight training off the banks of the Sidra until the early afternoon. He was strenuous and strict in his routine, as was Azriel. You’d begun training with them the week before, and if you were totally honest, you weren’t fully comfortable with the two brothers yet. Cassian was rough around the edges, brutish, with a mouth that often got him into trouble. Azriel was quiet, observant in a way that unnerved you. You’d caught his eyes following you often and you hated the warmth that pressed into your cheeks when he did. 

Rhysand had warned them to give you time to adjust. You’d been brutally attacked by Beron’s dogs only a few months ago and forced to live in the wilds for nearly six weeks, eating foraged fauna and what game you could kill with a makeshift spear you’d carved using sharpened obsidian and a walnut branch. Your body grew weary in those weeks; endless fear, starvation, and sleepless would do that. You were still a jittery little thing, like a wild animal, jumpy when Amren or Mor managed to sneak up on you by accident. 

Azriel recognized these symptoms and allowed you a leniency he didn’t normally offer his trainees, but trauma, physical and mental, took a toll on the body as he well knew. He’d gifted you a golden hilted dagger on your second week with them and asked if you knew how to use it. You held it in your palm, noting the blue stone that sat in the bolster and double edged blade that you could see your reflection in. You looked a little gaunt, but your cheeks held color again, your lips were fuller, no longer dry and chapped from mountain winds and cold nights. 

“I know how to use a blade Shadowsinger,” you said in an even tone. You didn’t call him by his name then. You also called Cassian ‘General’ to his face, and ‘asshole’ behind his back. “Most females learn to use them,” you followed up, “out of necessity.” Azriel hated to dwell on those words, hated to think about what you’d gone through before Beron, what your father had done. He nodded once, and placed a sheath and belt down on the table next to you before taking his leave. 

You’d awoken late for training that day, the sun had rose to a bright position in the mid-morning sky and you knew you’d never hear the end of it from Cassian. You dressed slowly into your training leathers, belting your dagger around your hips and took a deep breath. You walked to the balcony, noticing the males absence and winnowed to the training grounds at the Sidra. Cassian’s eyes found yours immediately and he sheathed his broadsword, turning to look at you. Azriel was perched on a fallen tree stump nearby, and his eyes traced your face, noting the darkened circles there. He’d heard you screaming in your sleep last night and his heart ached at the sound, his shadows slinking off to find you. 

“So you didn’t forget,” Cassian said, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “Tell me something, little girl, do you even want to be here?” He stressed the word want in his sentence in a way that had both you and Azriel narrowing your eyes. “This is the third day this week that you’ve been late to training, and the second that you’ve missed morning warm ups altogether.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh, “I’m beginning to think Rhys was wrong about you.” Azriel went still and he felt a bit of rage creep up his spine at his brother’s harshness. 

In the blink of an eye, you’d unsheathed your dagger and thrown it at the Illyrian general. It whizzed past his head, nicking his cheek, and landed in the training dummy behind him. “Fuck you,” you’d growled teeth bared, as you shifted a stance that begged for a fight. Cassian turned and pulled the knife from the dummy’s eye socket, before throwing in the dirt at your feet. “A little to the left next time you try to kill me,” he smirked. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have missed, asshole,” you said as you fixed him with a glare and your jaw ticked in anger. Cassian’s face broke into a shit eating grin and he laughed, which made you sneer with frustration.

“Good to see you’re still alive in there,” he said smiling, “I was hoping we’d see that spark.” Your anger dissolved as fast as it built up. You reached down to pick your dagger from the dirt and sheathed it at your waist. “Seriously, Cassian, fuck you,” you said and grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows before stalking off to train alone. Cassian sighed and went to follow you but Azriel rose to feet to stop him, stepping into his path. “Let her calm down,” he suggested, placing a hand to his brother’s arm. Cassian sighed. He knew he was being rough with you, but it the only thing left he could think to do. “We’ve tried nice, brother. Tough love worked on Amren, maybe it’ll work on her too,” Cassian spoke softly before trotting after you. 

A few paces off you’d begun firing arrows into a target carved in the bark of an elm tree, teeth grinding. Cassian was right in his intent though, you had to get out of your own head if you were to move forward. You pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocking it on the bowstring and pulling it back until the bow met the pile at the tip. You heard him coming before you saw him.

“Listen, I’m just—” you heard Cassian’s voice and turned then, aiming and firing in his direction. The arrow flew through the air towards the General. The feathered fletching caught the bun at the top of his head, pulling hairs loose, before the tip burrowed into the tree behind him with an echoing noise.

“Mother above, you could’ve killed me!” The General shouted, face blanched. Azriel’s lip quirked up and he looked to you again, you were smiling, closed mouth but smiling, and he felt his heart grow warm at the sight. “I told you, asshole, I don’t fucking miss when I’m aiming to kill.” 

You laughed aloud, cheeks warm as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest. “I’ll go around threatening Cassian more often if it gets me a mate in the end.” The male at your side chuckled warmly and his hand found yours on his sternum. “He still talks about it, you know?” He offered with a shake of his head. “It was precisely the kind of thing Nesta would’ve done too.” 

You smiled back. “Good to know you Illyrians have a type.” He looked to you then and he smiled, eyes tracing your lips, nose, lashes, and the Winter white hair haloing your face. “Not a type, just blessings from the Mother,” he murmured softly. His hand trailed up your arm and pushing your hair off your shoulder and down your back. You blushed, warmth blooming on your chest and running up your neck to your face, painting your skin pink. 

 “Gods, who knew you had such a silver tongue,” you said chastising, looking to where his fingers played with yours as they rested on his chest. “You used to be so quiet,” you added, letting a small laugh escape you. Azriel shrugged and pushed up on an elbow as his hand left yours to run up your arm and cup your cheek. “Good to know you’re still thinking about my tongue,” he whispered before kissing you for the millionth time that night. 

It was mid-morning when Azriel ported you both to the River House. It was surprisingly empty, and you made your way to the kitchen to seek out food, still in the dress from the night before, though it was now wrinkled on your body. Rhysand had stocked the kitchen it would seem, as you found an array of fruits, vegetables, and meats in the cold storage there. 

“I guess Rhys was serious about quarantining us here,” you laughed before looking over your shoulder to find your mate, leaned against the counter, watching you with warmth. “If I cook for you again, are you going to ravish me?” You asked jokingly, pulling a knife from the block to begin prepping carrots for a quick stew.

He pressed forward then, coming behind you to push you into the marble, bringing his lips your shoulder and his hands to your belly. “I plan on ravishing you either way,” he said, lips tracing to the hollow below your ear, a spot that made you whimper as he’d found out the night before and catalogued in his head. You pressed your hips back against his, loving the feel of his body against your own.

 “Very interested in that, though I think it’ll be easier on a full stomach, so maybe go bathe while I cook,” you said, turning your head and nudging your nose into his own. He laughed again and the noise set your heart to skittering. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to having him like this, so free and warm.

You’d seen Azriel in every form. The warrior that fought with skilled precision, teeth bared as he cut down his adversaries; the Spymaster that tortured, maimed, and killed Night Court threats; the brother that took his friend’s teasing in stride, lips quirking silently as he shook his head. You’d never had him like this though, laughing and full of affection, touching and grasping so freely.

His hand found your chin and you knew he’d heard your thoughts again from the look in his eyes. His fingers stroked up your jawline, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. “There is no one in this realm, on this continent, male or female, that has as much of me as you do on any given day,” he whispered before he pushed away to stroll out of the kitchen and up the stairs. You let a shaky breath go from your chest. He was trouble. 

Later, after you’d both bathed and eaten until your bellies were full, you sat at the dining room table, sipping a glass of wine. “You asked me this morning when I knew,” he started, setting down his wine glass as his index finger began tracing circles into red table cloth next to it. “When did you know?” You laughed and took another sip of wine, you’d need it to keep up with him. “Mine’s not as violent,” you fixed him with a pointed look and he smirked.

You took a deep breath, “it was several months later, at Rita’s.” He laughed warmly in disbelief. “What?” Surely you weren’t serious? “What in the Cauldron could’ve happened at Rita’s to make you fall in love with me?” His eyes were twinkling under the fae lights. 

Mor had begged you to go and you’d told her no at least thirteen times. You’d grown fond of the blonde as had she with you. She’d helped you immensely in your first months with the Night Court. She knew what it was to be hollowed out by trauma, particularly trauma that extended from those in the Autumn Court. She also knew bad fathers. You were grateful to her and you’d opened to her in a way you’d hadn’t yet with anyone else in Rhys’ Inner Circle. 

“Please?” She tried again, “We can go into the city and get you a dress, I’ll even pay for it!” You rolled your eyes, “You won’t give up until I agree, huh?” She’d laughed then. Her laugh was the kind of full bodied female laugh you hoped you’d get back some day. “You already know me so well, Little One.” She nudged your shoulder, before patting your cheek and leaving you alone to dress for the day ahead.

Little One had started a few months prior when you poked fun at Cassian during a dinner. You’d been ready to maul the General in your first weeks, but you’d settled into a peaceful truce. He’d been talking loudly about the female he’d been with the night prior, all bravado and innuendo. “Amazing you were able to land her at all with that ego,” you’d muttered taking a sip of your wine. Amren sat across from you and her lips quirked as she looked your way in silent agreement. She and Cassian were also at odds often. Cassian slid his eyes to you and they narrowed as you feigned innocence, setting your glass down and looking to your nails. “Did you just mock me, Little One?” He asked, head tilting as he watched you pick at a cuticle. 

You met his eyes and raised a brow. “Tell me Cassian, is what they say about Illyrian wingspans true?” You said, eyes glancing to Rhysand and Azriel, both looking thrilled at this development. “Cause as I see it, you look to be outmatched.” The room went quiet before Cassian bellowed a loud laugh, bringing a hand to his chest. “Cauldron save us, she’s got jokes,” he snickered and your lips curved into a smile. He turned to you then, lips smirking. “For the record, it’s not the wingspan that matters, it’s how you use it.” His rebuttal caused you to let out a breathless laugh as you picked up your wine and rolled your eyes. 

Mor had dragged you into the shopping district of Velaris to find an appropriate dress. The first store was a bust, and the second was looking to be the same. “Come on, Little One, there has to be one you’re interested in!” She’d said, voice going a little whiny on the tail end of the sentence. You’d scanned the boutique again, and noticed a dress hanging in the far back corner that was looked like threaded starlight. “That one,” you pointed and her eyes slid to it before her lips broke into a knowing grin. “You go to the dressing room and I’ll grab it,” she offered and you’d nodded, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. 

She’d brought you the dress and you shut the curtain in her face as she laughed. You’d undressed slowly, eyes scanning skin as it appeared. Your eyes zoomed in on the heavy scarring at your legs, Gods you hated those markings. Once the dress slid on, you pulled up the zipper at the side and adjusted the bust line.

You loosed a loud breath, it was…. generous in the amount of skin it showed and the style screamed Night Court. You turned and realized the back went down to your bottom, showcasing the two dimples at the small of your back. The slit at the side came all the way to your hip. ‘Cauldron, this isn’t a dress, this is a scrap of fabric,’ you’d thought. 

You turned and opened the curtain stepping out to find Mor looking at you with an open mouth.  “Are you sure you aren’t into females?” She’d asked. “Because I’d love to keep you to myself tonight.” You’d blushed and laughed heartily. “Is it good?” You asked cautiously, turning in a circle. “Good? Little One, the males will be on their knees,” she said eyes twinkling with mischief. 

You’d bought the dress despite the insecurities and gone home the House of Wind to get dressed. Mor had sent Nuala and Cerridwen to you to help with your hair and make up and you’d thanked them profusely.

As the moon rose for the night, you stood in your quarters staring at the mirror on the wall opposite your bed. You had looked lively again, your cheeks were fuller and the hollows under your eyes were less bruised than they had been months prior. You sat on a bench at the foot of your bed and started to pull on your heels, a leg shining through the slit of the dress. 

Once you’d buckled the strap your shoes, you stood, a little wobbly. It’d nearly a year since you’d worn heels and the last time you had, you were set to be engaged to the Autumn Court princeling. You refused to dwell on that and moved toward the door, opening it and stepping into the hall.

Cassian was exiting of his room as you were shutting your door and your eyes met down the corridor. He let out a wolf whistle and began walking your way. “Well, well, well,” he started and you braced for his comment, “don’t you look pretty enough to eat.” You grimaced and looked at him before scoffing, “pig.” His laughter made your lips curve into a smile. 

You strolled down the steps to find Rhysand and Azriel waiting there. Rhysand looked to you and smiled warmly, “You clean up nice, Little One.” Azriel’s eyes found yours next and his jaw dropped, then shut quickly, muscle ticking. A gloved hand at his side set into a fist and he could hear the knuckles crack. “I think she’ll be fighting the males off tonight,” Mor piped, appearing next to you, “wouldn’t you lot agree?” 

Rhysand and Cassian hummed their agreements but Azriel’s eyes couldn’t look away from your form. The dress draped your body like liquid starlight, the slit at your hip had his fists clenching at the desire to touch. Mor walked you past the males and he caught glimpse of your exposed back and something primal reared its head shouting at him to grasp, lick, bite until you were covered in his marks. Cassian flanked the Shadowsinger and whistled low, eyes following you. “I’ll have to find her on the dance floor tonight,” he said, eyes gleaming as they traced your retreating form. Azriel, though he loved his brother dearly, wanted to rip his throat out for even glancing at you. 

Rita’s was littered with intoxicated fae. Mor grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bar, while Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel made their way to the section explicitly reserved for their use. As you stood at the bar with Mor, a male came up to you, leaning into your space and asking your name.

The male ventured a touch to your arm and you leaned away, disliking the overt physical attention. As he spoke, a gloved hand appeared between you and Azriel pushed his way into the space without apology or acknowledgement. “Hey, I was talking to her!” The male tried to protest loudly before Azriel turned and fixed him with a devastating look, causing the male to wilt before putting his hands up in surrender and walking away.  

You stumbled out a laugh as he turned back to you. “I think you may have hurt his feelings,” you said smiling, looking to the Shadowsinger. He eyes were already on you again, tracing your face, and hair, the long line of your neck. “That’s much too bad,” he said, signaling the bartender over and you both ordered a round of drinks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the words came out of Azriel in a rushed whispered, as if he’d forced them out against his will. You turned to meet his eyes and your face warmed at the look there. “I was so nervous to wear this,” you breathed, “the last time I was in a dress and heels like these, I was engaged to marry a Vanserra.” You let out a small, cynical laugh. “Gods, I’m so glad I left.” 

Azriel softened then. “He didn’t deserve you, Autumn didn’t deserve you, I hope you know that,” he’d said, gloved hands laying flat on the bar top, the length of his middle finger grazing your own. You wanted to reach out to them, to ask why he wore the gloves around you, but you resisted. 

“For what it’s worth,” he continued, “I’m also glad you left, I’m glad you’re here most of all.” You met his hazel eyes again and traced his face. He was likely one of the most beautiful males you’d ever seen and he was being awfully sweet with you. He looked to Rhys then, the High Lord likely speaking into his mind. He smiled turning back to you, “Rhysand says he’s also glad you’re here,” he said mockingly and rolled his eyes. You laughed, a small tinkering thing, that made Azriel’s heart beat quicken. “Thanks, Az,” you smiled broadly at him and he knew for sure and certain you would ruin him.

You turned to your drink then as the bartender sat it down in front of you. You picked it up and took a long sip. If Azriel kept looking at you like that and speaking to you in hushed tones that made your heart race, you’d need about five more of these. 

You heard him take a deep, steadying breath at your side, turned to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. You were ready to ask if he was alright when he finally spoke. “Cassian said he was going to ask you to dance tonight,” he ventured and you snorted. ‘Of course he did,’ you thought with a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head. “Would you allow me to be your first?” He asked, holding out a gloved hand. 

You looked to his hand then back to his hopeful hazel eyes, and you blinked a little slowly, a little disbelievingly. Just when you thought you figured him out, he threw you for a loop. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. As your body moved with his, you couldn’t help but wish for forever in this moment, forever in his hands, and his eyes. Mother above, you were in trouble. 

“That dress was pure sin, Little One,” Azriel smirked. “And I told you, I am quite fond of dancing.” You huffed a laugh and looked to him, a little bashful. Azriel laughed softly again. “Cassian pouted for days after that night,” he spoke, “he was mad I stole you away.” You wondered if Cassian could tell how utterly smitten you were after that night. “I think he was a little infatuated with you in those early days too.” 

You grimaced. “That’s much too bad,” you said, echoing his words from centuries prior. You stood then and stepped towards him to halt at his side, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “I always had eyes for you, baby.” 

You trailed a hand up his arm to his shoulder, then back to the shoulder joint of his wing, tracing the bone up to the clawed crest. His breath guttered out of him as he closed his eyes, brows furrowing at the sensation that zipped down his spine and settled in his lower abdomen. 

“One more question for you,” you said softly. “No,” he growled out, “I’ve had enough questions, I want to have you again.” His eyes opened and looked to you, scarred hands grasping your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. “One more and I’ll give you whatever you want,” you offered. He raised a brow. “Whatever I want?” He questioned and you nodded. “Even if I want to bend you over this table and take you from behind until you come all over my cock?” 

Your eyes watched his predatory gaze and a feline grin appeared on your face. You laughed again, “considering that’s a win-win, I’ll gladly trade for that.” He laughed too and rolled his eyes in fondness. “Fine,” he conceded, “one more question, mate.” His hand traced back, grasping the flesh of your ass through your thin silk housedress and you gasped, “then I get to have you in every way I want.”

You had to shake the lust from your thoughts, focusing on the question that had been circling your mind since your return to River House. “Why didn’t you to tell me of the bond?” You asked softly, hand resting on the arm that held you. He took a deep breath, he should’ve expected this eventually, but in all honesty, he’d hoped to put it off as long as possible. 

“I just mean,” you took a shaky breath, growing a little nervous. “It snapped so early for you, and I—” you swallowed, “I wouldn’t have turned you away, surely you must know that?” Your eyes found his and he saw the imploring look there, brows slanting as your eyes swam with emotions. He took a grounding breath and his hand traced up your hip to your back as he pulled you in to bury his face in the soft of your stomach. 

“I was scared,” he said, though it came out muffled. You combed fingers through his hair soothingly and he tilted his head up to face you. “You were—” he stopped himself, “you are the single most magical thing in this realm.” He spoke softly, as if he was scared he’d burst the bubble of newfound love that had surrounded the two of you in the last few weeks.

“When I was a child, my half brothers tortured me,” he started, eyes wincing. “They did this, you know,” he held up a scarred hand. You nodded, Rhysand told you of Azriel’s brothers and father years ago when the subject of Windhaven came up and how you would likely not be sent on any missions there. “For my gift with shadows, they’d called me every name under the sun, insisted I was a bastard child, beat me, shunned me, cast me out. I was alone until Rhys and his mother took me in.” Your eyes teared up when you thought of how isolated he must’ve felt, how damaged. You knew feeling well. 

“When I knew I loved you, I resolved myself as unworthy of your gaze, your touch, anything,” he sighed and his hands pulled from you to fall in his lap. “I figured I’d been alone for centuries up until that point, and it was likely I’d be alone forever.” You pulled one of his hands into your own and brought the knuckles to your lips. “I love you,” you said softly, lips resting against the marred skin there, “I hope you know that.”

He looked to you and he smiled, a small watery smile as his eyes closed and he nodded his head. There was that gift again. “You know,” he said, “more than your beauty, or strength, I admire your courage and vulnerability. I think that’s what scared me the most.” He spoke softly again, wanting to preserve the shroud of gentle love that surrounded the two of you. 

“I saw how you were with Mor and Amren. How you cared for Cass, despite his explosive anger when Rhys went Under the Mountain for fifty years. How you attended Rhys when he returned in shambles, traumatized and broken.” He looked to you, eyes shining. “You took it all in stride with such….. care and endless love and I—” he paused, bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be worthy of your heart, of your attention, so I took what I could get. Your glances, your smiles, the teasing at dinners. I took it all and I made myself content with it,” he shuttered out a fragile, broken breath, eyes falling to the shadows that gathered at his feet attempting to console their master. 

“I’ve loved you in secret for two centuries, Little One, I’ve loved you so much my chest ached and I thought I would die from the unsung bond that resided there. My soul would know yours in any life. At the ends of the earth in total darkness, it would still find you.” He let out a shuddering breath, “you’re the other half of me.” His eyes found yours then and the look there made you feel overwrought with emotion.

You and Azriel had been friends for two centuries. You laughed and cried together. You’d shared meals and secrets, dances and fleeting glances, little chaste touches. You’d told him of your father, of Beron, showed him your scars. You’d pined for him for just as long and to know he’d silently yearned for you in return, your heart felt like it might break apart.

“The bond snapped for me during the war,” you offered him a small secret of your own and his eyes found yours, going wide at the revelation.

The second war with Hybern had been a brutal thing. Feyre and Cassian had taken to recruiting help out of the Ancient Prison on the northern shore of the Night Court due to Prythian’s limited numbers. You’d known it was a suicide mission going in and you’d nearly been right. You’d fought alongside death gods and monsters alike in a battle that would be legend for ages to come.

“I wrote you a letter before we left for battle,” another secret, but for him, you’d bare your soul. “I was going to tell you then,” you continued, “I’d been in love with you for 189 years at that point. I was so far gone for you but I’d assumed, that if you wanted me, I would’ve known. You would’ve said something, anything. So I put it all in a letter, worried I wouldn’t return alive.” His breath hitched, remembering the sight of you impaled on a sword, bleeding out in his arms.  He’d taken the soldier’s head off their body as penance and it still didn’t feel like enough. You let out a small gurgling laugh, throat tight, eyes wet with tears. “Sometimes I can’t believe I did.” 

You took a steadying breath and leaned to kiss his forehead, his eyes closing from the contact, mouth humming. You leaned your cheek on the crown of his head, your thumb rubbing soothing circles in the space behind his ear. His hands went around to your back, nose and cheek resting against the cradle of your chest as he listened to your heart, still beating strong beneath. The two of you were the sort of image that artists carved into marble, the picture of lovers so inseparably bound that they were one eternally, in every life. 

“In that letter I apologized for not telling you sooner, said I didn’t need the Cauldron to know it was you my soul sang for. That you were the one the stars had fated me to meet.” He clenched his eyes shut from where his head rested on your rib cage. Every word you uttered was like a poultice to his damaged soul, filling the cracks that had been there since his adolescence. 

