#I’ve been sick the last few days so I drew this so I could feel better lol

[wigglebox]

Come on baby, do you do more than dance?

[honeybeefae]

Valentine's Mini Fic // Rhysand

Please idk why these fics have started off with angst but I guess im just a sucker for a little hurt and comfort. Either that or I enjoy the drama lol! Enjoy the second mini-fic featuring our favorite High Lord! < 3 

WARNINGS: None

Trope: Fling Turns Into Something More

Sneaking around with a High Lord’s son was thrilling and dangerous, never knowing what exactly you would get led into but always willing to jump head first. Rhysand and you had met during a night out in Velaris, with both of you being almost too drunk to remember going home with each other. 

However that next weekend you both ended up in the same bar, with the same people, and for the last two months you’ve been seeing each other almost every other day. He had made it clear that it was a fling, never staying the night and never crossing the line from casual to something more.

And you couldn’t lie…the longer you saw him, the harder it got. You knew, you knew, you couldn’t have him. He was the next ruler of the Night Court, destined for greatness, and you were just one of his subjects. Your family wasn’t affluent in the political world, you held no real power.

It was doomed from the start but you couldn’t resist him. He had you from the moment he called you “Darling” in that deep, smooth tone. You were head over heels for a man who would forget you as soon as he ascended to his full potential. Reality was a hard pill to swallow but you’d rather have small moments than nothing.

Tonight was no different as you waited at the bar, swirling a cocktail around and around as your eyes kept glancing to the entrance. He was late but you didn’t stress, finishing the rest of your glass while making small conversation with the bartender.

But after your third drink and still no signs of him, you got worried. Had something happened? Was he in trouble? The questions were swirling around in your tipsy mind as you slid out of the barstool and manuevered through the crowd to get outside.

The cold air wrapped around you like a caress, sobering you up some as you started to look around for Rhys. There were small groups scattered across the road and alleyway but none of them had him lurking within them. You frowned and continued down the street, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay.

“Oh come on Rhys, you wouldn’t have entertained me this long if you weren’t interested.”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard the sultry voice say his name, a terrible feeling growing in your stomach as you continued to listen.

“Sarra, darling-” Rhysand grunted, trying to get around her as you got closer. You could make out two figures, one much smaller than the other, pressed against a brick wall. The lamplight above your head provided just enough light to watch as her long, red nails ran down his chest.

“Don’t give me that look, darling. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you…I know you’ve missed me.” Sarra purred, molding her body against his. It made you physically sick.

Rhysand wasn’t yours, he never was, you told yourself that every single night…so why did it feel like your heart was bleeding out onto the wet cobblestone? 

A sob was trying to work its way out of your throat as you stepped back, scuffing your shoe and drawing the attention of the male who, for the first time since meeting, you did not want to see.

“Y/N?” Rhys called, furrowing his brows. You drew in a shaky breath and shook your head, cursing as a tear fell while you started making your way back home. 

“Damn it, Y/N! Y/N!” He shouted, pushing off the woman without a care and following after you. The people in the streets were watching, whispering to each other, but he didn’t care. “Y/N, stop!”

You ignored him, the image of the two of them burned into your eyes as you picked up the pace. It was only a few more steps to your door and luckily the streets were becoming more crowded, making losing him easier. 

But just as you unlocked your door and slipped inside, you felt a cool breeze wisp past you at the same time the smell of citrus hit your nose. A loud sigh blew past your lips as you shut the door, turning to glare at the next High Lord with all the contempt you could muster. 

However, when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the back wall, you looked pitiful instead. 

“What you saw out there-” Rhysand began but you held up your hand, closing your eyes briefly to take a deep breath.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Rhys.” You whispered, removing your shoes and coat. “I mean, you said from the start that this was casual. It’s silly of me to expect loyalty for a casual fling, right? We were always both free to do, to see whoever we wanted.”

His jaw was clenched as you brushed past him to your kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to calm down your racing heart. This was probably the last time you were going to see him and despite your true feelings, you didn’t want to end this on a bad note.

“Y/N…” He tried again, frowning as your hand shakily brought the glass of water to your lips. “That woman was someone I used to see, I was on my way to you when she stopped me.”