He was wrong when he’d thought you’d ruin him. No, you’d save him, from the darkness that encroached his mind, the insecurities that lingered there. You were a flower blooming against all odds in the shadows, and he’d do anything for you. All his wasted centuries of dreaming had been given a name and form in you.

“I’m glad I ran from Autumn that day, glad it was Rhys that found me in the wilds, glad it was the Night Court that saved me, but more than anything, I am glad that every step I’ve taken in this life has led me straight to you.” Your hand dragged forward, over his cheek, to gently tip his chin up to face your gaze. “May you never doubt the depths of my love for you.” You kissed his forehead then before moving your lips to the space between his brows, the tip of his nose. His eyes fell shut and his hands came to hold on tightly to your wrists for fear he’d float away. You kissed his cheek, and eyelids, before making your way to his mouth. 

This kiss was just as electrifying as the first and he pressed his insistent mouth to yours desperately. He pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth and took your gasp as the opportunity to slip his tongue against your own. He could kiss you for a millennia and he would not get enough. He wanted all that you had to give and everything after that too. Nothing, not even flying, could compare to how his heart sped when you kissed him like this. He poured centuries of yearning into it.

He pulled off of your mouth and kissed the corner of your lips before leaning back to gaze into your eyes. “I’ll need to tell Rhysand not to expect us back for a few months,” he said, hand coming up to brush a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. Your brain, still two paces behind from that kiss, registered what he was saying and you let out a breathless laugh. “Months? Thought the frenzy was a few weeks?” You replied, still smiling, tears drying and he shrugged, fingertips tracing the skin at your collarbone. “I’ve got two centuries of love to make up for,” he stated softly before smiling in a feral, cunning way, “and I plan on taking my time.” 

Azriel ported you to the bedroom and you’d laughed, “I can walk you know.” He smiled, leaning down, kissing your cheek. “Save your energy, Little One.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you to stand between his legs. He allowed himself to look at you, unhurried, a little predatory. You did the same, eyes passing over tanned skin and freckles, tattoos and scars as your gaze made it’s way down to his hips, where you notice his length pressing tightly against the front of his pants. Your eyes trace back up to his, cheeks a little pink, only to find him smirking. 

“Are you ever going to be sated?” You laughed. You pulled the hem of your dress up to lean over him and settle a knee next to his hip as you crawled into his lap. He hummed, pulling your hips to his own. He traced his nose along the skin of your throat, inhaling your scent, committing to memory as he nosed the silk strap of your housedress, pushing it down your shoulder and pressing his mouth to the skin there. “For you? Never.” His tongue laved at the length of your throat, as he made his way up before bringing his mouth to yours.

This kiss was slower than the one you’d shared in the dining room. Tongues entwining, teeth biting. He dove deeper, sucking against your tongue before licking along the bow of your upper lip. He rocked his hips up to meet your own, his cock sliding against your slit in a way that had you gasping. His hand pushed your gown up over your hips to your waist and his gaze fixated on the center of your hips, you’d forgone underwear after your bath. “No panties?” He breathed into your mouth. “Maybe I should’ve taken you on the dining room table after all.” 

You laughed, rutting your hips against his own, loving the sound that rumbled in his chest. You pulled the little silk dress up and over your head, baring yourself entirely to his gaze. “There will time for that,” you said, voice laced with promise, “but I’d like for you to take me in a bed, properly.” He gave a little laugh then, bringing his face to your own, teasing at your mouth again. “Under the stars wasn’t romantic enough?” His hands found your hips and fingertips pressed into the flesh there. You were sure you’d be bruised all over come tomorrow. 

He leaned back pulling your hips up his abdomen. “C’mere,” he commanded, jerking his head in instruction as he laid flat upon the bed, wings spreading in full. He looked like a god this way, but the way he looked at you, muscles rippling as he tensed, jaw ticking, hair debauched, love bites down the tanned column of his throat from your mouth, eyes heavy lidded with lust; if he was a god then certainly you were his goddess. He growled then the noise escaping him unbidden as he hauled you higher to his chest, your hand shooting out to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“You are a goddess and I am but a hopeless disciple,” his voice had pitched deep with want, desire alight in his eyes and you thought you might never tire of seeing him this hungry for you. His fingers dug into your thighs and he hooked your knees to pull you higher. “Let me worship you until I find absolution.” He pulled you to his chin, teeth nipping at the flesh of your inner thighs. His found your eyes again and he nodded to you. “You’re going to sit on my face, sweet one, and I am going to feast on you like the goddess you are.” 

Your breath left you in a shuttering broken gasp, and you leaned up, shuffling the last few inches. His arms wrapped around your legs, caging you to his face as hands came around to open your cunt to his view. He let out a primal noise that had the air leaving your lungs in pant and your hands grasped the headboard in some pitiful attempt at grounding yourself. He nosed your clit before pulling you down on his mouth, suckling at you like a man starved. 

His tongue pressed flat against your clit and you thought you might break apart. You were sensitive from the night before and you had to actively try not to rock down against his face. As if reading your thoughts, he pulled you forward, hands grasping your hips and rutting you against his hot mouth. You couldn’t help the shuddering moan that left your throat and he hummed along with you, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine. 

He circled his tongue in a pattern, quick flicks then slow drags of friction that had pleasure zipping through you until your thighs were twitching, nails digging into the wood of the headboard, hips rocking on his mouth. He nosed at your clit as his tongue slipped down to circle your opening, collecting the wetness that gathered there, groaning at your taste. His lips returned to your clit and he sucked it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, speeding the flicking of his tongue until your hands were shaking and your moans keened to a higher octave. 

“Azriel,” you gasped, a trembling hand found his hair, nails scratching. “Az — fucking Gods.” You looked down to him between your thighs and he watched you, the definition of sin. His cheeks had grown pink, brows furrowed, hazel eyes gone molten as he nuzzled his face into you. He unhanded your thigh to slide back to your ass, fingernails digging into the ample flesh there before he released it and his open palm came into fierce contact with the cheek. You jolted at the impact and the sound that left you was the highest, most trembling whine he’d heard come out of you. He catalogued it in his mind for later. 

His hand soothed the skin at your behind before smacking the skin again, the contact rippling across the flesh like a tiny earthquake. Your hips tilted against his chin faster, more desperate and your moans grew closer together, a little more frantic as you felt yourself approaching your peak. His tongue circled you again before he sucked the button into his mouth and began a steady, insistent pattern. 

You could feel the pleasure focusing, your lower belly tightening.  “Az— I swear I’m—” you gasped and your head fell back, exposing your chest and neck to his greedy view. “I’m going to come, baby,” you whined deep, hips canting in tight circles, desperate for release. He hummed an affirmation and his hands grasped your hips to guide your through it. Your release hit and the moan that left you was shattering.

You leaned back, hands finding purchase on his chest, as he pressed kisses to your thighs. “Gods,” you gasped, falling to his side as you moved off of him and pressed a hand to your chest, catching your breath. “Fuck me,” your eyes shut for a moment and you felt his lips pressing tender kisses to your eyelids. He kissed to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, before whispering devastation there. “I told you my love, I want to take you apart slow.”

His lips came to your chest, pressing a kiss to the jugular notch at the base of your throat between the clavicles. “There is no war,” kiss, “no mission,” another kiss, moving south to the globe of your breast, “no threat this time.” He breathed into your sternum, tongue tracing the skin of your cleavage. 

You were right that Azriel was mouthy. Mother above, now that the gates had opened, he was bent on taking everything from you and you would let him. You would let him shatter you to pieces, trusting he’d put you back together again. 

“You’re wearing too much,” you complained, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers, which seemed to have grown impossibly tight around his hardness. Your hand pushed under the band and fingers grasped him firmly, his gasp escaping directly into the skin over your heart. He rutted into your hand, mouth coming up to your own as he kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue.

You pulled back from the kiss and fixed him with an imploring look. “Can I put my mouth on you now?” You asked softly, batting your eyelashes a bit, just shy of begging. He felt desire rip through him, his cock giving a jerk. A growl released from his throat. “As much as I want you on your knees for me,” he breathed deeper. “As much as I want to fuck this pretty little mouth,” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you leaned forward to pull it between your lips, tonguing the scarred skin there as you sucked. 

His eyes fixated on the action, pupils blown wide.  He pulled his thumb from your mouth and spread his hand to grasp your neck at the height of your throat, “I thought our bargain was every way that I wanted you?” He watched your eyes flutter as he squeezed from the sides, your breath hitching, cunt growing wetter. He could smell your arousal and the feral need of the newly minted bond had him feeling utterly primal. “And right now, I want you on your hands and knees, begging as I take you from behind.” His voice had pitched deep, and you thought you might never recover from this. 

His hand traced down to your wrist, pulling it from his cock and then he patted your ass. “Be a good girl for me.” Your breath came out shaky and you nodded, scrambling to turn around and bend down to present yourself for him. A pleased hum settled in his chest as he stood to slip off his trousers before kneeling behind you. He ran his eyes up the expanse of your back, the scars that now resided there. He’d kill anyone who threatened you again, he’d take hands from their bodies if they touched you.

He watched your shoulders roll as you adjusted your weight, and he was reminded of every backless gown you’d worn in the last two centuries. How he had never allowed himself to touch you in the way he wanted.

He ran a scarred hand up the center of your back, leaning forward and grasping your neck from behind, bringing you up and into the long line of his front. His nose trailed your shoulder and his lips found the spot below your ear again. His teeth came in contact with the flesh there, biting then pressing his tongue into the skin to soothe the sting. The little whimper you let out made him smile, he loved you like this. His other hand reached down to guide his cock to your core, hips dragging the length through to slick there. His brain catalogued each sound that you made, he was mapping you out slowly, learning your body and memorizing all. 

The hand holding your neck released its grip, and he pushed you back forward, your hands trembled as they came to hold your weight.

Before leaving you, his fingers gathered your hair and he wrapped the length of it around his hand once before fisting and pulling, causing a low moan to escape you. “Hold on, little mate.” His voice ground out and he guided himself into your warm cunt, pulling back once, then twice to work you open until he sheathed himself fully.

His hips were flush against the flesh of your ass as he ground in and your breath began to come in pants. You were so in over your head and you loved it. He laughed, ‘I heard that, my love,’ he spoke into your mind. ‘Let me know if you want to stop.’ You nearly laughed aloud. ‘As if,’ you repeated your words from the night before.

His hand tugged at your hair in response as he pulled out to the tip and slammed back in, hard and deep. Your back arched and your arms threatened collapsed. He began a slow and steady pace, rutting to the hilt and pulling out before slamming back home, skin slapping against skin. You could hear the loud suck of your cunt on every pull, the noise itself was desperately erotic, and Azriel fucking loved it. He wanted you like this like always. He wanted to stay in the warmth of your cunt for the rest of his days. He picked up his pace and groaned when he felt you clench around him as a wanton moan escaped you. 

His hand released your hair and he leaned over your form, kissing your shoulders, holding you tightly as he pushed back to the hilt and ground in, small cants of his hips causing your breath to tremble.

“Azriel, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” you spoke quietly, head falling forward. He laughed darkly, biting at the skin at the top of your spine. His hand grasped the front of your throat and brought you back up into him, mouthing at your shoulder. “Tell me you’re mine,” he ground out, hips pushing faster. His other hand found its way to your front, tracing down your soft stomach to rub slow circles at your clit. “Tell me you’re mine and let me fuck you into oblivion.” 

You groaned feeling your orgasm crawling up your spine, cunt tensing. “I’ve been yours for two centuries,” you gasped out, breathless, head falling back to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He growled out something primal, but you continued, delirious with pleasure as his fingers and cock broke you apart. “I’ll give you anything.” His fingers tightened at your neck and he slammed to the hilt, grinding in. 

“Anything?” He questioned, voice shaky with need. “Would you let me take you apart? Would you let me ruin your sweet cunt daily? Would you let me fuck a baby into you?” Your mind blanked and your voice pitched into a deep moan, a base desire possessing you. “Yes,” you nodded, breathless. “All of it,” you gasped, “anything for you, mate.” His eyes pinched shut, a low whine escaped somewhere from the pits of him. Mother above. His fingers squeezed your neck and he picked up the pace, fucking you faster. You shook with each impact of his hips, your breath leaving you in small whines. 

The scarred tips of his fingers worked your clit faster. “You’ll give me anything?” He questioned again, breathless, pace faltering as his own release tightened at the base of spine. “Come for me, my love, come with me.” Your breath caught at your throat as your cunt tightened impossibly around him and he groaned deep. You called his name as your climax hit and he keened a low whine, hips grinding into you, his seed painting your walls. 

He released your throat and gave a shaky laugh as he grasped your chin to find your mouth. The kiss was utterly depraved and your walls fluttered again, making him groan into your mouth. You pulled back and your eyes found his over your shoulder. “A baby, huh?” You spoke, voice a little wobbly. He wanted to shrink under the weight of your gaze, the question there. “Not yet,” he spoke softly, “but if you do decide to gift me with a child, I’ll be the luckiest male alive.” You smiled and kissed him, softer this time, heart singing at the promise there.  

He pulled out of you and let you collapse against the bed, rolling over to rest at your back. His eyes found your cunt and he watched with rapt obsession as his release leaked from you. You traced his gaze and a laugh escaped you. “Come here, my love,�� you spoke softly, opening your arms. “I want to get some rest before you go feral again.”

He smiled, laughing lightly before crawling up the bed to where you awaited him. He settled into your embrace, head resting on your chest while his restless fingers began idly tracing the skin of your arm. Your fingers set to combing through the strands of his hair and his eyes closed, pleased with gentle intimacy of the action. “I love you,” he spoke softly, exhaustion beginning to creep in on him. You smiled, fingers trailing to his back, caressing the skin at the base of his wing. “As I love you,” you whispered, “more than anything.” He hummed and nuzzled to the skin of your chest as darkness overtook him. 

[eddiediazismyhusband]

No but you’re so right about not wanting to watch season 8 because after how they handled the doppelgänger storyline I don’t want to watch it, with the rumours Gavin isn’t coming back and how this show has handled estranged parents storylines in the past I just have zero faith they’re going to do Eddie any justice especially after they sent him back to before the show levels of development, practically erasing everything we’ve seen him work on from seasons 2-6, like I can just picture the Diaz parents redemption and Eddie thanking them for taking Chris and ignoring everything a little like they did with the Buckleys

And something something this show hates happy queer parents, I don’t know how to really articulate this but like even if they do a gay Eddie storyline now, it’s not sitting right with me that it’s only happening now Chris is gone, like I know Eddie filters life through Chris/doesn’t really know who he is without the parent role etc etc I know that but with the way they treat Henren on the show and the way they treat Denny and Mara’s storylines, it almost seems like they weren’t going to let Eddie figure himself out while also actively parenting—it’s giving the straight grandparents need to save Chris from his gay dad (like they wanted to all along) i don’t know if I’m getting my point across well but it’s giving a “if you’re queer and a parent you will not be happy on this show your kid/s will get taken away from you”

👏👏👏

this. i understand the argument that eddie needs a chance to examine things without looking throughthe Chris lense, but it feels like he absolutely 100% could have had the realization because of Chris. like it would have taken chris saying he views buck as his dad one time and eddie would have spiralled and everything would have begun to fall into place— i get gavin having conflicts due to his move and possibly having to leave the show but there were so many other ways to essentially write him off (yes ik nothing is confirmed and that he very well could come back in a much slimmed down onscreen role such as may/harry) but it feels like they just went “eh… eddie started to reconcile with his dad…. let’s just send chris away even though eddie realistically would not have built up that much trust in this short amount of time (especially w helena)

and i 1000% agree w it mimicking the henren trauma bc why are we targeting the black lesbians with the same storyline we already saw with Nia…. why are we now lumping eddie into the traumatized poc paranoid losing their kid trope? especially if they plan to make him queer?

like i fully understand this show is a drama, but i miss when it was a DRAMA and not a SOAP OPERA… like earlier seasons had their fair amount of dramatic shit going on but this is just ridiculous and some of it feels farcical to me at this point… especially with the handling of buck’s bisexuality where his coming out scene to maddie included a joke about “always checking out a hot guy’s ass” once again reducing his character down to sex even though Buck has grown past that… idk it just rubs me the wrong way that we’re either sex-hungry, sassy, traumatized, or all three in one and it doesn’t sit right with me.

also them actively chosing to make a known problematic character queer just to serve as a plot device for a sexuality arc that didn’t even live up to any potential bc they kissed once, went on a coffe date and bam they’re suddenly together? even for a straight couple that’s such an anticlimactic relationship buildup let alone a queer one… and not only that but using his queerness as an excuse for his racism and misogynistic behavior as a way to sweep it under the rug is so icky to me… like why is the only decently treated canonically queer character Josh??? (even though even he was part of that whole hate crime plot!)

it’s so hard as a queer person to watch other queer people be told by straight people that they should settle for what we have… and that those queer people listen and also somehow think that settling is all we can do. i know it’s easy to settle for shit, but i’m sorry i did not spend six years watching these two build something beautiful to see it thrown away because what they gave us is (not even) “good enough.”

it really is disheartening.

anyway sorry for turning this into another rant post, anon, i just liked your added point of the traumatized queer parent thing and wanted to expand on that some more!

[dralione]

5 times Draco used Legilimency on Hermione +1 time she used it on him

Summary: Hermione has ADHD/AuDHD and Draco finds the way her mind works compared to others so fascinating he can't stay out.

Rating: T (non-graphic torture, a couple suggestive lines) ♡ WC: ~5k ♡ Ao3

A/N: my first published Dramione! (Looks at longfics languishing in drafts) Hope you enjoy! No beta; if you see any plot holes wither in the story or from Canon compliancy no you don't. Also I realise the summary sounds a little weird but I'm simply projecting as I write this Hermione and would like to find my own Draco who will find the way my brain is wired interesting/pos and not interesting/neg.

1. Wednesday, 10 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco shifted in his chair, glaring up from his parchment as the loud sound of a page turning interrupted his previously quiet study session. He was mildly surprised to find that the perpetrator was none other than the studious swot herself, Hermione Granger. He’d thought she had more respect for the sanctity of a library and its quietude.

A hint of colour crawled up her cheeks as she caught his stare, but she didn’t look away. 

A thought popped into Draco’s head as he held her gaze. Over the winter hols, his mother had begun teaching him Legilimency. He was still getting the hang of it, but practice made perfect, did it not? His target was already making eye contact with him, and he was suddenly overwhelmingly curious about the witch’s thoughts. Was she as boring as she came across on the outside?

Ooo, maybe he could get a sneak peek into Potter’s plans, if she let him that far into her mind. Well, it was worth a try. Despite being a ridiculously well-read witch, surely she hadn’t learned about Legilimency or Occlumency?

Moving his wand under the table, so she couldn’t see, he whispered “Legilimens,” instantly transporting to his rival’s innermost being. Stubborn swot had practically invited him in, with those gleaming amber eyes holding his and absolutely no mental resistance to his entry at all. 

He smirked to himself and looked around. 

Draco turned slowly in place in Granger’s mind, jaw dropped as he took in the thoughts absolutely sprinting around, too fast for him to possibly pin down and read. 

Merlin’s beard, had the witch actually become an Occlumens?!

This was not what he expected, compared to his mother’s neatly organised thoughts and carefully constructed walls and paths that held her memories. How was he supposed to delve into her mind and find what he wanted if there was no way to find what he was looking for? 

Granger’s mind was a veritable rabbit warren of thoughts and memories, all haphazardly rolling around in her head like stray Bertie Bott’s Beans on the Hogwarts Express. 

He had to give it to her, she had excellent defences that even a more skilled Legilimens than himself would have trouble wading through. 

And the volume, Salazar’s staff…he was getting a headache just from the decibels of those thoughts running amuck. He exited her mind and broke eye contact, silently letting her win the unspoken staring contest, too overwhelmed to look at her any longer. How did the witch manage to get anything done with that organisational system, nevermind be top of their classes? Sure, it was a great defence against Legilimens, but they were few and far between, surely she didn’t need them at Hogwarts (his prying experiment aside). That mental energy would be better spent retaining and organising their class information. 

Draco felt a sliver of grudging respect at Granger’s beyond-magical handling of Occlumency and schoolwork. He shivered in his seat. He wouldn’t be going in her brain again if he could help it.

2. Monday, 15 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco glared at the bronze curls ahead of him, willing Granger to quiet her thoughts. Since he’d first jumped into her brain last week, he couldn’t stop listening in, even when he wasn’t trying. 

Sweet Salazar, the witch was loud. Practically screaming her thoughts at anyone listening in. 

He really couldn’t make heads or tails of her behaviour. There was absolutely no reason for her to be broadcasting her thoughts like that – only a few students would even have heard of Legilimency. Surely she wasn’t playing bait, trying to lure him and/or his godfather into admitting something?

Somehow, Granger had become more interesting to him than Potter over the last week. It was only partly due to her annoyingly distracting thoughts that kept following him around. He found himself searching out her curls like a beacon for him to watch her, instead of to locate one of the two limpets usually by her side. He was, admittedly, curious about her organisational standards after his jaunt through her head. 

The more he heard her thoughts, the more he found himself able to make sense of the rapid-fire trails they’d blaze, often diverting from one topic to another quicker than he would have done. 

Looking back once he was out of her mental broadcasting range, he was able to follow her logic steps, but by Merlin, the convoluted ways she arrived at her destination! Draco wasn’t sure if he was impressed by her ability to arrive at the same conclusion by very different throughways or not. 

Ahead of him, Granger shifted, perhaps finally sensing his displeasure and quieting her thoughts. They slowed down, gathering in one easy-to-follow stream of consciousness as she mentally narrated the notes she was writing.

Finally.

Thankful for the reprieve, Draco bent over his own parchment, able to block out one uninterrupted thought flow better than a scattered bombardment of singular thoughts. Still, the applications she pulled out of whatever mental filing system she had –however confusing it was–

were always apt and several times provided a new angle for Draco to mull over.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He relegated it to the back of his mind, where most of his thoughts about Granger went these days, never to be seen or felt again.

3. Sunday, 15 September, 1996 (6th Year)

The form of one Hermione Granger slumped over her books in the library made Draco pause on his way past her table to the shelf he wanted. 

He’d missed her mental chatter over the summer as he learned Occlumency from his aunt and improved his Legilimency. However, with his new and improved mental shields firmly up since his return to Hogwarts, he hadn’t cared to attempt to breach hers again. He had better things to do with his brain than listen to her mental ramblings. 

Honestly, he felt a bit bad for her after he’d eavesdropped on her when she was with the limpets one study session. She certainly possessed a surplus of patience dealing with those two, considering the filter her thoughts passed through before they made their way to the limpets’ ears.

Cautiously, he attempted to listen in on her thoughts as he made his way behind her, out of sight and out of mind (well, in one sense). Nothing. 

Draco frowned. His Legilimency had only improved over the summer, and he couldn’t feel any Occlumency walls or shields. Her mind was simply…not producing thoughts. It was such a deviation from the norm that he began to grow worried that something had happened to Granger. 

He sent a small stinging jinx at her leg. She jerked, slapping at her leg as thoughts began to form, to his relief (he simply tossed that feeling in the pile of galleons holding his true emotions that were stored in his very well guarded mental horde, never to be considered further).

Ouch, what was that? She glanced around, but he was safely hidden behind the shelves. Oh well. You’ve got Charms homework to crack on, Hermione. She pulled a piece of parchment forward and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, tapping the excess ink off on the side absentmindedly as she began figuring out the wording of her essay. 

Two students walked by, whispering about the Quidditch tryouts the day before. Granger snickered as an image of Cormac McLaggen flying off in the wrong direction flitted through her mind like the Snitch taunting the Seekers. 

Confundusing McLaggen was too easy. I’m glad Ron got the spot. She flipped through the Charms textbook. Focus, ‘Mione, Charms!

Draco left her mind, humming thoughtfully. So the little swot had sabotaged the tryouts for her incompetent boyfriend’s favour, huh. How positively Slytherin of her.

4. Monday, 30 March, 1998 (7th Year)

The shaking form of Hermione Granger on his drawing room floor kept Draco frozen in his spot, unable to look away. Her expression was screwed up in pain as she bit her lip, trying not to let a scream escape. Suddenly her eyes flew open, meeting his and pinning him in place. 

His wandless Legilimency was weak at best, but with eye contact…

Legilimens.

Draco slipped into her brain easily, almost staggering as the pain of the Cruciatus curse spread to him. Granger, it will be okay. Hold on. You have to hold on, Granger. Please.

Mal-Malfoy?

Some of the pain in her eyes was replaced with confusion. He barely moved a muscle to nod reassuringly at her.

Yes, it’s me, Granger. Keep fighting. You have to, for all the others. You will survive this, I swear it. Just hold on a little longer, please, Granger.

Why are you doing this? A drop of blood trickled down her lip as she bit down harder.

I can’t stop my aunt, but I can take some of your torture. It’s nothing new. Just hold on, Granger, you’re not alone here. They’re coming for you. They’ll get you out of this.

But you hate me. You’re on his side.

Not anymore; I have to. For my mother and my sake. Just like you have to for Potter and Weasley and your sakes. 

Bellatrix cast another Cruciatus, determined to make Potter’s Mudblood scream. Draco took more of the pain from Granger, determined to give her that one minuscule victory of staying quiet. 

Granger squeezed her eyes shut again at the renewed assault, temporarily cutting off their connection. Draco took a large, un-Slytherin risk and lowered a little of his Occlumency defences, reaching out to Granger’s loud mental screams. 

Hush, Granger, I’m still here. Can you feel me through the mental link?

I thought Legilimency needed eye contact? She gasped. 

I’ve improved my Legilimency over the summer. I don’t need eye contact if your mental defences are down and you’re practically screaming in my head. 

Granger’s reply was cut off as she noticed something above her, her eyes opening in another convulsion. Dobby was unscrewing the chandelier in the drawing room above the gathered crowd. 

Come with us, she said, a flicker of surprise flashing after the words. Leave the Manor and him behind.

I can’t, Granger. My mother–

A vague sense of sympathetic understanding echoed through her mind underneath the spasms of pain. 

Just say a nice word at my funeral, will you? 

Dr–

He left her mind as Potter & Co appeared in front of the group, throwing them into chaos. At least his insane aunt was forced to stop cursing Granger and cast other spells instead. 

He half-heartedly wrestled with Potter over a couple wands, hoping the Death Eaters would be too distracted to notice the way he so easily let Potter wrestle them free. 

A flash of crystal as the chandelier dropped–

A flash of silver as Bellatrix threw her knife–

A flash and crack as the Order members apparated away–

And she was free. Draco closed his eyes. The Order would win the war, he was sure of it. What that meant for him, he no longer cared. 

5. Monday, 5 October, 1998 (1st Day of 8th Year)

Draco, from his vantage point at the top of the stairs to the dorms, looked around the common room at the combined houses mingling peaceably. He had an excellent view. 

The bronze curls and slow smile of one Hermione Granger, War Heroine, were warmly shaded by the light of the fireplace she sat beside, conversing with classmates. 

She had regained some colour to her skin over the summer, he noticed, and a handful of freckles besides. Her hair was more curl and less frizz, her eyes were livelier and less shadowed, though they showed her forced maturity no matter how much they sparkled (Draco didn’t think that those would ever disappear from any who had them), her body was curvier and less malnourished than when he’d last seen her months ago at his trial. 

He felt the edges of his lips curling up in a genuine smile as he sat and observed all the positive changes in her life and body. 

He’d thought he was well-hidden in the shadows (certainly everyone was treating him as though he were truly wrapped in Potter’s invisibility cloak), but suddenly her eyes snapped to his and she held his gaze, leaving no doubt that she had caught him staring. 

She quirked her eyebrow in silent question and invitation. He didn’t need Legilimency anymore to know how to read her, most of the time. 

He’d spent all his summer house arrest fixating on any scrap of news the papers published about her, of which there were plenty. Thousands of photos of the most famous and Brightest Witch of Her Age had been clipped and carefully transferred to his scrapbook. It was a little ridiculous at this point, just how thick it was. It was hidden the Muggle way, under the floorboard under his bed, along with a thick stack of letters they had exchanged in between her busy schedule of testifying, repairing battlegrounds and casualties, and healing herself, and his busy schedule of daydreaming as he scoured the papers

He shook his head slightly, making her brow drop and turn into a hint of a frown. He frowned back at her, motioning with a jerk of his head to continue her conversation, and got to his feet.

Draco, can you hear me?

He froze on the step.

I saw that and I’m taking it as a yes. Are you alright?

Peachy, Granger. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. 

…Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams.

He snorted. You take the sweetness for your own dreams. Ta.

He sat up with a gasp, uncomfortably sticky with sweat, his breathing fast and ragged. The nightmares had fallen off somewhat, but he supposed the first day back at Hogwarts had triggered their reemergence with full vigour. 

He settled back on his bed, turning his pillow over and resting his hands beneath it, the weight of his head grounding him. Once he’d slowed his breathing, he lay staring up at the shadowed ceiling. He reached out to Granger unconsciously, needing reassurance that she wasn’t still trapped in his drawing room with his aunt, unable to even have his mental support as he was held back with magical restraints. The dreams always ended up in his drawing room. 

Granger was asleep, seemingly undisturbed by night terrors. 

He flinched when he saw where Granger’s dreams had ended up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t like his nightmares at all. Bellatrix wasn’t there, or his mother. Only he and Granger were there, kneeling a hairsbreadth apart, his hand on her cheek, her hand on his knee. 

Feeling like he was intruding, Draco left her dream, returning fully to staring at the ceiling. Granger was safe and peaceful and that’s all that mattered. Whatever was happening in her dreams was none of his business. 

+1. Tuesday, 2 May, 2000 (2nd Anniversary of the Second Wizarding War’s End)

“Draco.”

He placed his glass of firewhisky down, turning to face his visitor. “Hermione. How are you doing?”

“Never better,” he smirked, some grain of truth to his words. “You?”

Her pink lips turned up at that. “Good. I’m content with my present. It is a bit difficult with all the,” she waved at the fancy surroundings, “circumstances, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The room was filled with decorations and the setup for hundreds of people to celebrate the second year of Voldemort’s defeat.

“I’m pleased to hear that. You look good. The Ministry treating their Golden Girl well at her new job?”

She rolled her eyes, playfully nudging his arm. “Not you too. And yes, I’ve finally managed to get the preferential treatment left off. It only took, what, eleven months?”

“You should keep some preferential treatment, Granger,” he said solemnly. “Remind them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for you. Don’t let them take you for granted.”

She considered him, nibbling on her lower lip for a second as she bit back something. He was about to urge her to say it anyway when they were joined by Potter and Weaslette. 

“Potter. Weaslette.”

“Malfoy. Hermione,” greeted the couple. 

“Hello, Harry, Ginny.”

“I must admit I’m a little surprised to see you here,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up as he took a swig of his drink. Draco assumed he was talking to Hermione, given the circumstances.

Hermione made an agreeing noise. “I felt I should, even if I didn’t want to. I’ll find you later, Malfoy was just about to take me to get a drink, alright?”

The couple nodded and waved them off as Hermione’s hand slipped into his, pulling him away.

He blinked at their joined hands, then the back of her head as she steered them towards the bar.

“You didn’t want to stay and talk with your friends? I could’ve left.”

“No, you were there first. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private, and we see each other much less frequently than I see Harry and Ginny.”

“Oh? Consider my interest piqued, Granger. What on earth could you want to talk to me about? You can always owl me and arrange a meeting some other time. I’m sure you still know my address, even if we haven’t written each other in awhile.”

She ordered a cocktail and leaned against the bar, turning to face him. “Do you know any place around here where we might have an uninterrupted chat?”

He hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “I may have an idea or two.”

Hermione’s drink retrieved and his topped up, he extended his arm to her and led them across the room, through dark hallways dimly lit by candle sconces, until he opened a door, gesturing her through. 

“Welcome to the private sitting room of Lady Malfoy, where none are sure to disturb.”

“Won’t your mother–”

“My mother is busy overseeing the anniversary ball, doing her best to continue polishing our name to return it to its former shine. Besides, she is quite fond of you and will be most obliging and understanding. Unless, by ‘private chat’ you meant a quick shag, in which case I am more than happy to escort you to my private rooms,” he winked, settling in the corner of the settee mere handbreadths away from her.

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “That is not what I meant. This will be fine, thank you.”

“Alright. What is so secretive that you lured me to this dark, isolated room, Granger? Should I be in fear of my innocence being tainted?”

“It’s just us now, Malfoy, you can stop with the cavalier facade. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to help me learn and practise Legilimency.”

Draco blinked. “You’re learning Legilimency?”

“I’ve been informed that my natural Occlumency is quite advanced already,” she smirked at him, “and I believe it would be useful to learn Legilimency. You know I can’t tell you everything about my work as an Unspeakable, but I work with Memories and Obliviators. I think Legilimency would be quite useful to know in my line of work, and…well, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more with my mind to teach me.”

Draco swallowed. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve thought this through, but just for my peace of mind, Granger, you really want me in your mind again? Even after…”

She nodded firmly twice. “I asked you to help me improve my Occlumency and mental resistance, especially against you, because I thought we both needed space apart from each other. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you or want you in my mind. You know I didn’t mind that, especially after the Incident. Now that I’m content with my Occlumency, I wish to learn Legilimency. I still trust you with my mind, Draco, we just needed some boundaries.”

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and run his fingers through his hair. “My mind healer told me our bond was becoming codependent and unhealthy. I’ve finally seen your points,” he sighed. “ I- you’re ready to do this again?”

“My mind healer cleared me a while ago, but I waited to be sure both of us were. But if you’re still not…maybe today wasn’t the best day to bring this up, after all. I’m sorry, I’ll leav-”

His fingers were wrapped gently around her wrist before he even knew what he was doing. “No, stay, Granger. I’m ready. I just wanted to clear some of my past reservations up first.”

Her answering smile was brilliant. “Good! When would you be free to start, then?”

“Now?”

Hermione smiled at the sight of Draco’s blonde head sticking above the back of her sofa. One arm was resting along the back, his long fingers tracing aimless designs in the blue floral pattern.

She paused, struck by an impulsive thought. Pulling out her wand, she whispered, “Legilimens,” under her breath, transporting to his mind. She fell in instantly, surprising her considering the challenge he had set her to get into his mind when he wasn’t expecting her. Surely it wasn’t this easy…but it didn’t feel like he was Occluding…

She wandered through his mind, as always astounded by his neat organising, so unlike her own mental filing system. Hers worked perfectly well for her, but she had long felt Other for her strange ways of remembering obscure topics and collecting scraps of random information. She had finally come to accept her strangeness and embrace it, even, but she still had a little pang of jealousy at seeing his easy organisation.

 She strolled through the cave that was his mental fortress, surprised to not be greeted by his defending dragon. What was he planning?

She continued on her way, pausing to observe his vaults of memory-gems and emotion-coins, locked up behind steel and iron. The locks on some had become simpler, less guarded, from when they’d parted ways at the end of Eighth Year, and she wondered if she was seeing proof of his mind healer’s influence.

The vault she’d always been most curious about, at the back, was cracked open.. Taking it as an invitation, she peered in. It looked like a Gringotts vault, full of artworks and artefacts and piles of wealth heaped in the corners. Looking closer, each object held something related to her. Memories, feelings, dreams… 

Feeling like an intruder, although she assumed he’d let her in for a reason, she stepped in cautiously. A memory met her full-force.

October, Sixth Year

Draco glanced across the table to hers, where she twirled a curl around her finger, deep in thought over a thick tome. 

“Legilimens.”

He’d been getting the hang of wandless legilimency when he returned to Hogwarts, fresh from his aunt’s teaching. He’d practised on enough minds over the summer to know that hers was different, moreso than anyone else’s, and it intrigued him. 

At first, yes, it had annoyed him, all her loud, fast thoughts, but now he found it comforting to listen in. He enjoyed trying to figure out which Express her thoughts were going to take before she did, to try and follow her leaps of intellect and even beat her to her conclusions. 

And then there were her memories…the happy bustle of the Burrow (even if he was a little blinded by the sheer amount of gingers in one place), the summers out exploring with her Muggle parents, the interesting lives the Muggles lived and their strange inventions, the happy times she had with the limpets, she had so many happy memories. 

They all seemed tinged with a warm sepia glow, preserved by some force Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was a far cry from his own, cold grey and black shrouded in smokey vignette. Her memories simultaneously made him wish to turn them to ash and keep them in a Fiendfyre-proof vault. He left her head with a scoff and got up, leaving the library.

Hermione blinked, overcome with his emotions and the memory. He’d confessed in their letters before Eighth Year that he’d often slipped into her head, but she hadn’t fully understood it until now. Another memory flitted forward as the previous one slid back into Draco’s neat storage. 

March, Seventh Year

Draco was horrified to see her dragged into his drawing room by the Snatchers. His gaze flicked from her, to his aunt, to the Snatchers. He’d long since learned to temper his flight or fight response with freeze.

He’d stayed frozen until Bellatrix had cast the first Crucio and she’d met his eyes. 

It was strange seeing her memories through Draco’s eyes, especially once he’d jumped into her head and was seeing her thoughts. 

Granger, it will be okay.

She often recalled the first words he’d said to her when he entered her mind. And then she felt the phantom echoes of pain, and realised that Draco had absorbed some of the Cruciatus for her. 

Jerking out of the memory with a gasp, she panted for breath, hand on her heart, reminding herself that it was only a memory.

“Draco!”

He strolled out of the shadows of the vault, hands in his pockets, eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“Hermione.”

“You absorbed the Cruciatus for me?” Blast it, she could feel the sting of tears fast approaching. Now was not the time to cry. She blinked hard.

He shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? I’m sure that would have gone even farther to prove your case for acquittal at your trial!”

“Does it matter, Granger?” He sounded annoyed. “That’s not usually how this goes.”

She paused, confused. “How does it usually go, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a nightmare about the Incident, you remind me it’s not real, we kiss, et cetera,” he waved his hand summarily. “Don’t know why I expected Dream-Hermione to be any less argumentative than Real-Hermione,” he muttered under his breath.

Hermione tilted her head, contemplating. So Draco dreamed about her. She’d thought nightmares about the Incident had decreased. But apparently he also dreamed about current-her comforting him. Interesting. She hadn’t been sure if he’d still be as fond of her as he’d been in Eighth Year, after they’d had some healing and time apart from their traumatic bonding experiences. Well, it was good to know her slightly-more-than-a-crush was reciprocated. 

“I’m going to ignore that, just this once. Draco, are you dreaming?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. “Obviously. I really don’t know why you had to change the dream from snogging me senseless to rehashing the Incident, though,” he frowned.

She raised her eyebrow. “Snogging you senseless, huh? That explains your absolute lack of Occlumency,” she snickered. “You were practically inviting me in. Guess your subconscious was tired of your lack of making a move and made it for you. Would you care to wake up so I can actually snog you senseless, then?”

Draco blinked, then his jaw dropped and a blush rose on his cheeks and eartips. 

She turned to leave, then remembered why she’d come in the first place. “Oh, by the way, since I was able to get into your head successfully, I’ll be claiming my prize of one wish from the loser. I’m sure you’ll quite like it, don’t worry!” With a wink, she left, leaving him gaping after her.

Hermione settled on the sofa beside him, smirking softly at his adorably flustered expression as he woke up and saw her.

“Er, Hermione–”

“Sh, Draco. You like me and I like you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose–”

“Good, then. Based on the sheer volume of that vault about me, I assume we have many many snogs to make up for.”

He exhaled in defeat, a smile taking over his face. “You’re right, as always.” He winked at her, leaning in quite willingly to meet her in the first of many kisses.

[thrushppelt]

hugging shard and telling you to talk all you want about the blorbo's lore cause it's so angst but i wanna know all abt it

Anon you are In for it

OKAY I don’t have everything figured out but.

Most of her story is centered around mouseshine, her future mate and deputy. I have significantly less plot for him but he’s Evil and Smart and so is she so. They kiss

From an early age shardtimber was normal and, while being a runt, starclan basically told most the clan she Will be leader. Mouse was always a freaky kid (jumpy and squeaky like a mouse). I think I had him as an orphan?

Mouse was the first to be apprenticed between them and she was JEALOUS!! Lots of childlike resentment which made her try Even Harder to be a good to-be-warrior

WHICHHHH led her to get the massive scar on her face basically when she’s a green-ass apprentice. NOT SURE HOW IT HAPPENS YET I’m too at odds BUT what’s important is she stays in the med den for AGESSSS and while she still trains sometimes alone w her mentor she is JUMPY and worried abt getting further hurt even though she Knows that that’s just life and she needs to be leader and and AND

Between this and her becoming deputy a LOT happens between her n mouse. Mouse confesses when she wakes up from her injury, they’re together and happy for a bit before shard realizes Hey this guys kinda evil……. And I’m Not actually that evil I’m just cynical. Or something. They’re Different forms of evil it MAKES SENSE. ANYWAY mouse is just a little bitch and doesn’t know how to show the little affection he’s ever had for someone. What’s worse is that stress has already begun to dig it’s claws into shard and she shows her age too early. About her she’s made leader and even if mouse Knew he wasn’t gonna be leader (yet…..) he’s JEALOUS. seething. Doesn’t celebrate w everyone else. I might have someone else be deputy before mouse, due unrelatedly, THEN mouse becomes dep

Mouse’s kit who he had w someone else(pheasantchill who has like. No lore) (previously it was before he got with shard but plot wise now that’s Way too early. Anyway they don’t really care abt cheating) challenges shard bc he’s tired of her shit and he’d OBVIOUSLY BE BETTER

He gets his ass beat because he’s a paw and half her size. Mouse gets ANGRY because that’s his kid tf? Mouse and shard fight and mouse gets the nasty cut on his shoulder. The symbolic grip of love they have on each other grows a little looser here.

A few lives later (and a better relationship with pheasant) (and a few kids who also have no lore) pheasant suddenly gets taken over by an omen. “Sharp teeth that speak your tongue will take the one most dear” HaHa That Can’t Mean Anything (<- it means something)

This is where a terrier that’s taken in by a cat from another clan (SORRY SOOTKIT you also. Have almost no lore) is proving herself to be just as good as any cat. Shard and mouse don’t know about her. They hear rumors but how ridiculous right? Lmfao this won’t be an issue

SO starclan is like Dude Watch Out. Gives shard a dream to warn her. “What you don’t mend to will lose forever”. Sees mouse shadowed by a collar. She massively misinterprets this by mouse wanting to quit clan life and, seeing him loom over her when she wakes, immediately strikes out. They can barely be considered Together at this point, if not for all the shit they went through together

SO he gets all sorts of pissed off and storms out of the camp. UNFORTUNATELY the clan that has sootbriar borders shards clan :) and lo and behold! Mouse and soot meet! And after a long battle mouse fucking DIES.

This absolutely RUINS shard. She’s on her last or second to last life by now and she’s in a similar state to blue at this time. I THINK I might go w her having being captured by humans after going out once in a blue moon

SORRY RHIS IS SO FUCKING LONG LMFAO. I didn’t even mention stemfur or more minor difficulties they went through. But like. Writing this out it really is. Mouse ruins this chicks life and he barely loved her ?/!-??

UHH also minor deets I can’t figure out where to throw, mouse loses his tail later in his life. Shard has a claw wound across her throat, significant scars elsewhere on her pelt. A stiff paw from a trap that fucked up her wrist.

[xion92]

TMMN: Masaya/Ichigo relationship analysis, episode 1

Saw the first episode! Now I’ll make an analysis, with all the scenes I liked the most. Surely there will be other blogs who’ll speak about the full episode, but I’ll write about Ichigo and Masaya’s relationship, which is the part of the series I care the most.

Here Ichigo is 15 and apparently she has just begun the high school. Does that mean she’ll go... more ahead with her boyfriend than in the old series, where they were younger? We’ll have to wait and see. xD

This version of the story shows us something that neither the manga nor the first anime had shown us: how Ichigo falls in love with Masaya. And it also gives her a different reason to fall in love with him. In the first two versions, she falls in love with him for the same reasons as all the other girls in school, that is, he's handsome, smart, charming, athletic, good at school, etc. Here, on the other hand, Ichigo didn't know anything about him (because she just started school), when she sees him doing kendo it's the very first time and she falls in love with him even though she doesn't even know his name. A real love at first sight. I really like this change: she sees him and she likes him, she doesn't even need a real motivation. It’s a real “soul mates” style. She falls in love with him because it has to be like this. This is in the beginning, obviously. More ahead, when she’ll know him better, she’ll have strong and rational motivations to be in love with him as well.