“Rhys, please,” You asserted, staring down at the counter. “I told you I understood. You can go back to her, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

The question, the sincerity in his voice, it broke what little resolve you had left. Why did he care? What did it matter anymore? You should’ve told him to leave, should’ve never gotten so involved with him.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as wave after wave of emotions washed over you. Rhys knew, his concern growing as the silence stretched and you didn’t so much as blink. He cautiously walked over to you and gently grazed your shoulder, calling out to you, and the dam holding everything back cracked.

“Why do you care?” You snapped, whirling around with hot tears stinging your eyes.  “This entire relationship you made it clear it was never more, that it could never be more. What do my feelings matter to you?”

“They have always mattered to me. How could you think they didn’t?” He insisted, pinning you between the counter and his body so that you couldn’t escape. “Do you think me that cruel?”

“I think of you as a High Lords' son, the future ruler of the Night Court. I think of us, of all the nights where you’ve left me alone after we’ve had our fun, and I think of how naive I am to wish for more.” You replied, the truth heavy on your tongue as you made eye contact with him for the first time that night. “My feelings shouldn’t matter to you. I knew what this was when I got into it. I knew one day it would come crashing down, that it might destroy me, and I thought I could handle it.”

Rhysand’s eyes filled with pain, his thumb brushing away a tear that was rolling down your cheek. You wanted to push him away, not wanting to fall any deeper in love but your heart knew you were already at rock bottom. 

“I wish I could say this was a mistake but despite how much I’m hurting…I know I will never regret knowing you, Rhysand. If this is how our story ends, if this is goodbye, please end it happily.”

You steeled yourself for the goodbye, biting down on the inside of your lip to try to keep yourself from breaking until he was gone, but were taken off guard when he bent down and claimed your lips in a soft, passionate kiss.

His hands landed on your waist, his chest warm against yours as your lips molded perfectly against his own. You couldn’t stop your arms from wrapping around his neck, savoring his unique taste and the comfort his embrace brought you.

The two of you stayed locked together for several moments, time seeming to stop around you until he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Do you think I could kiss someone like that if I didn’t harbor feelings for them as well, Y/N Darling?” Rhys breathed into your ear, drawing small circles into your hips. “What we have between us…it has grown into something that has consumed my every waking moment. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you but I was afraid…”

“Afraid?” You questioned, your heart soaring at his words. It felt like this was all a dream but if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. You would gladly stay in this dream world with him forever. “Afraid of what?”

“What being mine would entail, the danger of my world.” His breath was warm against your cheek, those violet eyes staring into your soul. “I had half convinced myself you were better off without me…until I realized that I have been falling for you since the night we first met.”

Your hand came up and cupped his cheek, a small laugh bubbling out of your chest at the absurdity of his statement. Rhysand, the next ruler of the Night Court, was in love with you? You were truly going to have to pinch yourself all over.

“You cruel thing, do not laugh at me.” He smirked, tilting your chin up so he could look at you. 

“I’m not laughing at you, my lord.” You teased, gazing up at him through your lashes. “I’m laughing at this situation, I feel like I’m in a dream.”

“Well, I can promise you that you are not. Perhaps we can go upstairs and I can show you just how awake you are?” 

You grinned, rolling your eyes at his antics. The rollercoaster of emotions you had just been on had you feeling fatigued but you couldn’t resist his offer. There was just one thing you needed to hear again.

“Perhaps…but I want to hear you say it again.” You asked softly, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

Rhysand smiled lovingly, lifting you onto the counter so you were eye to eye. “Y/N Darling…I love you.”

Your heart was on its way to bursting out of your chest as you captured this memory in your brain, knowing you would replay it for the rest of your life. You kissed him fiercely, mumbling the same words back to him between kisses, as he carried you up the stairs and into bed.

[inquisimer]

sometimes it feels like teeth

chippin away at @febuwhump with day 12: semi-conscious. A reunion in the alienage for Ariya & Cyrion, where she must face the fact that she cannot save them all.

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Cyrion Tabris | Rated T | 1629 words | CW: mercy killing, blood & injury, illness, slave trade

-

No sooner had the slaver’s corpse hit the floor than Ariya was at the cage, shaking hands picking open the lock. The metal door sprang open and she pulled each of her captured family from the brink of despair. Some did look ill; before she could even speak, Alistair pulled poultices from their packs and set to work.

Thank you, she mouthed.