And here we have a great change from the old anime: Masaya shows so many emotions! Starting from the opening, where he blushes, how cute he is!

Here, on his first appearance, he immediately shows that he is uncomfortable and embarrassed to have so many girls behind him, while in the old anime he was mostly indifferent to them.

In this scene Ichigo immediately notices that, when he is alone, he behaves in a different way than when he is among other people, as she will later say: she sees him sad. And there is already a hint of the true nature of the character and she begins to understand his true personality under the facade. This is different from the first series: there, she only notices later that he always seems sad, but here she pays attention and she notices it immediately. And we notice it too: in the first series, he never really seemed sad. But look at him here, poor thing!

Here Masaya is very excited, I've never seen him like this in the old anime! He is really happy to go to that museum, it’s a real passion for him.

In the museum scene, we see another change, on Ichigo's part: in the old anime she didn't care about endangered species at first, and when Masaya spoke to her it was clear that she answered by saying what she thought he wanted to hear. Here, however, she’s honest with him, admitting that she doesn't know anything about the subject, but however she shows a genuine interest. Masaya here does not talk to Ichigo about the subject of the exhibition by making a kind of monologue, as sometimes happened in the old series, but he answers a question she asked him and in which she is interested.

And already from the first episode we begin to see his dark side (the shadow on his eyes). We can see that he is really angry with man in this adaptation.

And then they have this discussion that I talked about in another analysis. Great to see them argue and disagree about something! And Masaya then changes his mind and recognizes the validity of Ichigo’s point. Great interaction between them!

And then, THE scene of the episode: their first kiss, albeit accidental. Just like in the manga, although in the manga it happened because she tripped, here instead she is bumped by the people who are running away. Guys, what a chemistry they have!

And look at how embarrassed he is!

When the monster appears, Masaya and Ichigo are together as in the manga, notice how scared he is too and how protective he immediately is with her. For plot reasons, he is unfortunately knocked out.

I also really liked that here, Ichigo falls from the tree not because she is struggling to get away from Ryou, but because she wants to go to Masaya to defend him.

I’ve already read about some fans that, even if in the past they didn’t like Masaya’s character, now in this series they like him so much, because he feels so much more genuine than before! I loved him even in the first series, for different reasons, but I love him even more now that I can see a different side of his character. This is definitely a great new beginning for this couple whom I love so much! I can’t wait to see the other episodes to follow their relationship’s development.

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[raineydays411]

The adventure continues

Bruce Banner x daughter! reader

Summary: It’s been about two weeks since you’ve been on Sakaar. You and Loki have been kissing the Grandmasters ass in order to stay in his favor. That’s when you see a familiar face.

A/n: Hello! So I finally found the energy to write this chapter lol sorry it took so long. Also, I’m not too sure how to spell Sakaar, soo if there are different spellings please ignore that 

You sigh as you sit next to Loki. It’s been about two weeks since you came to this planet. You haven’t even begun looking for your father. No, instead you and Loki have been running around kissing the Grandmasters ass. 

You found the man amusing, his chaotic energy was entertaining to say the least. But he had an air of danger to him. You tried to make sure to stay on his good side. Loki seemed to have the same idea as well. 

You and Loki have become significantly closer during your stay here. You never thought that you’d be so close to the God that tried to take over your planet, but here you were. Since your talk in the tailor's room, Loki has become increasingly overprotective over you. He was constantly by your side, glaring at anyone who dared to come up to you. Now as annoying as that sounds, he has gotten you out of some sticky situations. 

For example, there was this one time this alien tried to kidnap you, claiming that as a terran, you’d make him rich. Well before he was able to step even a foot away, Loki was there and almost ripped his arm off. The only thing that stopped him was the Grandmaster. He assured you and Loki that the kidnapper would be taken care of by his “Champion”. Whatever that meant.

That was another thing you tried to avoid on this planet. The Grandmaster’s fights. Something about the idea of sometimes innocent beings being forced to fight for others entertainment was wrong to you. And while to the rest of the population it was the norm, you just couldn’t stand the thought of watching these people slaughter each other.

Other than these few incidents, you and Loki have fit in pretty nicely. Loki was at ease with this crowd, charmingly talking to them and winning them over with his silver tongue. And you have made a name for yourself as well. You were known as one of the best storytellers in Sakaar. Of course, you usually told plots of the movies, plays, and books you memorized from Earth. But what they didn’t know won’t hurt them. But unlike Loki, you were getting restless. You wanted to find your father and go home. You miss Tony and Pepper, the way they were so sweet to each other, and the way Steve would ruffle your hair in the kitchen after his work outs. You wondered of they were worried about you as  you have been missing for two weeks now. 

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice a familiar face who was strapped down in a chair. However, you did notice when Loki went tense next to you. Looking up at him you raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he was okay.

“I’m fine”, he said quickly, “Darling, it seems as if the Grandmaster will be inviting us to watch the newest competition, perhaps you’d want to make yourself scarce before he comes.” 

You smile, appreciating the warning and stood up excusing yourself. You thought you heard someone call for Loki, but brushed it off as he was very popular among this crowd. You made your way to your room, desperate for some peace and quiet. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki lets out a relieved sigh, knowing that if you saw Thor in that chair, you would have made a rash decision and ruin all the plans you both had made.

He stands up, excusing himself from the small group that formed around him. He rushes to Thor, shushing him.

“What?!” ,Thor asks confused on why Loki was shushing him. 

“You’re alive?”, Loki says, in a hushed tone. Thor looks up at him as much as he could, the chair restricting his movements. 

“Of course I’m alive!”, He shouts quietly

“What are you doing here?”

“What to you mean what am I doing here?!” ,Thor says exasperatedly, “ I’m stuck in this stupid chair! Where’s your chair?”

“I didn’t get a chair”

“Then get me out of this one!”

“I can’t”

The two brothers were so caught up in their silent bickering, they didn’t notice the Grandmaster appear right next to them.

“What are you whispering about?”

The two jumped apart. 

“Time works differently around these parts.”, He says, “Anywhere else I would be like millions of years old but here in Sakaar I’m like...”

He trails off, leaving an awkward silence. He smiles and glances at Loki as if he was waiting for him to say something. Loki laughs nervously, looking from Thor to the Grandmaster. Thor looked in between the two totally confused on what was happening. 

Seeing he wasn’t going to get an answer, the Grandmaster continued, 

“ In any case, you know this uh, um”, he turns to Thor, “ You call yourself the ‘Lord of Thunder?”

“God of Thunder” ,Thor corrects, he gestures at Loki, “Tell him”

“I have never seen this man in my life.” 

“He’s my brother!” ,Thor shouts getting frustrated.

“Adopted.”

The Grandmaster looks at Loki, “ Is he any kind of fighter?”

“You take this thing out of my neck and you’ll find out.” 

The Grandmaster laughs in amusement, as if Thor told him a joke instead of threating him. 

“Hey Sparkles, here’s the deal, anyone who defeats my champion shall win their freedom.” 

As the Grandmaster and Thor had their conversation, Loki’s mind was racing. He had a plan. A plan to overthrow the Grandmaster and (reluctantly) help you find your father, even though he doesn’t know who your father is. He already adjusted the plan when you arrived, and now Thor. He has to keep both you and him in the Grandmasters favor. 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears Thor call his name once more. He turns to see him being carted away on the chair he was bound to. He smiles at the Grandmaster and excuses himself, forcing himself to mingle once more and not rush off to find you. After a while, he manages to sneak away from the crowds and go back to his room. He finds the room where all the gladiators are being held and makes a clone, stepping into the prison. He sees Thor, saying a prayer for Odin as they were not able to give him a proper burial. He joins in, seeing Thor tense up at his voice. 

“It hurts doesn’t it...being told you are one thing only to find out that it was a lie.”

Then Thor turned and sat indignantly, refusing to acknowledge Loki.

“I couldn’t jeopardize our position with the Grandmaster. It took time for us to win his trust. He’s a lunatic, but he can be amenable.” 

ping. Thor throws another pebble at Loki. Loki sighs, knowing that it was going to be useless talking to him at the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat in your room, listening to music on your phone. You may not have any cell service, but surprisingly, this planet has great Wi-Fi. 

You’re writing in a journal you found in the bag Strange gave you. Ever since that first day you arrived at Sakaar, you have been journaling your experiences, thoughts, and feelings in this journal. You also have been writing down methods you could use to find your dad.

You were so lost in the music and your writings that you didn’t notice Loki walk into your room. He saw that you weren’t paying attention and decided to scare you. 

He crept quietly, making sure to make no sudden movements that would catch your eye. But before he could actually scare you, you spoke up. 

“Don’t even think about it Loki.”

“How did you know it was me?” ,He asked, surprised at your reflexes. 

“I can smell your hair gel from outside the door.” You say, rolling over to look at him and removing your earbuds. You laugh at the offended look on his face. 

You both chuckle and then Loki’s face turns serious. 

“Y/n, we have a problem.” 

At those words, your heart begins to race. You worry that the Grandmaster has lost trust in the both of you, or he has become suspicious of you both. 

“What’s wrong?”, You ask, chewing on your lip in anxiety. 

“It seems that Thor has found his way on Sakaar.” 

You breath a sigh if relief, “ Oh, is that it? That’s fine, we can just get him on board and adjust out plan--”

“No, we can’t.”, Loki interrupts.

You squint in confusion, “Why not?”

“It seems that the oaf has gotten himself captured and forced into the gladiator fights.”

You gasp and quickly stand up, “We have to help him! He could be killed!”

“Calm down”, Loki says, resting his hands on your shoulders, “ Thor is far stronger than you believe. He will be able to handle himself. What we need to do for now is to keep our heads, and stick to the plan.”

“Stick to the plan?! Loki, we can’t just leave Thor on his own!”

Loki sighs, “ It’ll be better in the long run. If the Grandmaster suspects mutiny, we can both be killed or forced to fight as well.”

You stay silent, taking in the words that Loki is telling you. 

“Alright.” ,You agree, disappointed you couldn’t do anything to help Thor.

“That’s a good girl.” Loki says, patting your head. He turns to walk out of the room, “ Come along, we mustn’t give the Grandmaster any suspicions.”

You roll your eyes, hiding your phone and journal in your bag. Following Loki down the hallways, you sigh. You miss home. You miss your dad, And you feel completely useless. 

“Darling”, Loki whispers, “Now, I know you don’t like the idea...but perhaps you should make an appearance at the fights”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, but before you speak Loki continues. 

“ I won’t force you, but just know that the Grandmaster is incredibly proud of his champion, and you seeing it would be more points toward you.”

You nod. You’d have to go eventually. Might as well get it over with. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Loki arrive to the arena late. You didn’t miss much except for the opening act. You hear the roaring of the large crowd, thirsty for blood and carnage. It churns your stomach. 

Then the Grandmaster appears in hologram. You don’t really pay attention, you just force yourself to relax. You know that if Thor is fighting then he’ll be okay. But the thought of watching a friend murder another living being that is most likely innocent makes bile rise in your throat. 

You’ve never been a person who likes violence. Violence meant that you and your dad had to move again, violence meant that you would be left alone.

Despite this, Tony made sure that you knew how to defend yourself if you had to. You trained with Natasha at first but...it didn’t go so well. So you started training with Steve and Bucky. You learned quickly but hardly ever used your training. Mainly for stress relief or a good work out.

But here on Sakaar, you had to be on guard all the time. It was exhausting. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Loki wasn’t here. Surely without him you would be dead. 

You zone back in, hearing the Grandmaster introduce the first contender. 

“Ladies and gentlemen...I give you...Lord of Thunder. Watch out for his fingers, they sparkle.”

To your surprise, Thor walks out from his waiting area, the crowd booing as he enters. He was wearing different armor and most noticeably, his hair was cut. He had red markings going down the side of his face. 

“Jeez, now I remember why I had a small crush on him back in the day” you mutter to yourself. Loki looks at you in disgust and disappointment. You avoid his gaze, looking intensely at the arena. 

“Okay! Lets get ready to welcome this guy” 

The crowd cheers, getting excited for the next contender. The grandmaster rubs his hands together.

“Here he comes” 

a boom goes off and green smoke fills the air. The crowd applauds and cheers as they burst. 

“He is a creature. What can we say about him", 

Rumbling shakes the ground as the arena is lifted. Your chest fills with anxiety, this champion must be big if they have to lift the arena. You turn to Loki, seeing his face light up with a mix of emotions. 

“Well hes unique. There’s none like him” 

The rumbling continues as the area is still being lifted. 

“I feel a very special connection to him.” 

You see Thor prepare to fight, putting on a helmet. Concern fills your heart and the audiences cheers fill your ears. 

“Hes undefeated.” 

Loki’s words fill your head. Reminding you that Thor is a god. He’ll be okay.

“He’s reigning”

You settle down, trying to reign in your anxiety.

“He’s the defending.”

 Loki looks at you and smiles, brushing a curl out of your face and patting your cheek. You instantly feel better, knowing that someone is there for you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you” 

“This guy really knows how to build suspense.” You whisper to Loki, who snorts into the drink he has. You both quiet down as the champions doors finally start to open.

“Your Incredible...” 

A roar fills the arena. A roar that makes your blood grow cold and your breath stop.

“HULK”

And there, bursting out of his holding area, was the Hulk. Dressed in gladiator armor, holding an axe and club in both hands. The crowd goes wild, cheering loudly at the sight of their champion. 

Your father, who has been missing for four years, was the Grandmasters champion.

“I have to get off this planet.” Loki says, pale at the memory of what the Hulk is capable of. He pulls you up from the couch, you lax with the shock, an rushes to leave.

“Hey, hey, hey where are you two going.” The Grandmaster intercepts the two of you guiding you both back to the seats. 

“Is she okay? She looks like she’s about to be sick” The grandmaster says, scooting away from you like you were contagious. Loki looks at you in concern and asks if you are okay. 

But you could barely hear him. You didn’t hear anything. You were just focused on the arena. Finally seeing the man who you were looking for.

[sinnabonka]

15x19: So bad, that it’s actually good

Yesterday I had the experience of my life. I couldn’t watch the show (hi, everyone stuck in UTC+ shithole), but I couldn’t sleep either, so I ended up at 3 AM reading my people livestreaming it on Tumblr. This was one hell of a roller coaster, given the absurdity of the plot and the weakest writing in this season.

(I don’t mean the excellent and ironical and powerful message to the fandom, we’ll get there)

I was aware beforehand what I was getting, so no major disappointment regarding not seeing Cas back this week. Also, it kinda was my call, that he’ll be back in the final final.

The Ultimate Happy End, the biggest win of Dean Winchester. Chuck’s book ended, and Cas is not in Chuck’s book.

Was it bad? Yes, it was. Did I enjoy it? Hell yeah, I did. 

Everyone on Tumblr already gave their two cents of hatred regarding the writing, the montage, the solemn aim of this episode (spoiler alert: to please the general audience and bronlies), and I will give mine, too. Watcha say?

It was so bad.

I didn’t believe it was the same show as the rest of Season 15. It was like rereading the fanfic my stupid 13 y.o. self wrote after like half a season and no skill or whatever. Full OOC, everyone. Learn what not to do. 

I am so happy I didn’t watch ep 18 and 19 in one night. Could you imagine? That would be like getting kicked in the balls after a pretty good blowjob or something. Idk, but I can imagine.

It was lazy, it was just connecting two dots in the shortest way possible, although, leaving dozens of gaps! How, in the name of God, did they manage it?

Why Chuck could bring Lucifer back, but Jack didn’t pull Cas out of the empty before evaporating? 

Why Sam has no fucks to give about Eileen?

How did Michael miss the whole thing of Jack gaining powers, don’t angels, like, have a nose for such things?

What battle is he talking about? It’s was a single stab!

It’s all just so easy, so short sighted. God is bad, let’s defeat God. Lucifer is bad, too, let him do bad, again. Michael is petty, and with Adam gone he’s back to his tropes being daddy’s boy, let him not being appreciated one more time and lets kill him off, too. I mean, my speculations on this ep were stronger.

Let’s make our characters retell the villain what was happening off screen. Let’s put some direct call backs to the previous episode, but make it feel like a grain of sand in the eye. Let’s give Dean a miracle, just for Miracle to be yanked away from his hands a moment later (parallels to Cas, anyone?). 

Let’s pretend there’s no Eileen, there’s no Cas, let’s pretend they don’t matter! Let’s pretend “Just us” is a happy end. Let’s have two bros driving in sunset, because after all those years and all their losses, that’s the only thing that matters. “To everyone we’ve lost along the way”, my ass.  

(Totally following my call in here, though, I hate being right)

It was everything I’ve hated about the show back in 2013 when I left. And it was everything this show is not now, which I am so thankful for, and why I am back.

All those sloppy plot decisions, episodes with no logic, awkward and ridiculous montage, “only bro” dynamics, bending and totally ignoring the rules of the universe. The episodes with Lucifer, too, for crying out loud. 

Forced happiness, fake smiles, a lingering touch, close up at the beer bottles. It’s just them, the Winchesters, and the whole world can go fuck itself, as long as they get to drive their Impala to the end of the world and back.

This is something Chuck would love to be their ending. You see what I’m doing here? This episode - it’s Chuck’s book, it’s the bad ending Becky’s been talking about: all action and no Cas. In other words, not good. 

So, what’s good about it then?

In this episode we hear “the old Supernatural” talking through the words of Chuck and “the new Supernatural” answering, with Dean’s and Sam’s help:

Chuck: “What did you do?”

Dean: “We won.”

Chuck: “So this is how it ends?”

We won. The Author (TM) is defeated.

Chuck: “For the fist time I have no idea what happens next. Is this where you kill me? Dying of hand of Sam and Dean Winchesters. It’s kinda glorious?”

Chuck - the old Supernatural - wants the story to end this way. With killing God, with this bittersweet aftertaste, because Cas says all those beautiful words, but Dean still feeds off his anger and kills. Typical Chuck, right?

But, no! Not this time!

Dean: “See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.”

Chuck: “What kind of ending is this?”

Sam: “His power. You sure it won’t come back?”

Jack: “It’s not his power anymore.”

It’s not their call! Writers tried to control the narrative so hard, but just kept circling around, killing one of the brothers just to bring him back. This time, there’s another ending. 

Dean: “It’s the ending where you grow old. You get sick. And you just die”

Sam: “And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You’re just forgotten.”

Because that, my people, is the destiny of Supernatural if it ends this way. It’s the ending of “Supernatural” by Chuck Shurley. If it is the story of two brothers hunting evil for fifteen years and finding themselves back in the place they begun in, what’s the point? Yes, we love the characters, but the story is empty.

Everyone is going to forget about it before the final credits end. And the writers are well aware of it. 

Quoting myself, If we keep taking the same route - we end up in the same place. How many seasons ended with Winchesters together, just the two of them? You’ll find one, that’s for sure. There’s no novelty in that ending. 

(And Bobo didn’t provoke The Ultimate Shitstorm of 11/5/2020 for nothing!)

The episode 20 will be something Supernatural will be well remembered by. It will be a game changer! 

I’ve written here about the change of the philosophy of the show (point 6). I’ll be a bit of a Chuck myself and put my own quote here once again:

The message the show wants to give the world has changed. From “it’s all about the journey, about saving people, killing things, no one ever gets what they deserve”, the philosophy has changed drastically toward the “good things do happen, you deserve to be saved, to be loved”.

And this, my people, is what we are getting in the next episode. Because Chuck’s story was about killing your brother, killing your son, one apocalypse after another, Lucifer, Michael, all that shit. 

But Dean’s and Sam’s is not. And in their book, there’s Cas, there’s Eileen, and everyone they didn’t lost along the way.

So, brothers driving in sunset? Not the end, but the beginning of their own story.

“Supernatural” indeed ended tonight. But our story didn’t.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 25

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 25 - This Venerable One Hates Him So Much!

Chu Wanning couldn't force a "go away" to leave his throat. There was a long sombre pause before he changed his answer to: "Come in."

"Huh? Your door isn't locked?" They had been giving each other the silent treatment all day. But now, Mo Ran had the intention of reconciling with him, so he pushed open the door as he spoke like nothing had ever happened. Chu Wanning, on the other hand, sat expressionlessly at the table. He raised his eyes and glanced at him faintly.

In all fairness, Mo Ran was incredibly beautiful, and the whole room seemed to brighten as soon as he walked in the door. He was indeed very young. His skin was tight and seemed to exude a faint glow. The corners of his mouth were naturally slightly curled, and he seemed to be smiling even when he wasn't showing any emotion.

Chu Wanning didn't move his eyes off of Mo Ran. His slender eyelashes drooped and raised his hand to pinch out the incense burning on the table. He coldly asked:

"What are you doing here?"

"I came. . . to check your injury." Mo Ran awkwardly coughed. His eyes fell on Chu Wanning's shoulder and he froze. "You dressed it already?"

Chu Wanning faintly said: "Yes."

Mo Ran didn't know what to say: ". . ."

He really hated Chu Wanning, and he was furious that Chu Wanning had hurt Shi Mei. But, after calming down, Mo Ran wasn't completely without a conscience. Yeah, he hated him, but he didn't forget that Chu Wanning's shoulder was injured.

In the claustrophobic coffin, Chu Wanning had tightly guarded him in his arms, blocking the Master of Ceremonies Ghost's claws with his own body. His body had trembled in pain but he didn't let go. . .

To Chu Wanning, Mo Ran was disgusting.

But in addition to disgust, some very complicated emotions were always mixed in with it for some reason.

He was a rude person. He didn't read books when he was a child. Although he obtained some literary knowledge later, he still couldn't grasp many concepts easily when it came to many delicate things, especially when it came to feelings.

For example, when it came to Chu Wanning, Mo Ran rubbed his head and pondered. The back of his head was going to go bald, but he still couldn't figure out what this feeling was.

He can only identify certain kinds of feelings: love, hate, detest, happiness and unhappiness.

If all these emotions were mixed together, the wise and powerful cultivation emperor would get crossed-eyed and really dizzy.

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. He didn't know. Help, my head hurts.

So Mo Ran didn't bother to dwell on it. Besides, he didn't have time to focus on any details other than Shi Mei.

He didn't hold good feelings for Chu Wanning in his heart, and while secretly plotting when he might have an opportunity in the future, he would make him pay with double the ferocity. On the other hand, he felt guilty. After an internal battle with himself, he finally knocked on Chu Wanning's door.

He didn't want to owe Chu Wanning.

But Chu Wanning was more stubborn and ruthless than he thought.

Mo Ran stared at the pile of blood-stained cotton gauze on the table, the bowl of hot water stained red with blood, and the sharp knife that was thrown haphazardly thrown aside. The tip of the knife was still coated with flesh and blood. His head was spinning.

How did he manage to heal himself?

Had he really cut off the festering flesh without so much as blinking? Just imagining it sent a chill down his spine. Was this guy even human?

He thought about when he had cleaned up Shi Mei's wound. Shi Mei had groaned softly in pain with tears in the corners of his eyes. Even though Mo Ran didn’t like Chu Wanning, he couldn’t help but silently give him credit——

Elder Yuheng was truly a domineering and righteous man, no arguments there.

After standing in place for a while, Mo Ran was the first to break the silence. He coughed, tapping his toes against the floor, and awkwardly said: "What happened in the Chen house. . . Shizun, I'm sorry."

Chu Wanning didn't say anything.

Mo Ran stole a glance at him: "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Chu Wanning still ignored him. His face was still. As always, he had no reaction, but that didn't mean he wasn't aggravated and just not saying anything.

Mo Ran walked over. When he got closer, he saw the mess of bandages on Chu Wanning's shoulder. The cotton gauze was tied in several different ways. It looked like a group of crabs that were stuck together.

". . ."

Also, for a person who doesn't know how to wash his own clothes, can he really be trusted to treat himself?

Mo Ran sighed: "Shizun, don't be angry."

"Do I look angry?" Chu Wanning angrily responded.

Mo Ran: ". ."

After a long pause.

"Shizun, that's not how you wrap a bandage. . ."

He retorted unceremoniously: "You want you to teach me?"

Mo Ran: ". . ."

He raised his hand. He wanted to help Chu Wanning untie the gauze and wrap it again, but he was observant and felt that if he dared to touch him, he might end up with a lashing, so he hesitated.

He raised his hand then lowered it, and then raised it again, repeating the action several times. Chu Wanning was getting annoyed. He squinted at him: "What are you doing? Do you still want to fight me?"

". . ." He really wanted to fight him, but now wasn't a good time.

Mo Ran smiled sheepishly. Throwing caution to the wind, he suddenly reached over and grabbed his shoulders, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth: "Shizun, let me help you re-bandage it."

Chu Wanning wanted to refuse, but Mo Ran's warm fingers had already wrapped around the bandage. His mouth felt dry and stiff. He couldn't speak, so his lips moved slightly but nothing came out.

The gauze was peeled off layer by layer. Blood had soaked through it, and when it was all torn back, the five holes were piercingly obvious and hideous.

Just looking at it, he shuddered. It was many times more serious than the would on Shi Mei's face.

Mo Ran didn't know what he was looking at. He was stunned, then suddenly asked softly: "Does it hurt?"

Chu Wanning lowered his long and slender eyelashes, and simply said lightly: "It's fine."

Mo Ran said: "I'll be gentle."

Chu Wanning didn't know what he was thinking, and suddenly his ear flushed a little red. As a result, he got angry with himself again. He thought he was going crazy. All day he had been thinking up such nonsensical thoughts. His expression grew stiff. His temper worsened, and he said dryly, "It's up to you."

The candlelight in the guest room flickered. In the dim light, he could see that he had completely missed some spots with the ointment. Mo Ran was honestly speechless. He thought it was a miracle that Chu Wanning was still alive and healthy today.

"Shizun."

"Hmm?"

"What happened to you today at the Chen house? Why did you suddenly lash out and hit someone?" He asked while applying some ointment.

Chu Wanning was silent for a while, then replied: "I was angry."

Mo Ran asked: "Why were you so angry?"

Chu Wanning didn't want to trouble his disciple, so he told Mo Ran a brief and concise version of Luo Xianxian's story. After Mo Ran listened to the story, he shook his head: "You're stupid. In this kind of situation, even if you're angry, you shouldn't confront them about it to their face. If it were me, I would've made a mess of things and lie to them that the ghost had been removed, and then pat their asses and leave, letting them fend for themselves. Just look at you making a scene over such a rotten man. You knew you probably wouldn't get through to him, and then you missed and wounded Shi Mei--"

Halfway through the sentence, Mo Ran abruptly stopped. He stared silently at Chu Wanning.

He tied the bandage carefully. He was a little forgetful and he was talking to Chu Wanning like he had when he was 32, pretty cheekily.

Chu Wanning obviously noticed. He squinted his eyes, looking coldly at Mo Ran. That look resembled a very familiar phrase - "See if I don't whip you to death."

"Uh. . ."

Before his brain had thought up a response, Chu Wanning has already begun speaking.

He said indifferently: "Is Shi Mingjing the one I wanted to fight?"

When Shi Mei was mentioned, Mo Ran's originally calm mental state started to shift and his tone hardened: "Isn't he the person you hit?"

Chu Wanning did regret hitting him, but he couldn't admit it. At this moment, his face was sullen and he didn't say a word.

Chu Wanning was the stubborn type. Mo Ran was the lovesick type. Their eyes meet and sparks crackled. The atmosphere that had just eased a little became hopelessly stagnant again.

Mo Ran said: "Shi Mei didn't do anything wrong. Shizun, you hurt him by accident. Don't you want to say that you're sorry?"

Chu Wanning narrowed his eyes dangerously: "Are you questioning me?"

". . . I'm not." Mo Ran paused. "I just feel bad that he got hurt but never got an apology from Shizun."

Under the candlelight, the handsome and youthful teenager finished wrapping the last bandage on Chu Wanning's wound and carefully tied a knot. It may have looked like the scene was quite warm, but the mood between them had changed. Especially Chu Wanning; his chest felt like a jar of vinegar had exploded in it. The feeling of sourness was overwhelming and he felt angry and annoyed.

Apologize?

How do you even spell that word? Who'll teach him how to write?

Mo Ran said: "It'll take half a year for the wound on his face to heal. When I gave him some medicine just now, he still told me not to blame you. Shizun, he doesn't blame you, but do you think that justifies what you did?"

This sentence was tantamount to adding fuel to the fire.

Chu Wanning had been enduring it but he finally couldn't hold it back. He suppressed his voice and muttered: "Get out."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

Chu Wanning exploded: "Get out!"

Mo Ran was forced out and the door slammed shut in his face, almost clamping his fingers. Mo Ran was furious. Just look at this! What kind of person was this? All this just to avoid apologizing? Such cherished and treasured pride. What was so difficult about saying sorry? All he needs to do is move his mouth. This Venerable One was the Emperor TaXian, yet this Venerable One didn't hesitate to apologize to others. As for the Beidou Immortal, half of his words were inexplicable, as if he had swallowed them. What a ridiculous temper!

No wonder no one cared about such a handsome face!

It was a waste of time. He deserved to stay single for the rest of his life!

Since Chu Wanning would rather ignore him and give him a closed-door to talk to, then of course the high and mighty cultivation emperor, the emperor of the human world, wouldn't lose any sleep over this. Although he was tenacious and as hard to get rid of as a piece of sticky candy, he stuck to Shi Mei, not his shizun.

He immediately left without a care and went to join Shi Mei.

"Why are you back so soon?" Shi Mei was in the midst of lying down to rest when he saw Mo Yan come in. He froze and sat up, long strands of ink hair hanging all over the place. "How's Shizun?"

"Very good. His temper is as strong as usual."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Mo Ran brought over a chair and sat on it backwards. His hand rested on the back of the Taishi chair, a lazy smile hanging on the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicked across the appearance of Shi Mei's soft and long hair.

Shi Mei said: "Why don't I go and see him. . ."

"Don't think too much about it." Mo Ran rolled his eyes. "He's terrible."

"Did you make him angry again?"

"He needs someone to provoke him? He makes himself angry. I think he's made of wood considering he's so flammable."

Shi Mei shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Mo Ran said: "Get some rest. I'll borrow the kitchen downstairs and make you some food."

Shi Mei said: "What's the fuss? You haven't closed your eyes all night. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"Haha, I am in good spirits." Mo Ran laughed. "But if you can't bear me leaving, I can stay with you for a while until you fall asleep."

Shi Mei hurriedly waved his hand and said warmly: "No, if you have to look at me like this, I won't be able to sleep either. You should go to bed early. Don't exhaust yourself."

The curvature in the corners of his mouth stiffened slightly. Mo Ran was a little sad.

Although Shi Mei treated him kindly, he always maintained such a distant attitude. It was the attitude of someone who was obviously close at hand, but as the moon in the mirror and the flower in the water, he could be seen but not obtained.

". . . Okay." In the end, he just tried to cheer up and laughed. Mo Ran's smile was very bright. When he wasn't completely evil, he was actually pretty silly and cute. "Call me if you need anything. I'm either right next door or downstairs."

"Okay."

Mo Ran raised his hand, wanting to touch his hair, but he held back. He spun his hand around in the air and scratched his head.

"I'm leaving."

Outside of the room, Mo Ran couldn't help but sneeze.

He sniffed.

Because Caidie Town produced incense, the price of all the different kinds of incense wasn't as expensive, so the inn wasn't stingy with it. Each room was lit with a long branch of special incense; one can ward off evil spirits, another can dehumidify, the last one can give the room a nice fragrance.

But as soon as Mo Ran smelled the incense, it made him uncomfortable. But if Shi Mei liked it, he would endure it.

Coming downstairs, Mo Yan wandered over to the innkeeper, slipped him a silver ingot. He squinted his eyes and said with a smile: "Innkeeper, do me a favour."

The innkeeper looked at the silver ingot and smiled more politely at Mo Ran: "What is this immortal gentleman's request?"

Mo Ran said: "I see that not many people come here to eat breakfast. I wanted to discuss that with you. I want to use the kitchen this morning. Please let the other guests know."

How much money would breakfast make him? It would probably be impossible to earn a silver ingot in half a month. The innkeeper immediately smiled and agreed, leading the swaggering Mo Weiyu into the kitchen of the inn.

"You want to cook by yourself? It's better to let the chef in our inn do it. He's very talented."

"No need." Mo Ran smiled. "Have you heard of the Jade Wine Building in Xiangtan?"

"Ah. . . Is that the famous music performance building that started getting popular more than a year ago?"

Mo Ran: "Yeah."

The boss took a peek outside and confirmed that his wife was busy and couldn't overhear. He snickered and said, "Who hasn't heard of it? It's the most famous restaurant on the Xiangjiang River. It used to have a lead musician there. It’s a pity it's so far away, otherwise, I'd want to listen to her play a song."

Mo Ran laughed: "Thank you for the compliment. I'll pass it onto her."

"Pass it on?" The innkeeper was puzzled. "Do you know her?"

Mo Ran said: "More than just know."

"Wow. . .You don't say? But you cultivators can be. . . well. . ."

Mo Ran interrupted him with a smile: "Other than the lead musician, do you know anything else?"

"Hmm. . . Their food was said to be a must."

The corners of Mo Ran's mouth curled higher and he smiled brighter. He skillfully picked up the kitchen knife and said: "Before I took up cultivation, I was a cook in the kitchen in the Jade Wine Building for several years. You said that your chefs make delicious dishes. Whose is better, theirs or mine?"

The innkeeper was even more shocked, and stammered out: "You're really. . . really. . ."

He couldn't get the words out.

Mo Ran gazed at him with narrowed eyes. His smile was barely holding back his smug and cocky demeanour: "You can leave. This chef is going to cook something."

The innkeeper didn’t know that he was talking to the former Lord of Darkness, and he put on a cheeky expression: “I've heard a lot about Jade Wine House's exquisite desserts. I wonder if you would let me have a bite once they're ready?"

He didn't think this was too high of a request. Mo Ran would definitely agree.

Who would've expected Mo Ran to squint his eyes and say with a smirk: "You want some?"

"Hmph!"

"Really?" Mo Ran snorted. He was bursting with pride. He scoffed: "You think I would cook for just anyone? This Venerable One is doing this just for Shi Mei. If not for him, I wouldn't even be lighting a fire to cook. . ."

He flipped a radish over and started to slice it, muttering.

". . ." The innkeeper slumped defeatedly. He rubbed his hands and stood there awkwardly. He halfheartedly chuckled at him then left.

He was also muttering to himself.

This Venerable One? For someone this young, his spiritual core hasn't even fully formed yet. He thought about his chatter and how he was probably referring to his elder sister disciple, but there was no female cultivator among the group who walked with him today.

The innkeeper rolled his eyes.

This person must be deluded.

Mo Ran stayed busy in the kitchen for several hours. It was almost noon when the work was finished, and he rushed upstairs to wake Shi Mei up.

When passing by Chu Wanning's room, he slowly came to a stop.

Should he ask if he wanted to eat together. . .

Thinking of Chu Wanning's harsh temperament, Mo Ran's heart skipped a beat, his face full of contempt.

No, no, no. He only had a few portions. There wasn't enough to share with him!

[onelovewonderwoman]

first class || charles xavier x reader

i’ve been on an x-men binge and fell into a hole of james mcavoy and charles xavier again, so here we are. i haven’t written fics in a long time, so i tried to again. i’m uncreative so like the title is just the first movie because of the fact that it’s set during that time. kind of like self insert cause there’s a few bits and pieces where there’s canonical plot and interactions, so disclaimer for that. anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ps also don’t have enough energy to find a fitting gif so maybe i’ll find one later maybe i won’t. we’ll see

words: 5.8k

warnings: not proofread (i spent three days on this so i don’t have the energy anymore haha), writing lacks emotional depth, drug use and mentions, intent of murder, thoughts of (murder, rape, suicide, etc.), poorly written two paragraphs about kissing, angst, we ignore moira and charles’ romance cause... duh, it’s x reader and it’s too difficult for me to work around it rn a haha

masterlist

The rooms were always the same. They were dark, illuminated only by the dimmest of lights emanating from the occasional lava lamp or fairy lights. Fairy - ironic word for such situations, such rooms. Filled so heavily with smoke it made it hard to breathe, let alone see. And the floors; the floors always felt different. 

In hindsight, it was probably the one thing that had her realizing the rooms were never actually the same. Sure, they had the same smell, the same overcrowdedness and moving bodies, the same darkness, even the same taste, but the floors testified to the difference each room held. 

Sometimes, when the world would freeze and all the people around her became nothing but a mesh of warm bodies, she could hear the floor creak under her feet with every step she took. There she was - the house right down the street from her. 

Other times, the floors felt sticky under her shoes. She assumed it was tequila. There were always too many bottles around to count, surely there would be spills. Or, some poor guy could have pissed himself like that one time. When her shoes sounded like velcro as she walked across the floor, she was at the house all the way across town.

In any case, she felt the same ankle up. One of her favourite parts had to be the way the music always abused her ears - so high, it made her feel lightheaded. More so than she already had been both. Sex was not nearly regular enough for her to compare, but she knew what she would feel every time the music was loud enough to make her head buzz and throb with a vengeance was more erotic than anything anyone could ever do to her.

The place could change but the scene never really did. Down to the people - she knew this for sure. She knew every beating heart around her like they were her own. She never only felt it there, but in her head as well. Even as it buzzed, she felt it. Sometimes it tore at her skull as if trying to escape - ironic.

Now, why did the scene change one evening in 1962? She told herself it was fate, but it had merely been wishful thinking when she knew why. How did she know? She knew the man sitting next to her on the worn down couch, nearly entirely unconscious and reeking of weed and vodka, knew the girl across the house, the girl across the house knew the man next to her and that - so on and so forth - meant she knew all three of them, even though they didn’t know her. So, for two new men to walk into the house, their eyes focused - focused on her - changed the scene entirely.

Now, the music became nothing more than an assault on her ears; the lights became too bright at the same time as the dark became too dark; the air became heavier than usual; and she sobered up at the feeling of something - someone - in her head. Then, it all caved in. It was as overwhelming as it always was, but she was used to it enough to handle it for a little while, at least whilst remnants of her high remained. She couldn’t say the same for the shorter of the two men she saw keel over at the pressure.

He got over it pretty quick, from what she could tell. “Charles Xavier,” he introduced himself as, “This is my colleague, Erik Lensherr.”

A quick trip from the couch to the door had her standing on the lawn of the house of the night with the two men. Crickets could be heard fighting against the sound of the music blaring from the house as she swayed on her feet, making wet sounds in the grass from earlier rain. Charles stood not much taller than her, charm emanating from him and the way his piercing blue eyes seemed to smile despite his furrowed brows and mouth set in a straight line as he stared at her, waiting for a response with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Erik stood taller, stoic and calculating.

“And?” She crossed her arms across her chest, both in discomfort and the fact that the chilly night air had begun to bite at her skin, her long sleeve doing nothing to help. “I should care why?”

If the incident earlier wasn’t enough, the way the both of them looked at her was enough for her to know why. “What’s your name?” Charles asked, having her notice then the English accent on his tongue. 

The second she gave it to him, he smiled - almost sympathetically - at her and hummed, “You have an incredibly busy mind, Y/N.”

“And you have an incredibly nosy one, Charles.” That had Erik letting out a chuckle, one that felt like approval to her ears.

Never in a million years would she dare say yes to anything of the sort the two men proposed to her that night. A team of mutants; not necessarily that she thought it was absurd or a horrible idea - no. It made sense, not factoring in their current climate, to have a team of mutants fighting against the evils of the world. The horrible idea was to have her join. No, she wanted to tell them, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking too,” Erik agreed with her, catching both herself and Charles off guard, “We’ll be going then.”

He offered her his hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at his outstretched arm. Sometimes her high slowed time - it could have been five seconds or five minutes. When she finally looked away from his hand, up at him, she saw he stood unwavered and patient.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Her eyes shot to Charles as he broke the silence. He shook his head, brows still furrowed and mouth set in a straight line. “You’re under no obligation.”

For Charles to know, she understood. He had just been in her mind long enough to know that most of it wasn’t even hers. For Erik to know and offer her his hand made her wonder just how desperate he was to assemble the team - for whatever reason that she was about to find out in a moment.

“We leave now.” Was all he said after he tore his hand from hers.

An hour hasn’t even passed when she found herself on a plane with the two men, mind still buzzing but this time not with a high. This time, with an overwhelming anger and anticipation. The way Erik didn’t make eye contact with her and Charles sent worried glances her way throughout their trip to their “base” was enough to tell her that they knew she had already been briefed on what was happening - the reason behind their assembling of a team. Rather, she knew specifically of the personal motive behind it.

All it made her heart feel like it was beating a mile a minute. It pounded against her chest so hard she was sure at least one of them could hear it. So badly did she want to hide out in the plane’s bathroom and take something to stop the pain, but it was off the table. For now.

Soon enough the flight ended, and she came to find out their “base” was a covert CIA facility where they placed the other mutants they rounded up before her. She just as quickly met and said goodbye to Moira MacTaggert, a CIA officer working with Charles and Erik to stop Shaw. His name alone sent sparks of rage flowing through her veins.

She was left with the group when the three went off that night. There, she came face to face with Raven, Sean, Alex, Hank, Darwin, and Angel - or, Mystique, Banshee, and Havok. Darwin and Angel were “self explanatory”, considering they were already nicknames and described their powers fairly well. Hank was just… Hank.

Her turn came around quickly, once everyone settled down from Alex’s show of his “gift”, when all heads turned to her, sitting at the end of the couch. Raven smiled at her - she liked her, she was sweet - “What about you? What’s your power?”

“I’m,” She paused for a moment, the eyes on her making her anxious and curl into herself hoping, praying, another mutant wouldn’t touch her. “I can move things. With my mind.” She gave a tight smile to Raven and nodded her head, as if to reassure herself. “I can move things with my mind.”

Raven’s smile only widened, excited by either the prospect of her being able to move things with her mind or the opportunity to give her an alias. She assumed it was the latter. She excused herself to the washroom just as Raven asked the group what they thought. “We’ll have one for you once you get back! Promise!” Raven called after her.

Body filled with anticipation, she nearly ran to the washroom, willing the door closed behind her after she entered. It was small, but clean - CIA property after all. 

She tried. She really did. Albeit, making contact with a mutant was always the worst; Erik especially. The trauma, the pain, the thoughts. All them clawed at her brain, as though they were tearing through it layer by layer until nothing but them remained within her skull.

Nothing could stop her from taking out the small baggy in her back pocket and tearing it open. Nothing could stop her from taking it, only to feel a rush flow through her. It would take a bit, but soon enough she would stop feeling them gnawing on her very existence. Soon, numbness would wash over her and she could just be no one.

She guessed she was in the washroom for about half an hour. Staring at her reflection, at the floor, at the ceiling, at anything, but when she made her way back to the room, she found it in disarray. Music was blasting from the radio, chairs flipped over, Raven on top of the couch dancing as Hank hung from the ceiling light, the rest of the group messing around with their powers. She couldn’t tell if they were experiencing some high of their own or just happened to have gotten their hands on some alcohol.

“What are you doing? Who destroyed the statue?” Moira’s voice broke her out of the trance she was in watching the group. Slowly, she turned her head to see her, Charles, and Erik walking over as everyone else froze. Moira was angry, that much anyone could tell, but the two men were unreadable.

Hank was the first one to reply back, jumping down the ceiling, panicked, “It was Alex.”

“No. Havok.” Raven seemed to stay unfazed, still standing on the couch with a wide smile on her face. “We have to call him Havok. That's his name now…”

Raven’s words melted away from her. Her focus wasn’t elsewhere; it was simply nowhere at all. She stared at everyone in the room, yet no one at all. So caught up in nothing she didn’t notice Charles himself staring at her until Erik uttered something under his breath and walked away with Moira following, brows furrowed in what looked to be confusion. Just as she caught his eye, he looked away.

Directed at Raven, he spoke firmly, “I expect more from you.”

Not long after, they had gotten word that Shaw would be in Russia, and so she was left with the group of mutants when the three left alongside the CIA to get their hands on him. Before, it would have made her wonder what purpose the group of mutants really served if they didn’t want them there to help. Now, after the incident, she understood why.

By no means were any of them prepared for such a task. She couldn’t claim to be either. She only agreed because she knew a part within her would hate her for not coming and at the very least trying to help.

Just when she thought she and the solemn group couldn’t be any more of a liability, she was proven wrong. Because now Sebastian Shaw stood in front of them, smug and irritating as ever, after having his lackey drop an unsuspecting CIA to his death in front of all of them and cornering them. 