“Amore.” Zevran gestured to the back of the cage with his chin. A few figures remained and the bottom of Ariya’s stomach dropped out as she recognized the familiar dips and planes of her father’s silhouette. He was staring directly at her, mouth parted in disbelief.

“Papa,” she breathed, and then she was at his side, running battered hands over him, checking for injuries, praying incoherently that she had not arrived too late. His arms came around her and squeezed.

“I’m fine, da’len, I’m fine,” her murmured. Tears choked his voice, but when she pulled back they were tears of joy that matched the bittersweet smile on his face. “You came back for us. My darling girl.”

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I—“ her guilt swallowed her apology, surrounded as she was by the echoes of those already gone. Was that Valendrian’s blood on the wall? Leah’s tooth in the corner? “I should have gotten here sooner.”

“That you came at all is a miracle.”

A noise behind him drew Cyrion from the bubble of reunion. He grimaced and held out a hand when Ariya looked beyond him.

“You probably shouldn’t—“

“It’s okay, papa,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, I’ve…seen worse.”

Cyrion’s face fell. He shifted aside so Ariya could see the reason he’d remained in the cage. One of the younger elves was propped in the corner, skin ashen and sallow. Her hair was brushed away from her face from gentle caresses to soothe her suffering.

“Oh, Gwen,” Ariya whispered. She knelt beside her father and took a clammy hand. Gwen’s hazy eyes slid in and out of focus, but her head lolled in the direction of Ariya’s voice.

“Ari?” she mumbled. “issat you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Gwendollyn was one of the first taken,” Cyrion said grimly. “I doubt she’d still be here if not for how sick she is.”

“Why is she so much sicker? The rest of you seem fine?” No sooner had she voiced the thought than the chilling realization that they might not actually be fine came to Ariya. But her father shook his head and gripped her leg reassuringly.

“We’re alright. Relatively. Gwen was—well—“ Cyrion drew aside Gwen’s dirty tunic, revealing a bandage that covered most of her abdomen. The blood that soaked it was dark—darker than it should be, even wounded like this, and the Blight in Ariya’s veins called out to this distant cousin of disease.

“Jumped in front of Mara’s little boy,” Gwen muttered, fingers fluttering vaguely over the wound. “Made a bad cough already worse and now we’re here.”

Ariya squeezed her hand. “For Tommy, of course. Oh, falon.”

“Just following your example.” Her lips twitched like they were trying to smile. “Since you were gone, someone else had to be the hero.”

“I don’t feel much like a hero today.”

Gwen’s brow dipped. “Of course you are. All these” —a cough wracked her wasting frame— “all of our family. You saved them—again.”

“I’m not so sure I did,” Ariya sighed. “The damage to the alienage…”

Cyrion winced.

“It will heal,” said Gwen, a faraway smile painted on her face. “Doesn’t it always?”

“Speaking of healing—“

“Amore—“ Zevran knocked against the cage, rattling the bars so they echoed in the now empty chamber. The last of the freed elves had left with Alistair and Morrigan as their guards back to safety. Piles of Tevinter corpses had been shoved aside and scraped of any valuable loot— including a beautiful dagger with snakes wrapped about the hilt, which glinted where Zevran spun it between his fingers.

“We need to be going,” he said, not unkindly. They’d traveled together enough that he recognized what Ariya had not yet acknowledged and there was sympathy in the smile he gave her. “The arl awaits our counsel and” —he tapped the documents tucked safely in his belt— “we have information that should be shared.”

“Of course.” To Ariya’s surprise, Cyrion stood readily, dusting his hands. Her confusion was only momentary, though, as he said, “Between the two of us we can probably move Gwen, I’d have done it myself if not for the condition of my knees.”

“Papa…” Ariya did not look at her father. Her eyes stuck on Gwen’s sallow face, tracing the bony edges of her weakened body, looking for something that defied what she knew to be true. But there was nothing. Ariya knew it, Zevran knew it, and, judging by the resignation in Gwen’s eyes, she did too. Only Cyrion still deluded himself.

Now Ariya had the unenviable task of giving words to dread and despair.

“She’s not just ill, papa,” Ariya said. “She’s…it’s a Blight sickness. Even if we took her back to the alienage, it would only be so she could die a painful death in lacking comfort.”

“What—but—we cannot leave her here! The cots in the alienage are rough, I know, but they are better than a cold floor and a cage. And if you intend to depart—well, I will not leave her to die alone.”