“Good evening. My name's Sebastian Shaw, and I'm not here to hurt you.” She was sure she wasn’t the only one assuming he had taken out every single CIA operative in the facility to make it this far; a thought that filled her being with even more dread than she was already feeling at the sight of him. “My friends, there's a revolution coming. When mankind discovers who we are, what we can do, each of us will face a choice. Be enslaved or rise up to rule. Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us. So, you can stay and fight for the people who hate and fear you. Or you can join me, and love like kings and queens.”

They all watched, both shocked and betrayed when Angel took the hand Shaw outstretched, standing by his side even when he murdered Darwin in his attempt to stop him with Alex. She didn’t see it - she turned away the second Shaw released the energy he’d taken from Alex into Darwin. She heard it, though. The explosion. When she turned back, as Shaw, Angel, and the men he had brought with him retreated, she saw nothing. There was no sign of Darwin; not even a speck of dust.

Suddenly, her chest tightened and the clawing came back.

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

The person who happened to almost send them home also happened to be the one who provided them a new place to train their powers for the fight with Shaw. Charles was entirely serious and extremely close to sending them all home; “They’re just kids.” But Erik made it clear to him that they couldn’t be anymore, not after Shaw.

Charles lived, alongside Raven, in a massive mansion that had been entirely too big for her to take in, but it provided the perfect space for them to train their powers. Each of them were assigned rooms by Charles personally that day. 

He took the liberty of walking them each there. She didn’t know if it was just her or a Charles thing, but he stayed quiet. Unusual for a man that had so much to say. But then again, with what they’ve already been through, she couldn’t imagine he was feeling very chatty. She certainly wouldn’t have been in his situation. Granted, she would be feeling the same way now, but in her predicament by this point, she wouldn’t mind someone else’s verbal company.

The second he guided her through the bedroom

door, she began to take in the sheer size of the room, feeling bigger than life itself in the way that she was feeling. The bed was even better; huge and looked as though the softness of it would swallow her into a warm hug. Her first instinct would have been to jump right onto it, but the fact that Charles ceased to leave and instead remained planted there, giving her a look she couldn’t make out once she turned to face him, made her fight against her urges.

She opened her mouth in an attempt to utter an “Are you alright?” but never got the chance. Instead, Charles spoke as soon as her mouth opened, slowly, as if to make sure she understood every word he was saying like she had been incapable of doing so before, “Training starts tonight, but I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

With her brows furrowed in confusion, she nodded, and Charles began to walk away. He stopped by the frame of the door, back to her, and spoke again, “Try and get some rest.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. Now, she was left in the room alone, tiredness washing over her. Awaiting the next day, she decided to fall into the cloud that was the bed and fall asleep while she could.

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

The next morning was when Charles asked to see her - by Raven. The young woman led her over to a room, an odd dome shaped one, where Charles stood waiting. He wasn’t the same as the night before - uncomfortable, was the only way she knew to describe it - welcoming and encouraging.

“We’ve got plenty of work to do,” Charles spoke, hands in his pockets, as she entered and Raven excused herself elsewhere. Looking around, she could see evidence that training had started last night, namely Alex’s. Dark scuff marks were streaked across walls of the dome on the end farthest from them and small balls of fluff on the floor remained, assumingly left behind in the midst of a quick clean up of training dummies that had been torn open.

Despite the mess, several other objects were placed across the floor. All ranged from light to heavy. Chairs, weights - it looked to be anything he could have been capable of carrying in with the help of the others.

She stopped in front of him. “What’s this?”

The man’s smile widened before he started, rather loudly at that. “Well.” He moved towards the objects then spun around to face her, arms outstretched. “This is the beginning of your training.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the man unimpressed. “You want me to move this stuff around?”

“You’re not just moving stuff around.” Charles shook his head, arms dropping to his sides as he declared. “You don’t need to move everything here. I only need to see how much you can handle.” His head tilted as he looked at her, blue eyes meeting her own as his expression retreated to one of curiosity. “And how you handle it.”

She didn’t think the professor was aware of the innuendo within the situation, so she let it go despite the sweet stomach dropping feeling that came over her. Instead, she shrugged. “Then what?”

“Then,” Charles hesitated for a moment, “Erik was able to move a satellite dish. If it happens to be possible-”

“A satellite dish?” She laughed incredulously, “You can be serious.”

Charles nodded towards her, challenging her statements as he took a few steps forward. “And what is it that’s making you believe you’re incapable of doing anything similar?”

“Look.” She shook her head, looking directly at him when she said, “I can move the average household item, shut a door and maybe, just maybe, bust it down, but I couldn’t push your couch across the room, let alone move a fu- a satellite dish.”

Charles’ brows furrowed. “And that’s what you believe?”

She hummed. “That’s what I know.”

“Well,” he sighed, disappointment written across his face that sent her into a spiral, “There’s not much we can do if you don’t believe you can better yourself, is there?”

The second he walked past her was when it felt as though ice water had been spilt onto her. A mixture of confusion and gloom washed over her before she turned to see Charles’ back, still moving towards the door. “What?”

He stopped in his tracks at her exclamation, waiting several moments as if contemplating before he turned back to her. Carefully, he asked, “Why do you take them?”

She shook her head, looking almost offended. “How did you-”

“Your mind,” Charles confirmed, “It gets quieter.”

The offence on her face never ceased, but the uncomfortable mixture of feelings she was overwhelmed with had her shrug in response to his question. Charles only nodded and gave her a tight smile before turning back.

She closed her eyes, resigning herself with huff. She could go back to the life she had come to know and hate, or she could take the second chance he was giving her even if it did include the prospect of some suffering.

“I don’t take them for fun.” The sound of her voice made Charles stop again. This time, he waited. “When I touch a person I don’t just take every experience. I take every memory.”

He turned around to face her once more and gave her nod, signalling her to continue. She breathed in and out. “I see and I feel everything that’s happened to them. That’s a lot and it’s enough, but that’s not why I-”

She cut herself off, feeling herself choke on the words before shaking her head and persisting herself on despite Charles’ look of concern. “I take them because, when I take their memories, I take all of their thoughts too. Every one. So every thought of murder, or rape, or suicide, or any fucked up thing, keeps tearing me apart from the inside out.”

Charles nodded, walking closer to her, choosing his words carefully as he spoke, sympathy written deep in his soft voice, “And they scare you.”

She shook her head. Looking away from him for a moment, she willed away tears she felt gathering. She turned back to him. “The thought of acting on them scares me.”

Although slightly taken aback by the revelation, Charles holds his composure. He nodded before opening his mouth to respond, walking closer as he began.

The only reaction he got was her taking a step back, shaking her head. “I swear I’m not a bad person.” Charles assumed she didn’t want him touching her - considering she took away every thought. “I’m always all these people at once - I don’t even know who I am.”

“Then we will figure it out.” Charles tilted his head, making sure her eyes met his when she attempted to look away. His voice was soft and reassuring to her ears, even if she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “You aren’t alone, Y/N.”

As it turns, the drugs were having a large effect on her ability to use her powers - the next few days told her as much. By no means was she capable of moving a satellite dish, but she had been able to take her powers to lengths she never thought she could have been able to.

Most of it was due to Charles - he’d spent most of the next few days with her, pushing her, sometimes to the point where she’d snap at him. She always calmed, though, and Charles always remained coolheaded.

Still, they grew closer. Or at least she grew closer to him. She couldn’t tell if the praise, the laughs, the banter, and the willingness to come back together after a fight only meant something to her. She hoped it did - because why else wouldn’t he just give up on her? All that time spent on advancing her powers to defeat Shaw, and he still talked about helping her as though their relationship would continue past this mission.

Part of her wanted to touch him so she could just know. Even if he hadn’t taken such a liking to her as she had him, at the very least try to understand him in his entirety and make a space for herself in his life. Then, another part of her was horrified at what she would find in there.

For the time being, there wasn’t much opportunity to dwell on it. The day they would head out was coming soon, and Erik suggested the group get a good night’s rest. They would all need it.

With her luck, she didn’t know why she thought that sleep would come easy that night. Whether it was due to adrenaline, anxiety, or anything else, didn’t matter. Because whatever was keeping her up had her pacing the hallways of Charles’ estate that night.

She wasn’t looking for it, but instead happened upon a conversation. 

“… no difference. Shaw’s declared war on mankind. On all of us. He has to be stopped.” She heard Charles’ voice through a door as she passed by. Although knowing that he could probably make out the sound of her mind from a mile away, she still stopped by it. She grew even more curious when she heard Erik’s voice. 

“I'm not gonna stop Shaw. I'm gonna kill him. Do you have it in you to allow that?” A moment of silence passed and she shifted on her feet. It made the floor creek. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, nervous, expecting to hear the sound of one of their footsteps coming to open the door and catch her eavesdropping. Whether they heard or not, she didn’t know as Erik continued on, “You've known all along why I was here, Charles. But things have changed. What started as a covert mission, tomorrow mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us, they won't differentiate. They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred.”

“Not if we stop a war,” Charles’ voice wavered on a line of urgency and assurance, “Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so.”

Charles very well could have been doing nothing but reassuring Erik with his words, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually trying to reassure himself. As if the world wouldn’t either discard or abuse them once they’ve served their purpose of their betterment. 

“Will they do the same for us?”

“We have it in us to be the better men.”

“We already are.” Erik’s voice quickly turned from calm to urgent when he next spoke. “We're the next stage of human evolution. You said it yourself!”

“No, no!” She heard Charles attempt to cut Erik off before he sighed. She could practically hear the disappointment in it, although she couldn’t say she felt the same. He only let Erik continue.

“Are you really so naive as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?” She heard him pause. “Or is it arrogance?”

“I’m sorry?” As if Charles had misheard him. 

She shifted on her feet once more as their voices became more hushed, despite the feeling coming from the room becoming more hostile than calm. This time, she was more careful. Nothing made a sound below her feet when she moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it, as well as her left palm for support.

“After tomorrow, they're gonna turn us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira.” 

“And you believe they're all like Shaw.” Came Charles’ immediate response. Calmly, she heard him continue, “Listen to me very carefully my friend. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

Erik’s voice never wavered when he told Charles, “Peace was never an option.”

Footsteps came far too fast for her to move away from the door. In a split second, she found herself leaning against the door to crashing into Erik’s chest when he pulled the door open. For a moment, Erik stood staring down at her, watching her attempt to recompose herself and attempt to apologize. She didn’t get a word out before he moved past her and walked away.

She watched his form retreat before she turned back to the room. Standing in the doorway, she saw Charles sitting in the chair facing away from her. With his eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, “You realize I can hear your mind from across this house?”

She took a step in, almost reluctantly. She didn’t imagine Charles would be content with anything she had to say, but maybe she could make him understand. “Erik’s right, you know.”

Her words had Charles’ eyes snap open. He got out the chair, setting down the drink he was nursing on the table next to him, before he turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“Peace isn’t an option ‘cause we’re never gonna get peace.” She shook her head, desperation in both her voice and eyes as she stared into his. “Erik thinks they’re gonna turn on us. They might not, but it doesn’t mean any of us will get any peace. They won’t all be like Shaw, they won’t all be like Moira, but most of them - most of them will just be human. They’ll fear us and they’ll judge us. It doesn’t matter how harmless we are or not.”

She watched as Charles took a step forward, his head tilting to the side, expression unreadable as his voice remained calm. “You can’t be serious.” It was a statement - a wrong one.

“Shaw needs to die,” She spoke with assurance. She felt her eyes fill with tears, Charles watching her suck in a breath and release as he began to walk closer to her, before she spoke in a whisper, no longer trusting her voice, “Shaw needs to die for what he did to us. We’re going to kill him, Charles.”

They’re faces we’re merely inches apart, chilling her to the bone as he looked at her. What she thought he would never do is what he tried the second he began to raise his hand, speaking quickly to her when he asked, “Us?”

His hand almost cupped her cheek when she turned her head away from it. Immediately, his hand froze. Charles watched her profile as more tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. Voice weak and tearful, staring away from him, she pleaded, “Please don’t confuse me. I can’t-”

“I know you feel it,” Charles’ other hand came up to guide her face back to him despite her, whispering carefully, “But it is not your cross to bear.”

His hand was warm against her cheek. Comforting - enough to make her mind go blank. Wishful thinking, of course, because soon the clawing in her head would come back with a vengeance at having a man such as Charles touch her. For now, though, he felt safe. Stable. Enough so that she could close her eyes for a moment and let the tears fall as he leaned down to her and let his forehead press against hers. 

“You can’t help but feel his pain,” She felt his breath against her lips as he spoke, his voice the same soft and soothing as she’s known it to be, “But you can decide what you do with it.”

She shook her head gently and pulled away, but still letting Charles’ hand rest against her cheek. “It’s not just-” she whispered to him, mouth feeling dry as her eyes avoided his, trying to piece her thoughts together. His hand slid down to the base of her neck, guiding her eyes to his. She licked her lips before she swallowed. “I barely knew Darwin, but he killed him right in front of us. And it was cruel and scary and I couldn’t even make myself look at it when it happened.”

“I know.” Charles brought his other hand up to brush away slow falling tears she hadn’t even known began to escape. He voiced nothing but concern, letting her continue as if he knew what she was going to say next. 

Her hands reached up to wrap around his wrists, not to pull his hands away from her, but to simply hold onto them. Almost as if they were an anchor to make up for the tears she now felt were falling faster down her face as she realized. “For the first time, I think I want something, I feel this anger and fear, because of my head. I saw it first and I felt it first. It’s mine, and now I have a real responsibility to take care of it.”

“Not with murder.” Her hands tightened around his wrists as he brought her face closer to his own. A frown on his face as he desperately told her, “I meant it when I told you that we would figure this out together. You told me you were never your own person, that you don’t even know yourself. We were - we are - going to bring you into existence. I beg you, Y/N, don’t let yourself be brought into this world as a murderer.”

His words, as beautiful as they were, only half registered within her brain. All she found herself focusing on then was how close he was. She would think back later and come to realize that it was because the only thing making her tears stop and giving her the will not to commit a murder was the prospect of approval she would get from a man like him. From someone who could never understand her struggle, someone who never tried to or tried to make her feel as though there was some way out. From someone who wanted to build on it and show her the strength she could find within it.

Realistically, she knew he would have a few words for her if she ever outwardly admitted to him that she used approval as a means for bettering herself, but it was the best she could do at the time being.

Charles’ brows furrowed as he watched her face, spaced out and regarding him with an expression not even he could read. Somewhere deep down, though, he knew he had gotten through to her. His lips curled up slightly, speaking lowly with amusement evident in his voice, “Now where did you go?”

Her eyes shot from his lips to his eyes once more. As quick as they made eye contact, she leaned forward to press her lips against his. Lips soft, she kissed him carefully, one hand moving to cup his face. Only in the last few moments did he respond to it by kissing back.

She pulled away, looking at him nervously and letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. Her mouth was dry again. “I’m sorry-”

She was cut off by Charles’ lips on hers once more. She kissed back instantly, sighing into the kiss in content. Feeling Charles smirk against her lips and deepen the kiss, she put both hands behind his neck, pulling his body closer to hers. He took her lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly as he let his hands trail down her body to her waist, pulling her to make sure there wasn’t the slightest gap between their bodies.

Their lips broke apart, but only long enough to allow for a quick breath. Charles pushed his lips back into hers as her hands snaked down to the collar of his dress shirt, playing carefully with the top button.

Eventually, their lips broke apart as they caught their breath. Bodies still pressed together, Charles leant forward to rest his forehead onto hers, her eyes still close, for a moment before pressing a kiss to it. He placed his chin on top of her head and rested there, her head resting against the crook of his neck as she felt him - anticipating what it would feel like to feel nothing but him. 

[i-am-distressed]

The one that (almost) got away

Character: Noritoshi Kamo x reader

Warnings: MILDLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES, not really cause I don’t write NSFW, but I did put a lil spice for tension and plot reasons, it’s really more just mentions of making out, fighting/sparring, mentions of injuries, exes to enemies to lovers, both parties being mean, Exchange Event Arc spoilers!!, I wrote this on a whim and very early in the morning, LONG

“Hey, L/n, you’re participating this year too? I thought the 3rd years were suspended?” You sighed as Maki’s face held her questioning gaze. “Well, since they did whatever it is that got them suspended while I was elsewhere on a mission, I got left out of the punishment. I’m here for the exchange event if you’ll have me.” The second years nodded, Maki and Panda giving you high fives while Inumaki gave you a thumbs up and a ‘salmon!’ Fushiguro giving you a little bow that you returned.

You, Y/n L/n, are a 3rd year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High, you’re also a semi-first grade sorcerer. You yourself didn’t come from an impressive lineage, but your cursed technique was nothing short of useful, and you had become a master at using it.

You briefed Fushiguro on your technique and you all decided which group you would be fighting in (it was decided you’d join Fushiguro and Maki) while you waited for the other school to show up. Not long after you came, Nobara arrived, and as she had her scuffle with Panda, Mai’s voice cut through the air. “You guys actually came to greet us? How lame.” You turned to see the rest of the Kyoto Jujutsu High second and third years walked up the stone staircase, naturally filing into a sort of line that stood parallel to your own group, you finding yourself towards the back.

“Hello, Y/n. It’s been awhile.” You felt your face heat up at his voice, you sucking in a quick breath before plastering a fake smile on your face, “Hello, Noritoshi.” Maki’s eyebrow raised as she looked between you and the Kyoto 3rd year, and it didn’t take a genius to see that there was an obvious tension between the two of you, she just had no clue what. “Do you two know each other?” Your gaze never left Noritoshi’s, his dark gray gaze never leaving yours as you found yourselves in the middle of an intense stare down. “We’re acquainted.” You watched as Noritoshi huffed, to most it would’ve been a trivial gesture, a simple sign of irritation. But you knew much better than that, you knew him much better than that. “Quite well, isn’t that right, Y/n?” You narrowed your eyes at the tone he used, he was testing you, you knew that, and you knew exactly what he was referring to.

Before you could respond, Gojo came barreling in, with a...box? He stopped between the two groups of students. Seeing as how you were ignoring the young clan head and he kept stealing glances at you, Gojo knew you two had interacted, and by the puzzled look he saw on Maki’s face, he figured it had gone poorly. ‘Poor kids...these stupid higher ups just don’t know when to quit..c’mon guys, I know you’re both smarter than this..’ Frowning for a moment Gojo shook it off, as a teacher and a passionate one at that, seeing his student (and someone he’s known for a fair amount of years) obviously suffering really rubbed him the wrong way but...there was nothing he could do. They’d have to fix it themselves.

After the...surprise of Yuji Itadori A.K.A Sukuna’s Vessel being alive was revealed, Y/n took a glance over to Noritoshi, seeing the obvious surprise on his face, she knew he was with the higher ups on this one, that Itadori shouldn’t be alive, that he shouldn’t count as a real person. It stung how much he had changed in a short period of time, and it stung even more knowing he was far too stubborn to listen to anything you had to say. Which, now that you think of it, isn’t all that different from you declining his calls..

You groaned as you splashed the cold water on your face. Shortly after the reveal of Itadori, the two schools had a good 3 hours of free time before the event, some students used it to train, others to socialize. You had already determined your role with the others, so while they sorted things out with Itadori you took your leave to the bathrooms to have some peace and quiet, and to try and snap yourself out of the headspace seeing Noritoshi had put you in. Getting a bunch of paper towels you thoroughly dried your face off, taking a deep breath before walking out of the bathroom and into the hall, but the minute you exited the bathroom you were met with none other than the man of the hour himself, Noritoshi Kamo.

You attempted to walk past him, go back to the room where your classmates were and avoid a confrontation all together. But before you could get far, Noritoshi had grasped hold of your forearm, forcing you to turn to face him before he (albeit reluctantly) let your arm go as his own returned to his side. “We should talk, we haven’t spoken since the fight and it’s clearly not doing either of us any good.” You crossed your arms over your chest, more out of unease rather than out of sassiness. “Is there anything to talk about? I thought we made it clear how we both felt the last time we talked.” Noritoshi frowned, leaning against the opposite wall as his arms mirrored yours as they crossed over his chest.

It was silent between you two, neither one knowing exactly what to say, it was funny really. You both have spent the last 3 months wanting nothing more than to talk things through, but now that the opportunity is here neither one of you have the courage to say the thoughts that have been plaguing both of your minds. “I just- I don’t know what you want me to say...you know how I feel about..everything..you know why I feel that way. And there’s nothing we can do about it anyways.” Noritoshi wanted to correct you, tell you that you were wrong, that there was something you both could do to get around the pressure of the higher ups, but there really wasn’t.

Well, there was, but that was out of the question. He couldn’t just up and tell his family they were wrong and he disagreed with them, not now anyway. 3 months ago, Y/n and Noritoshi’s relationship was very different. At the beginning of their second years, they had both been placed for promotion to semi-first grade, and to solidify their ranks they would be ‘interning’ with a grade 1. Usually they would do their ‘internships’ separately, since they were a fair amount of distance apart, but when the summer came both of them were sent to a sort of summer training camp to train together under the same roof.

Despite being different in personality and different in background, the two got along really well, and somewhere between exorcising curses through the day and training together at night, the two found themselves growing feelings for the other. And after a specific practice when one of them let a confession slip from their lips, the two found themselves becoming the Romeo and Juliet of the Jujutsu world. They started dating, dating in secret because neither of their families would be thrilled about it. Even after summer ended and the two returned to their respective schools, they kept their relationship intact.

They’d make trips to meet half way between Kyoto and Tokyo, one would drop in on the other if their mission was nearby, and they kept in constant contact. And they had managed to keep it a secret, neither one telling anyone about it and keeping their affections private and out of the watching eyes of the higher ups and other sorcerers. All was going well, until a certain first year student by the name of ‘Yuji Itadori’ became Sukuna’s vessel, and you and Noritoshi found yourselves on very different sides of the argument.

“I just don’t see why you can’t understand this Y/n, he’s dangerous. Sukuna’s vessel needs to be taken care of, how can you not agree with this?!” Your hands came up to rub at your eyes, you sighing with frustration before returning your hands to your hips. You and your boyfriend, Noritoshi, had been arguing for almost half an hour. You had been in a meeting with your teachers, Gojo and Utahime, when Gojo brought up his new student Itadori, and the power and potential Itadori held. You, after hearing he could control Sukuna, was all for Itadori joining Jujutsu High. I mean, Gojo would be watching over him, and his situation really wasn’t all that different from Yuta’s. But Noritoshi didn’t agree, he saw it as the higher ups saw it, he saw it as his family wanted him to see it. That’s what started the argument.