“Of course not.” Ariya’s hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed dagger, waiting. She still wasn’t looking at her father, but instead watching every half-conscious twitch of Gwen’s face. It seemed that she was slipping farther with every passing second, her eyes glazed and drifting, unseeing.

“How do you know for sure?” Cyrion demanded. “It could just be a rare disease—not that these Tevinters knew anything, but Alarith might have some potion, or know something!”

His fervor made Ariya wonder—Gwen had been a good friend, yes, though never so beloved by her father. But there had been a gap when Duncan took Ariya from the alienage; it seemed her father had filled it with another. She could not begrudge him that, but it still made her heart ache up into her throat.

“No.” She shook her head and finally met her father’s sputtering directly. “It is the Blight. I can sense it, now.”

I am not the daughter you remember went unspoken. There are things I can do now that you never wanted for me.

But this is how it is.

“I see. What do you propose, then?”

Ariya’s hand clenched around her dagger “It is unpleasant but…” she glanced down. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m so sorry. But a quick death is kinder, in the end.”

A long sigh deflated what little tension Gwen still held. Her head jerked in the semblance of a nod.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a relief?” she asked weakly. “I have felt it coming for days now. And—“

Her voice trailed off, eyes drifting around the room aimlessly before snapping back to Ariya. She blinked rapidly.

“If it is to be this way, I am glad it is you, falon.”

“I understand.” And she did, though she could not share the sentiment. Ariya pulled her dagger free. “You might not want to watch this,” she told her father.

“It’s okay, da’len,” Cyrion echoed. “Whatever you do…I’ve seen much worse, now.”

A pause, then Ariya nodded. She grasped the back of Gwen’s head, her fingers tangling a grip in the greasy strands of her short hair. In the depths of her foggy eyes, Ariya saw a world long lost: afternoons scampering about the alienage, swiping meat pies from window sills and climbing things that ought not be climbed. It hurt, so she squeezed her eyes tight, hot tears spilling over her cheeks.

One of Gwen’s clammy hands brushed over her knuckles, too weak for a proper grip.

“It’s alright,” she slurred, her awareness fading with every passing second. “See Deidre again. And rest. I want to rest.”

“You deserve to rest,” Ariya whispered, a steel to her heart as much as a pleading for her friend. She opened her eyes and brought the dagger to Gwen’s throat. It shook and steadying her hand was a useless endeavor.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she said. It was not as unfamiliar a pose as she would have hoped. But even after all this time—well, perhaps she should only start to worry if it did get easier. “May the Maker guide you safely in the Beyond.”

A smile spread across Gwen’s face just as Ariya slashed the dagger down. Blight-tinged blood sprayed from the mortal wound, but Ariya did not flinch. In a cold sort of horror, she realized she’d already offered the rag she carried to her father before any sort of anguish clenched her heart.

But such was the nature of war. It hardened even the softest soldiers—and Ariya had never been one of those.

She reached out and closed Gwen’s eyes. At her side, Cyrion sniffled, wiping his nose on her bloody, mucked up rag.

“We should go,” she said, a soft, gentleness to the request that she hadn’t bothered with for months.

“My little girl,” Cyrion said, so quietly she almost missed it. It wasn’t really for her anyway. “What happened to my little girl?”

Her heart clenched. I told you not to watch, she thought. I said you didn’t want to know.

But now he did. She tucked the bloody cloth into her pack and gestured for her father to go before her, so he would not have to look at her as they went.

There could be no turning back.

[themotherofblood]

A Promising Grown Man

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold AU

A/N: I wanted to touch this subject for a while now.

tw: stocklohm sydromish.

“Husband?” You entered the Hand’s chambers before knocking on the door twice. Tywin as usual had called for you, seemingly either to lecture you, simply speak with you or linger in your company or fuck you. Right now you were leaning toward the latter of the subject considering in a few moons, you and your husband wouldn’t be able to take on full liberties with one another.

He as usual was scribbling away, plotting away or making reparations yet again. Though you didn’t miss the way his lit up as he saw you enter the room, your bump had started to be more prominent at four moons, though this time the Maesters were certain it was an only child rather than twins. Nonetheless, you prayed night and day that it would be a girl.

“Are you feeling any better?” His deep voice sounded like music to your ears.

“I am, the sugared water helped. I am happy we get another but gods I can do without feeling ill all the time.” You replied, rounding his table to lean against it as he hummed at your answer, letting his hand fall on your bump before pressing a kiss to it.