“What is there to understand about wanting him dead! He’s 15!” You two stood across from each other, both of you were breathing heavily, and your emotions were running wild. You didn’t want to fight, you didn’t want to damage your relationship, but with how sure both of you were in your decisions on where you stood, it was clear you weren’t reaching a compromise, not this time. He was frustrated because you weren’t looking at it objectively, you were upset because he was acting like the higher ups. And neither of you was willing to back down from your convictions, both of you being just a little too stubborn to put this disagreement to rest and move on.

“Then what does that mean for us? It’s clear we’re not reaching any sort of agreement, why can’t you just accept this when you clearly don’t know what’s best.” You shook your head in disbelief, a bitter chuckle cutting through as a few tears had begun to fall. “Good question Noritoshi, Are you going to ask your family what to decide on this one too?” Too far, you knew you had crossed a line, you knew his family was a touchy subject, but rationality had been thrown out awhile ago. His lips pursed in a straight line, his steel eyes narrowed and his gaze became cold, “I don’t have to confide in them, I think we both know what’s best for both of us.” It went silent, you were crying and he was seething, there was no rational thinking, you both were acting out of emotion and quite frankly not like yourselves. You shakily sighed, wiping the tears that had fallen while you shook your head, “...fine...goodbye Noritoshi..we should’ve known it wouldn’t work.” With that, you turned around and left, both of you wishing you had stayed and fixed it.

In the end, a petty argument was what ultimately drove the two of you apart. A stupid argument neither one of you were personally involved in, but the politics and ideals behind it were what drove you both to your wits end. You weren’t even mad at Noritoshi, you were more upset that you both let some stupid conflict be the reason you two broke up! I mean, words were said on both sides, but you were both rational people, you knew neither one of you meant it. And you both really just missed each other on top of all of that.

But like I said, it was a messy situation, and in order to make any progress, you’d both have to let go of your pride first and foremost. And as of right now, neither one of you really wanted to do that. Your stare down was interrupted by the sounds of Miwa and Mechamaru walking down the hallway, you both looking away from each other when the two second years rounded the corner. “Oh, L/n, Kamo! I was looking for you both, but if we’re interrupting, we can always come back later…” As they spoke, you both watched as a few more of the first and second years rounded the corner. “It’s fine,” Noritoshi briefly looked at you as he spoke, a silent ‘we’ll finish this later’ to which you covertly rolled your eyes before turning to your underclassmen with a smile. “We were finished talking anyways, what do you need?”

Miwa looked to you both, “Me and a few others wanted to get stronger with weapons we don’t usually use, me and Kugisaki wanted to try a bo staff so we asked Mai’s older sister but she said to ask you two, since you trained a lot together using them.” Your eyes widened as you stole a brief glance at Noritoshi before returning your gaze to the younger students. “So, if you don’t mind, could we observe a sparring session? Maybe get some pointers on how we can improve?”

“I don’t see why not, that is unless Kamo has a problem with it?” His eyebrow twitched at how you said his name, becoming that more irritated since he knew you knew it ticked him off. Nonetheless, he never was one to turn down a challenge, and especially not when you were the one really putting it up to him. “Don’t complain too much when you lose, L/n.”

And that’s how you found yourself in a man made ring in one of the training rooms, most of the underclassmen sitting on the sidelines as the two of you got into your stances, both of you trying not to acknowledge just how nice and nostalgic it felt to be in that position again. Panda acted as ref, reminding you and Noritoshi of the ‘rules’ before stepping back and yelling ‘start!’ Noritoshi attacked first, you blocking him and ducking to move to the side. You charged him next, him barely getting out of the way in time before spinning around and hitting you right on your backside, smirking when he saw how your jaw dropped before you spun around and caught him in his side.

“That’s pretty unbefitting behavior for the future Kamo Clan head, don’t you think?” He scoffed, and at this point the tension between you two had gotten so obvious even the most clueless were starting to get an inkling as to how exactly you two had known each other beforehand, and why you weren’t friendly to each other. “Ghosting me and blocking my number wasn’t exactly proper either.” You jumped just in time to avoid him sweeping your legs out from under you, but you weren’t expecting him to then use his staff to knock yours out of your hands. Not one to give up, you kept sparring without the staff, both of you slowly becoming oblivious to the watching eyes that were still very much engaged watching this all go down.

You narrowed your eyes at his last comment, and you used your legs to first kick his staff out of the way, and second to sweep his legs out from under him and straddle his middle. You both sat there, breathing heavily as you looked at each other intensely. In a low voice, not quite a whisper, but not too loud either, Noritoshi spoke. “Well this is new, I recall the last time we were in this position, our roles were reversed. Can’t say i’m complaining.” You felt your eyes widen as your cheeks heated, leaving you vulnerable to him flipping you over and aiming the staff at your neck.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “I specifically remember you telling me off for using underhanded tactics, a little hypocritical don’t you think?” Noritoshi feined a look of innocence, setting the staff to the side as he stood, “I don’t know what you could be referring to, I was talking about our sparring sessions, don’t tell me you were thinking of something else?” You hated how fast your heart started beating, you trying to hide how flustered you were by standing up only to freeze when you remembered why you two were sparring in the first place..and that your underclassmen had just saw and heard that all happen.

“Okay~ well as much as I love a good old enemies to lovers, we’ve got about 30 minutes until the event so both schools need to split up and talk tactics!” You and Noritoshi both tensed up at the voice of Gojo standing in the doorway, Panda and Mai both respectfully snickering at the two of you as you both went your separate ways.

It was time for the event, both sides had taken the time to strategize and figure out how they would work together to win. You would be going with Maki and Megumi when the group split, which was fine with you. You may have been a semi-first grade, but you weren’t keen on fighting Todo one-on-one. After Gojo had embarrassed poor Utahime, the buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the event.

When the group was interrupted by the arrival of Todo, you ran off with Maki and Megumi as planned. You jumped backwards when Miwa took on Maki, eyes widening when you saw Megumi get stopped by Noritoshi. “I’ll be fine, you go help Megumi.” You nodded as you ran ahead, only to be stopped by a grade 2 cursed spirit. It wasn’t super powerful, but it most certainly wasn’t weak either. You took a glance ahead of you to see Megumi and Noritoshi fighting, you grimaced, knowing his intentions behind going after Megumi were no doubt clan-influenced. Shaking your head free of distractions, you focused your efforts on taking down this pesky cursed spirit.

Unsurprisingly, your weapon of choice was a bo staff, you had found yourself falling in love with it (amongst other things) during the summer you and Noritoshi had spent together. Using a mix of strength and cursed energy you knocked the cursed spirit a fair amount of distance away from you, using the time the spirit took to charge you to cover your staff in cursed energy. And with one final swing you had successfully exorcised the curse. Unfortunately, the four that were fighting had all gone off to fight other places. Bringing your staff to your shoulder you continued to walk through the woods, searching for cursed spirits as well as your fellow classmates. You hadn’t gotten too far when you noticed the sky had started to get darker, your eyes narrowed as you looked up, watching as what you guessed was a veil slowly started to cover the sky. You continued walking, feeling a sick feeling in your stomach start to form which was only amplified by the yellow hue that coated your surroundings.

You continued walking along what seemed to be a path when ‘isn’t that Miwa…?’ you picked up your pace, and after finding out that, she’s just sleeping, you picked her up and carried her on your back, keeping on your so called path while you continued your search for others. Not long after that you ran into Mai and Nobara, who were unfortunately as clueless as you were. Continuing on you all managed to stumble upon Utahime, who was about to face off with some...guy? Thankfully the veil dropped, and the 5 of you were able to get back with the others.

You were now walking down to the infirmary with a still unconscious Miwa sleeping while you piggybacked her to Shoko. “Hey, have room for one more? We’re pretty sure she’s just sleeping but, Utahime wanted to be sure.” Shoko sighed as she nodded, leading you to the room where the medical beds were. “You can set her down on one of these.” You nodded and carefully setting her down and getting her situated. After Shoko did a quick check and yes, she was just sleeping, you walked back out to the main part. “Uhm, who else got hurt?” Shoko looked to you, “Well, Fushiguro got hit with some kind of bud but I was able to remove it, Maki got impaled in her shoulder but it didn’t do any lasting damage, Inumaki went over his limit, and Kamo hit his head really hard, there was some minor fracturing but he should be okay.” You already felt nauseous hearing about your classmates and friends, but hearing about the man you were still very much in love with included in that group made it all so much worse.

You gulped, hands shaking as you took in a shaky breath. “Is- is he- are they okay?” She gave you a sad smile, nodding as she picked up her clip board. “They’ll be okay, he’ll be okay. If you want I can tell you when he wakes up?” You nodded, showing your nervousness with how quickly you responded. “Y-yes please.”

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in one of the chairs waiting outside the room Noritoshi had been put in after his surgery, heart racing as your mind went through the ‘what ifs’ and ‘why didn’t you’s’. Dread consumed you as you thought of the worst case scenarios. Realistically you knew he wasn’t going to die, he had a minor concussion and a few broken bones, but he was going to make a full recovery. But it was the unrealistic part of you that was in control right now. The part of you who was berating yourself for never picking up his calls, the part of you who was yelling at yourself for ever walking away from him, the part of yourself that hated how things ended between you and Noritoshi. The part of yourself that knew just how in love with him you still were.

“Y/n? He’s awake. You can go in now.” You sniffed, wiping the tears that had fallen before standing up, thanking Shoko as you entered the dimly lit room. You crossed your arms over your chest as your heart raced and you felt your breathing get labored. You had spent the past 4 hours wanting nothing more than to see him, but now that you were walking towards him, your legs itched to turn around and run back to your room. But thankfully for both of you, that unrealistic part of you was still very much in control. You walked further into the room when you saw Noritoshi, sitting up in his bed, with bandages wrapped almost all of the way around his head, one of his eyes completely covered while his own remained closed. You sucked in a quick breath, but continued to walk closer to him.

“How are you feeling?” Noritoshi looked towards you, a tired smile appearing on his face as he watched you come beside his bed and sit down in one of the chairs. “All things considered, not too bad. Apparently my injuries were minor compared to Fushiguro and Maki.” You hummed, “I don’t see any of their heads wrapped in bandages Noritoshi. You always have to be an overachiever, huh?” He chuckled at that, shaking his head as you smiled, desperately trying to blink away tears before they could fall. “...” it was quiet, for maybe only 30 seconds but it felt like eternity.

You took a look at him, and even though he was here, he was fine, he was okay, the only thoughts that were getting through were ‘if you had lost him, what would you have done?’. Noritoshi’s eyes widened as he watched the tears fall down your face, your body fighting sobs as your elbows rested on your knees and your hands clutched at your eyes, water flowing down your cheeks and arms. “Y/n? Y/n it’s alright, i’m oka-” “It’s not! This- this isn’t about that it’s just- I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had...you had- I can’t lose you Noritoshi!” He shut his mouth as you continued to cry, his stomach churning at the sight of your tear soaked face as you tried to stop them from coming.

You sat up, looking up to the ceiling as you tried to regain your composure. “I just- there’s still so much I need to say to you- a-and too much...too much I have to fix,” “Y/n,” “A-and what if you were gone? A-and I couldn’t say goodbye?I ignored you for months, I can never forgive m-myself for tha-at,” “Y/n,” “I would’ve hated myself, cause I never got to tell you I still love you and I don’t hate you and-” “Y/n” You looked down to see Noritoshi leaning to the side of his bed, watching as his hands guided your face towards his, you still very much delirious as he gave you a half-smile, thumbs wiping the tears from your face as your sobs died down.

“Y-yes?” You choked out, he leaned in, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he whispered, close enough that you could feel his breath fanning your lips, “Stop talking.” You nodded, taking a deep breath as your hands came up to hold his, his forehead now resting against yours as your cries effectively died down. “I was never going to leave you, and certainly not without making sure you didn’t believe any of that. We both made mistakes and did things we regret. We let a silly argument get between us, and I didn’t let myself see it from your perspective. I’m sorry.” You shook your head, “I should be the one who’s sorry, I walked away and avoided you because I was too scared to fix things...i’m sorry Noritoshi.”

He smiled, “We’re both sorry, but I think it’s time we fix this too...I’ve hated not having you with me these past few months.” You laughed as you nodded, “Yeah, me too...but you’re going to have to put your number in my phone, I deleted your contact…” He pulled away, eyebrows furrowed, “You deleted my contact?! I can accept you blocking me but deleting my number?!” You laughed, “I wasn’t thinking straight! I was mad and I didn’t handle it well...but don’t act like you’re innocent after humiliating me this afternoon...all those inappropriate things and in front of our underclassmen...you should be ashamed.”

He smirked as he shook his head, “Absolutely not, I was simply telling the truth, you’re the one who made it promiscuous.” You rolled your eyes, and for the first time in awhile it wasn’t condescending, but rather endearing. “Whatever, I know what you meant.” He smiled, his smile coy and sly, a perfect display of the mischievous part of Noritoshi not many people got to see. “Y’know...it really hurt having you ignore me like that for months...and now that I know you deleted my contact and avoided me, i’m rather hurt by your actions…” You narrowed your eyes as you could hear the teasing tone he held in his voice.

“...What are you up to Kamo?” He shook his head, leaning back in closer to you, his closeness causing your neck and face to heat up as your heart beat started to pick up its pace. His lips grazed your own before they slid to your cheek, all the while his hand dropped to your side where you had haphazardly left your phone when you sat down. “Getting my number back in your phone.” Your eyes widened as your face got impossibly hotter, watching as he tried and failed to suppress his smirk as he did what he ‘intended to’ and re-entered his contact. “There, all better.” He handed you your phone, you shaking your head as embarrassment started to set in.

“Well, now that you’re obviously feeling better, I’m going to go check on the others.” You didn’t get far before his hand had caught your wrist, and instead of letting go, he pulled you towards him, lips crashing on yours as his other hand steadied your waist. One of your hands wrapped around his neck while your knee propped itself up on his bed, his hand that was on your wrist now sat securely on your hip. He kissed you with what seemed to be the most love-filled and intense kiss the two of you had ever shared, and there had been quite a few kisses shared between the two of you. You moved to sit more on the bed as he pulled you closer, your kisses becoming more intense as the moments passed, and your surroundings began to blur.

“Well this is interesting.” You gasped as your head whipped around, finding not only Gojo, but half of the Kyoto school, Panda, Maki, and all 3 of the 1st years standing crowded in the door way watching with round shocked eyes at seeing two of the most respected and potential filled students making out like their lives depended on it. You felt your face get hot with more embarrassment when you heard Maki yell “ahA! I told you! Fork over the 20 Megumi!” You gave Noritoshi one last smile as you stepped down from his bed, bowing to everyone as you walked out and to your room. “I’ll see you all later, bye everyone, bye Noritoshi.” Before you made your way to your room to scream into your pillow, your steps increased as you heard the parade of ‘nice one y/n!’ and ‘lock the door next time!’.

You got to your room and fell face-first onto your bed. To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Eventually you got up and did your nightly routine, changing into some comfortable pj’s before getting under the covers of your bed and setting your phone to charge. Just as you set your phone down, it dinged with a notification. Furrowing your eyebrows you picked you phone up to see it was a text, picking it up you read it. ‘Sorry for the interruption, but don’t worry, apparently we get the day off tomorrow so we can talk things out then ;)’ you laughed at Noritoshi’s use of an emoji, remembering that it was you who had taught him to use them in the first place.

You wrote out and sent your response, smiling uncontrollably at the ‘goodnight❤’ he sent before returning it and going to set your phone down. You paused when you noticed he had also put his ‘name’ into your phone. ‘Boyfriend’. You turned your phone off and screamed into your pillow, knowing it would be awhile before you could sleep with your head and heart filled to the brim with the one that (almost) got away.

[strawberryjamsara]

Keiji and Sara’s relationship throughout yttd

In which I analyze the found family dynamic between Sara and Keiji then nobody reads it. But jokes aside, I realized back when that anon asked me for my thoughts on Sara that I had enough thoughts on the relationship between these two alone for its own meta so here goes. What Sara and Keiji’s relationship means in the grand scheme of yttd.

ALSO THIS IS NOT SHIPPING SHIPPERS GET THE FUCK AWAY

Sara when she meets Keiji is distrustful of him. And how can she not be? The guy has some creepy bags under his eyes, doesn’t seem to care about the situation, and for no reason is gravitating towards her. And his response when she asks why the hell he keeps putting a random stranger in charge? “Because you’re cute.” Yeah. I’d stay within 50 feet of this guy too Sara. Especially when he’s not spilling a word about himself.

Alright we might as well get the gross part out of the way. To clear things up. In the Japanese version, the word he uses “Kawai” can be seen as a more fatherly word to use with a kid. But the comments about going on dates from himself and from Shin? Those are still there. And I still think they’re really uncomfortable and wish they weren’t in the game period but we can get thematic significance out of them.

We still don’t know Keijis reasons in game for being attached to Sara. My theory? She’s his handicap. He was told to get close to the higher scorer who could easily backstab him, and he’d be stuck with her. It just kinda makes sense to me. But since that’s just a theory I won’t lean to heavily on it for support. But let’s talk about his comments.

Keiji… well, it’s shown at many points in the game that Keiji just thinks of himself as doomed to be a bad person. It can be seen during his day two negotiations when he calls himself a killer and explains he can’t even trust himself so Sara shouldn’t really bother and more explicitly so is the classroom scene between him and Ranmaru where he says he isn’t fit to protect Sara because of his sins. The flirting is both a way to distract people, and to put distance between himself and Sara. He’s not really “protecting” her.

Okay gross bit nobody wants to talk about is over I promise we won’t talk about it again. Let’s talk about Russian Roulette. In this scene, Keiji once again tries to make Sara the leader with no explanation, but then, Sara yells at him, something he didn’t expect. And through this he actually reveals something huge. The source of his trauma. His shooting. For Keiji to have actually revealed something that big, I think that this is the first moment he began to see Sara past whatever reason he first started making her a leader. This is the beginning of their bond.

This bond gets solidified over chapter 1-2s investigation. Keiji is still putting her in charge because his handicap said to build her up for whatever reason, but they’re able to have chats, and she keeps picking at his armor. He reveals his dark sense of humor to her, and she, suspicious just sort of keeps him at arms length. Also she rides his shoulders to screw in a light and he complains which is funny. The scene post Nao also helps the two of them sharpen investigative skills together, as they discuss the mystery of Miley, and Mishimas head.

Then another significant scene. The white room. I call this scene significant because, instead of letting Sara investigate the gruesome scene of the first trial, Keiji for the first time, allows Sara to walk out. Something that will become relevant later but until then, Keiji has begun to put Sara’s well-being above serving whatever purpose he had by building her up. So keep that in your pocket while we go over the main game.

There’s only two points for the main game I want to cover. While Keiji and Sara do put their heads together a few times, Sara still doesn’t fully trust him, so I will only go over 1. When Shin brings up Kai’s emails. Keiji has been fully logical this whole time, questioning everyone’s alibis including Nao’s who he saw the emotional plea from, but when Sou brings up potentially damning evidence of Sara, he just asks if he read the emails wrong. 2. When Sara is panicking over being chosen for the final round, Keiji loudly shouts “GET A GRIP SARA!” With a serious expression. Before quickly backtracking and going back to a devil may care expression. This shows he is both already emotionally attached to Sara, but unwilling to stake himself towards giving himself to a new cause.

Anyways, he stops her from pressing the button blah blah blah, onto chapter 2! I’ve made a post about this before but it seems as early as here, Keiji is trying to talk Sara down from pushing herself further. But at this point, Sara has already dedicated herself to the role because her best friend died due to her priority to protect everyone. Keiji sees the problem and he tries to get her to rest up, but he still doesn’t spend the time to have a serious talk about it because as he says in the classroom. He isn’t fit to protect her. He doesn’t think of himself as a good person who can help her. He thinks of himself as a murderer and he doesn’t allow himself to recover from the trauma.

Sara however is starting to rely more on Keiji. He’s been willing to comfort her in her times of grief and furthermore, she has something to relate to him on. They both have deaths of important people in their lives they feel responsibility for.

There’s also the fact that Keiji sees a lot of his old self in Sara. An idealistic person, being beaten down, and worrying over the idea they might be becoming a bad person. He feels the same as her.

Not to mention… Keiji follows through on his promises. He actually tells Sara about the person he respected like he said he would which establishes a further sense of trust.

However, something that tears that sense of trust apart is the tokens scene. When Keiji doesn’t even let Sara hold 50 tokens, it raises suspicion. Sara already knows he shot a person- what more could he have to hide? That scares her away. The negotiation event is an attempt for Keiji to win back her trust. But it slowly turns into Keiji’s self-loathing session. And his declaration maybe Sara shouldn’t trust him.

However, time passes enough (and Keiji supports Sara enough in the final attraction) for them to get together and investigate in 2-2. And there’s a lot of moments I can talk about there so I’ll be just doing a few rapidfire things. So first, Sara is in peak weird girl mode and Keiji can hardly control her chaos. Second, Keiji makes a full on decision at one point to go against Sara when she’s putting herself in danger of getting caught for their search so they can hide. Third, his response to “I don’t intend to die” when he asks “will you die with me” is that’s a good answer.

And fourth… a moment I really wanna touch on… Keiji watches something that could easily incriminate Sara. It’s not just some word of mouth thing like with Shin who lied about things several times before this point. But in that moment, he still relies on Sara and says he wouldn’t feel bad betting his life on her. The message is clear. Keiji supports Sara unconditionally.

Now let’s talk about Keiji totally dropping Sara’s ass with the card trades.

The way Keiji makes his trades is very telling. He first, steals a keymaster card from either Sou or Kanna to give to Sara. This is supporting Sara, but it’s doing it in a way that supports his view of himself. That he’s a scumbag who would steal someone’s immunity just to give it to someone he likes more. And would a shithead like that be “worthy” of sacrificing themselves and taking the card for Sara? (And he knew she had it. Qtaro had to tell him for their plan to happen) no. Instead he essentially opts for a revenge plot. A plan to ensnare Shin and kill him for pawning off the sacrifice to Sara. Basically, he wanted to fuck up Shin like how he fucked up Megumi. Nice going Keiji. This is… kind of his low point in the story.

But 3-1….. man this chapter hits in all the right ways. I don’t remember 3A that much, (although I do know that Keiji shows a lot of concern over Sara potentially being triggered by Joe memorabilia) and also if you fail the Keiji Midori fight you can have Sara attempt to tag Keiji and he rejects. And how can we forget… the mr policeman flashback. As Sara says, this is Keiji’s first time opening up on his own.

And then… coffin saga. Sara through everything is not willing to let Keiji die. Although she’s had her ups and downs with him, leaving him to die is inconceivable to her with everything they’ve been through together. So she opts to sign the contract both times she is offered it.

Keiji clearly is somebody important to Sara. Important enough that Ranmaru bringing him up is enough to snap her out of her murderous trance. Enough that she throws logic out the window when she has a sign he’s okay.

Likewise, the scene in the classroom for Keiji is… a huge step. When he’s alone with Ranmaru, who is unstable, in that classroom, his priority is Sara. He turns his back to the threat to hold Sara and try and make sure she’s okay- dumb move, but it shows how far he’s come.

And again, I want to reiterate- Keiji is Sara’s anchor. At the banquet when Sara is about to give up, she imagines Keiji talking to her which brings her back in the game. Much like Joe did back in chapter 2. The message is palpable. Keiji is Sara’s new Joe. And when Keiji comes back to comfort her? He’s now fully willing to sacrifice himself. It winds up not being needed seeing as Qtaro is the one that died. But in that moment, we see Keiji has made a huge leap from chapter 2. He almost sacrificed himself for Gin. And he would’ve used his final moments to comfort Sara. He’s embraced that he’s a father figure. He allows himself to be a good person.

Anyways I don’t know how to conclude this and I’ve been writing for hours. Bababooey.

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

[alicemitch09writes]

first love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: You never forget your first love.

author’s notes: This is what prompted the many angst fics to come in my repertoire. I’ll just to slowly transfer some of my one-shots that are reader inserts here on tumblr.

twenty one pilot’s cover of ‘can’t help falling in love’ really helped me in the writing of this fic. It’s a favorite of mine I keep going back to when writing fics. Reader is a musician, who plays the ukulele and violin and at the time when I wrote this (back in 2017), I was learning to play the uke, mostly for fun.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

Wise men say, only fools rush in

But I can't help, falling in love with you

 They moved to Tokyo when she was 8.

And at a young age, she was pretty much a timid and shy girl, always hiding behind her parents whenever in the presence of new people, especially when she was being introduced. She wasn't very good with socializing, always wary and scared that she'd make a horrible impression.  And of people, in general. People were generally scary, especially those she was unfamiliar with. She found solace in music, due to her father's influence, who was a music instructor at a university. "When words fail, music speaks." He'd tell her as they played 'Heart and Soul' together on the piano, her mother taking a video of them from the side. And a little while later, by some miracle, she made friends with the local kids – Tetsurou and Kenma. The two were an odd pair, given Tetsurou's loud and mischievous demeanor being a total contrast to Kenma's quiet and well-behaved and aloofness. Still, they were the best friends she could ever have.

 Years passed, and the three were inseparable.

Over time, the two proved to be more trouble than they were worth – Tetsurou, with his never-ending schemes and provocation abilities, and Kenma, with his indifference to the world so long as he was playing his games.

Nothing's changed much of her, other than her ability to keep the dynamic duo grounded. Also, she had her flair for music. Still, she was terribly shy. Though she has a voice, she chose to stick to the background, wanting to be out of the limelight.

Tetsurou would scold her, saying that it was a waste because she had a good singing voice. In which, would make her blush. Kenma would say the same thing even without looking up from his game console. But Tetsurou's words resounded, her heart beating like a drum.

    Shall I stay, would it be a sin?

If I can't help, falling in love with you

   It was the clichest thing to happen – she fell in love with her childhood friend.

She fell for Tetsurou.

For all his cockiness, his mischievousness, his peculiar affinity with cats (ironic that they attended Nekoma), and his atrocious bed hair – she loved it all.

Of course, she'd never tell him.

She doesn't have the heart to.

Neither will she tell Kenma, being the perceptive boy he was.

Plus, she'd have to go against a throng of his admirers (who made up of about half of the female population, by the way). There was no way she had a chance. And besides, who was she to him but his ever dependable, timid and adorable best friend?

When he bought her a ukulele on her 16th birthday – he knew she had wanted to try to play it for the longest time, she knew that it was simply out of friendship.

For a while, she became the volleyball team's manager. And for a while, she was able to play it cool with her feelings. This was okay, she thought, its better like this.

"This is my best friend, (Last Name) (Name)." he says, wrapping his arms around her neck as he hugged her from behind, introducing her to two players from Fukurodani.

The shorter of the two – Akaashi Keiji, smiles. "Nice to meet you, (Last name)-san."

"Oh! She's so cute!" says the loud boy – Bokuto Koutarou. "Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?"

Tetsurou laughed, chin digging into her head. "I've known her forever, that'll be weird."

"Kuroo, you're hugging her too tight." Kenma says with a frown.

Best friend.

That's all she'll ever be to him.

    Like a river flows, surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes, this love was meant to be

   It was rare to find Tetsurou at his lowest since he was usually contented with whatever happened. But they lost, unable to secure a spot at nationals.

So when she found him all by himself at the gym, she knew he needed to be cheered up.

Taking her ukulele from her bag, she started playing. Tetsurou looked up just as she started singing. "You with the sad eyes don't be discouraged, oh I realize" she kneeled in front of him, watching him with careful eyes. "It's hard to take courage, in a world full of people; you can lose sight of it all, the darkness inside you, can make you feel so small."

She continued singing to him, feeling her heart beat faster with every line. It was so hard seeing this down, it was so unlike him. He rested his head on his folded arms, eyes closed as she sang. He always loved hearing her sing.

"And I see your true colors shining through," she wished her words reached him. "I see your true colors, and that's why I love you."

For a moment, she choked up. Not intending to say those words out loud, but they were part of the song, and the way she sang it with so much emotion that the look Tetsurou was giving her made her nervous. His golden eyes stared deep into her (eye color) – filled with so much emotion, but she focused on confusion, probably at why she had stopped.

Regaining her composure, she continued. "So don't be afraid to let them show, your true colors are beautiful like a rainbow."

Tetsurou cracked a smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair playfully. "When did you get so cheesy?"

"And when did you become this uncool?" she teased back, slapping his hand away. "Are you feeling better now?"

Sighing, he leaned his back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "A little, but thanks for coming after me."

"It's not the end of the world," she tells him kindly. "and after all, there's next year. Right, captain?"

The look on his face was priceless – clearly not expecting that. But their senpai had already decided, Kai and Morisuke were on it too, as was Coach Nekomata – before it broke into a grin.

His grin was the biggest she's ever seen.

     Take my hand; take my whole life, too

'Cause I can't help, falling in love with you

  Tetsurou got mad at her, saying painful words to her face.

Furiously, he turned to face her. She took a step back in surprise, clutching her ukulele to her chest. Then her instrument slipped from her hand, landing on the ground with a loud crack. The words coming out from his mouth were hard to bear, and she could just stand there taking it all in.

He didn't mean it really, but the stress and frustrations were just getting to him. She knew that.

"You know nothing. I never want to see your face again." He seethed.

When all was said and done, he up and left.

It felt as though the life was sucked out of her. She couldn't feel anything, she felt too numb to move. It only came as a surprise that she was still there when she found herself sitting on the ground, rocks digging into her skin.

Picking up her ukulele from the ground, she was surprised to find that it was still in one piece. Except for the scratches on the surface, and crack on the rim of the saddle boards. Funny, they seemed like an allegory.

Despite it all, the pain in her heart and Tetsurou's harsh treatment towards her, she found herself smiling. Hot tears streamed down her face, teeth digging unto her lower lip as if to keep her sobs in.

But the pain of it all was too much, she was only human.

Hugging her instrument to her chest, she allowed herself to cry, sobbing loudly, body shaking violently as her heart broke into smithereens.

    She heard that they had made it to the semi-finals, being one of the top four schools, which shouldn't be a surprise. Actually, it was secondhand information from Kenma. Right after what happened with Tetsurou, she decided to cut ties with anything associated with him, which was basically everything – the volleyball club, Kenma.

It was something she had to – no, something she wanted to do.

No matter how much it killed her.

           "Hey, let's make a little bet. If I win, you go out on a date with me."

"And if I win?"

"You won't ever see me again."

          Gentle strums silenced out the lull machines, the dripping of liquids. Faint scents of flowers and fruits hid the overly sanitized room, with walls too white and dull.

"But I can't help," her voice was quiet, low, eyes transfixed to her fingers on each string on her ukulele. "falling in love," a lone tear slips down her face, though a smile graced her lips. "with you."

In front of her, the television displayed the live coverage of the nationals - Nekoma won against Fukorodani, and then lost to Karasuno.

She smiled, hugging her ukulele as tears slipped freely.

The memory of the bet they made when they were younger came to mind, making her smile. That was such a long time ago, Tetsurou probably forgot all about that just as he forgot all about her.

"Don't worry, you won."

Now you won't ever see me again.

          He was surprised when they came back to school, she wasn't there. She was the first person he looked for since she was absent during the whole finals match. But she wasn't anywhere to be found – not in the library, the music room, the club room.

He had a promise to keep, and an apology to make up.

So it came as a surprise to him when his classmates' expressions turned grim at the mention of her name. Some had begun to cry, some looked away, nothing was making sense.

But one word was clear to him – cancer.

He turned to his best friend, who met his gaze. For the first time in his life, he saw anger in those usually stoic eyes. He knew then that he knew, he always knew. There was also pain, pain for his best friend's condition. And for (Name)'s sake, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Without a word, he ran, as fast as he can, ignoring the calls from his classmates, teachers, teammates. He had to get to her. He had to apologize; he didn't mean what he said. He wanted to see her, hold her, tell her he was stupid and an idiot-

           But he was already too late.

[m-y-fandoms]

1 Thing I Love & 1 Thing I Hate About EVERY Danganronpa Character Part 1

Part 2

SPOILERS FOR ALL THREE MAIN GAMES

I’d love to hear our opinions as well in the comments or my inbox or DM’s! If you try this trend with DR characters, tag me!

Sayaka Maizono

♡ Her passion for her career and friends.

✘ The way she tries to screw over Makoto when the game had just begun. Like wait and see what happens before screwing over such a great guy? Leon didn’t deserve it either.

Leon Kuwata

♡ His voice actor (English), and how real and human his execution was in that we all would be so scared and irrational. It was just so iconic and sad as it’s our first introduction to the death in this series and we all think: “shit, this is real... they are really killing these kids.” I didn’t think it would be that brutal, just seeing his body limp at the end with the haunting music.

✘ His design is disgusting. I hate how he looks.

Chihiro Fujisaki

♡ So innocent, so kind, so intelligent

✘ Shouldn’t have been killed for such a stupid reason, also they did Mondo dirty with that motive for killing as well. Just a mess. As for the actual character, Chihiro cries right off the bat when you do your introductions and that was kind of annoying to me personally.

Mondo Oowada

♡ He has a lot of respect, understanding and emotions for someone I thought would be a hard-ass douche biker.

✘ The worst motive to kill ever in a game where you know you’re getting executed if you’re found out. Like you’d be extra careful and that’s his reason to kill? Lazy writing.

Celestia Ludenberg

♡ Bad bitch energy and her goth lolita design.

✘ Manipulation and double murder. Bad bitch energy only goes so far. Confidence is different then selfishness. Also, of all the chapter 3 triple murders... the worst motive to kill.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

♡ Emotions: secure in his masculinity, able to cry, show emotions, and apologize when he’s wrong. He’s funny and likable.

✘ The Ishimondo white hair thing was stupid. Taka was fine on his own.

Hifumi Yamada

♡ Writing takes talent, fan fiction as much as any other style or genre. Also the talent of his voice actor (who also voices Kiibo/K1-B0).

✘ Literally everything else about him.

Sakura Oogami

♡ I love everything about her. I love her wisdom, loyalty, design, voice etc. Just step on me, mother.

✘ Why the hell would she ever agree to be a spy even if it meant the end of her dojo? I just don’t think she would do that rationally because she isn’t selfish. The others would suffer for her spying. She remedies this with redemption in her letter in chapter 4 but still she should’ve said no off the bat. Everyone had something to lose. The dojo wasn’t worth spying for monokuma. Also I just don’t think she would commit suicide. She can’t help the remaining students survive and redeem herself truly if she’s dead.

Kyoko Kirigiri

♡ Bad bitch energy, calm and collected when I could never be.

✘ Especially in future arc of the anime, damn can you show some emotion please? Through your words and expressions not just your actions. Sure she was willing to “die” for Makoto but like I just want more emotion from her sometimes, even in THH.

Makoto Naegi

♡ So pure. I Love Bryce Papenbrook. Makoto reminds me of Sora and I love his design.

✘ In THH I didn’t mind his innocence but in the Danganronpa 3 future arc anime, when people started straight up abusing him and accusing him, he needed to grow a little backbone.

Byakuya Togami

♡ Love my dad, king shit, also love how over the progression of the games and animes he becomes a little more kind to his friends.

✘ Why the fuck did he mess with Chihiro’s body? Just so cruel and disrespectful.

Yasuhiro Hagakure

♡ Funny magic man. Sexy voice.

✘ Please. Please Hiro use your brain just once. Why do we have to prove Kyoko isn’t a ghost?!

Toko Fukawa

♡ Character development in UDG and I love Genocider.

✘ Putting down herself and others constantly gets old in THH.

Aoi Asahina

♡ Love her voice actress and her personality

✘ We really just gonna get everyone killed in chapter 4 huh? Surely you know they don’t all deserve that.

Junko Enoshima

♡ A very memorable villain with great hair and design.

✘ I just can’t stand her. I hate her so much.

Mukuro Ikusaba

♡ Her mercenary background is super cool as a concept.

✘ Too bad it wasn’t explored nearly enough.

Hajime Hinata

♡ Seeing the protagonist be a little less naive, innocent and positive than Makoto was a refreshing change, although I loved Makoto. I liked Hajime’s cynicism and expressions that sometimes just screamed “this shit again, huh?”

✘ I enjoy the way Izuru looks but I hate him as a character. He is sexy to look at but Hajime is just a better character overall

Teruteru Hanamura

♡ His love for his family and mother especially is so cute and heart breaking if you know the full story.

✘ He needs to know when to dial it back and quit with the perversions. And no it’s not just how he looks, Miu needs to chill at times, too.

Twogami

♡ I feel like he genuinely cares about his friends, just hides it well

✘ His death felt like a cop out and poorly written. It just didn’t sit right with me. Also his design is disgusting to me, his outfit and such.

Mahiru Koizumi

♡ Loyal to her close friends.

✘ I just have no interest in her as a character and I find her boring.

Peko Pekoyama

♡ Loyalty. Loyalty is something I value very highly in every form of relationship. Peko is also very hot.

✘ Come on girl... I know how you were raised but you should’ve known Fuyuhiko didn’t think of you as just a tool and you two should’ve expressed your true feelings long ago. Like even in secret. How do you live like this? Also I feel like killing Mahiru could’ve been avoided with a calm talk.

Ibuki Mioda

♡ Cute design, positive vibes.

✘ Cringe sometimes in the way she talks.

Hiyoko Saionji

♡ Beautiful character design and some very good insults and snarky remarks at times.

✘ Just irredeemably mean and annoying. Even when you do her free time events she is just so annoying.

Mikan Tsumiki

♡ I like her design as well as her hair, expressions, sprites and clothing.

✘ I hate her. I just hate her whether she’s in her true psycho form or timid stuttering form. She’s just annoying in my opinion.

Nekomaru Nidai

♡ So supportive, can hold my drink at a party. Respects everyone and wants the best for them.

✘ Bro Mechamaru was a stupid plot point. I just couldn’t stand looking at him and couldn’t take it seriously. Still sad when he died though.

Chiaki Nanami

♡ From chapter 5 of sdr2 on she is impossible not to love if you didn’t already. Just the selflessness, the sadness of the reveal and execution, how she returns to help Hajime at the end???? I love her. I love her hair design, color palette, her personality, everything.

✘ I’m bitter and miserable about her being the only class member to actually die (the despair arc anime) also her falling asleep at random times is kind of odd and she doesn’t seem to be like that later on in the game??? Like it seemed like a cheap joke but not actually who she is? Hard for me to explain.

Gundham Tanaka

♡ King shit, couldn’t praise him enough. He’s sexy, loves animals, and is funny as hell sometimes. His voice actor is a saint and a cool dude and I named my guinea pigs after the Dark Devas (yes I know they are hamsters in the games.)

✘ Come on dude. I get that being from Hell and magic and having evil powers is your shtick, but we all know that you and Nekomaru sacrificed yourselves so the others wouldn’t starve. We know you care about your classmates. There comes a time when it’s time to let personas and facades fade and be true to your heart. I just feel like him denying he cared at the end hurt. We all know he cared. I didn’t like how he was haughty until the end. He deserved better. I love him.

Nagito Komaeda

♡ I love him so much. So cunning and intelligent, always a step ahead. And he’s big sexy.

✘ Him killing himself in chapter 5 hurt me so bad I was like in denial for days. Also hate how Bryce Papenbrook gives him a raspy stoner psycho voice in the game then a light airy higher-pitched voice in the despair arc anime. It just bothers me. I love his voice still but the inconsistency just hurts my OCD

Sonia Nevermind

♡ I love that she’s so interested in her passions and love her feelings for Gundham

✘ Her outfit and bow are atrocious. Also why didn’t she start liking and talking to Gundham sooner on? Their romance bloomed late and it would’ve made for a better chapter 4 ending if they were a bit closer.

Kazuichi Souda

♡ Cool design and outfit, love his voice (also voices Kaito in V3) and his backstory is relatable at times. He’s also very human in that he’s scared a lot of the time or insecure or blames others in panicked situations. It’s not always a good thing but it’s human and realistic.

✘ Gosh he can be so annoying. Sometimes flirting or whining too much is well... too much.

Akane Owari

♡ Strong-willed and definitely someone I would be friends with

✘ What the hell is her outfit? Gymnasts and athletes don’t wear that shit. Stop objectifying her when it doesn’t even make the product or plot better. Like there’s absolutely no point to making her dress that way. I was a gymnast for 15 years. Even those who do parkour (which Akane seems to do more often than actual gymnastics in the anime and game) don’t wear what she wears. Also she’s underrated.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

♡ I love him. He’s the DR character I’m most like out of all the games and anime. Tenko is a close second. I think he’s adorable, love his character arc, development, redemption, and love his voice.

✘ In the anime/despair arc, Fuyuhiko is not done justice. He doesn’t get enough lines, has a different voice actor, just doesn’t give off the same vibes.

Izuru Kamakura

♡ Sexy man long hair good.

✘ Boring character. I wish he were just Hajime.

Kaede Akamatsu

♡ Loyalty and leadership are such attractive qualities in her. Also she faced her death with such class and dignity and I respect her because I could never.

✘ Some of the voice lines Erika does for her are just weird and cringe. Just random moans or grunts... I don’t know it’s like when Ann Takamaki from Persona 5 (also voiced by Erika) makes suggestive noises as well. Just grinds my gears. Also hate her outfit down to the hair pins.

Shuichi Saihara

♡ I love his nasally voice. I love his design and he’s so adorable. I love how emotional and compassionate he can be. He ties with Makoto for favorite protag of mine.

✘ That sprite where he sniffs his hand. And his ugly ass hat.

Rantarou Amami

♡ Sexy man, sexy voice, sexy piercings

✘ Ugly outfit, and wasted potential

Ryoma Hoshi

♡ I respect him and feel bad for his outlook on life and for how poorly he views himself. I love his little hat as well and he’s the first “different styled” character (Hifumi, Bandai, Teruteru) that I liked the design of.

✘ I hate when he says “got a long ways to go,” it’s overused and annoying, and wish he gave himself more credit. Also hate that when you first meet him he warns you that he’s killed people and is dangerous to be around. Come on buddy, you know you wouldn’t hurt your friends. Stop pushing them away.

Kirumi Tojo

♡ Competence, well rounded, skillful

✘ Boring as hell. I wouldn’t waste one free time event on her.

Angie Yonaga

♡ Dark skin, super cute, love her talent as an artist myself.

✘ Gives religious people a bad name and is super manipulative which I hate.

Tenko Chabashira

♡ I relate to her and feel bad when she’s misunderstood. She’s a good person deep down. Also love her sprites.

✘ There’s more cunning, funny and clever ways to write her digs at men.

Korekiyo Shunguuji

♡ I’m in love with this man. Long hair, voice, mystery, mask, intelligence, passion, talent.

✘ He definitely was a victim of abuse and a lot of people refuse to see that and just hate him. Team Danganronpa should’ve given him a redemption arc where he realized his sister abused him and changed.

Gonta Gokuhara

♡ I love his design except for his suit. Also he’s so cute and naive. I cried for his trail.

✘ No need talk like caveman. Better way to do this.

Kokichi Ouma

♡ Like Nagito, I value his intelligence and crazy cunning.

✘ Shouldn't have died. Also shouldn’t have manipulated Gonta. That was just cruel.

Miu Iruma

♡ She has her hilarious moments and her death surprised me and was sad.

✘ Sometimes she lacks basic empathy, i.e. calling Tenko “Tencrotch” when she just fucking died.

Maki Harukawa

♡ Amazing character development. Didn’t see her surviving until the end at the start. Also her love and passion for Kaito.

✘ “Do you wanna die?” gets old.

Kaito Momota

♡ Just the overall best bro you could ever have.

✘ Has some toxic masculinity issues and anger issues.

K1-B0

♡ Pretty much everything about him. His design, his attitude and personality, especially how amazing and cool he is chapter 5 onward, his execution made me so sad. He’s so innocent and funny without trying.

✘ When you do his free time events he’s very arrogant and just talks about himself a lot... it seems odd and not similar to the Kiibo we see throughout the game.

Himiko Yumeno

♡ Super cute design, love her voice and “Nyeh...” and her sprites. Her character development is great as well.

✘ Why did they take so long to make her important and likable?

Tsumugi Shirogane

♡ An excellent and well hidden reveal

✘ I hate her. So annoying, from the voice to the references and her personality.