The royal wedding was in a fortnight, most of the court was in frenzy and so were you. Preparing dozens of bed chambers at a time and then your husband insisted on you knowing every lord or lady invited by their name. Most had come to watch the boy king get married but a small part of you feared what many might think of you. For the last two years, only the members of the court had seen you and you weren’t oblivious to the mockery people made of your marriage. You were sure after your husband sided they would even write an absurd song to commemorate it.

There was something to look forward to however, your uncle Dorian would be visiting for the wedding. You had written for Myrcella to be brought along as well, but she was out sailing with your cousin.

Ah, how that could have been you.

“I have to leave to greet the oncoming guests.” You pouted at your husband who merely smiled at your antics

“Tyrion has already seen to it, I do not want you moving around too much.” While to many this would have been a mere gesture of care, Tywin was terrified; he’d never let it show but a sick superstitious part of him feared the birth of a third child. He would do anything to protect you from the horrors that plagued his dreams every so often. So he spent hours doting on you, loving your body behind the protection of the chamber walls. People noticed it too, him helping you downstairs; yelling at royal staff for the right menu to be made for you. Most of all, he wanted to whisk you away to Castley Rock, behind the gold-drawn lines; you’d be the safest.

His hate for King’s Landing was something you were very aware of as he poured his history out to you in bed one night.

“I’ve heard you and the mad king were true friends.” You whispered against your husband's chest.

“We were…” He replied as his fingers drew patterns on your shoulder

“What…what happened.” You hesitantly asked him, moving your head to look up at him.

“He wanted something that belong to me.” He replied cryptically

“…and he paid heavily for it.”

You instinctively found your fingers combing through his hair, “Myrcella couldn’t come, she stayed back to help Dorian.” You informed him.

“Cersei is not going to be pleased.”

You hummed, placing yourself on his lap. There was an ever-impending tension within you. This was the first time your people would see you after your marriage, your uncle and his bannermen. You grew up with these people and not a single person was pleased with the union; no one blamed you. They all knew it was your father’s doing.

“We have to leave,” Tywin whispered as his hands tightened around you.

“Just a little longer…” You whined against him, not wanting to let go yet. It would be a day-long of his stoic demeanour, you just wanted your husband for a few moments. Not the lord Hand.

Surely the time came as his squire and your handmaiden came to receive you. The two of you had dressed early anyways; so it only seemed fitting if you’d leave together.

The royal gardens were bustling with lords and ladies from all over the country, most fawning over the about-to-be Queen and her boy king fiancé. Tywin remained near Joffrey the whole time to keep his behaviour in check, you rounded the garden with Sansa at arm's length and a glass of lemonade. Most people congratulated you on your child, and couldn’t wait to meet your sons. Vultures, every single one of them.

Tyrion then made an appearance, and behind him followed the man you were dying to meet again. Your uncle. Tywin spotted Oberyn first, and while you wanted to run up and engulf him, your husband motioned you to come to him. You hesitated but caved nonetheless, taking your husband by the arm as he led you to your Dornish family. There was a simmering tension to this meeting because you knew both men wanted to kill each other.

“This is Lord Tywin Lannister, lord of Castley Rock and Hand of the King and his wife Y/N Lannister, lady of Castley Rock.” Tyrion introduced awkwardly.

“This is-“

“Prince Oberyn of Sunspear, your wife’s uncle.” Oberyn japes, unamused. Another short silent awkward moment passes until you free yourself from your husband’s hold and engulf Oberyn in a hug, he was quick to wrap his arms around you. Letting his head rest atop yours

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered

“As have I, sweet girl.” He placed a kiss on your head before letting go. His eyes trailed to take you in, you looked healthy; for the sake of the Lion, he was happy that you were healthy. Then his eyes fell upon your stomach and his brows furrowed in confusion before cocking them at you, as though asking the obvious question.

“Four moons.” You smiled at him. Hoping he would be more agreeable throughout this entire wedding.

“Even at this age?” His crass words were very much directed at your husband.

“No better pride for a man than legitimate children.” Your husband exchanged his blows, clearly talking about your Sand cousins

“Where is Ellaria?” You tried to de-escalate the situation as you looked around, wherever Oberyn went, she went with him.

“Where do you think?” He smirked. And then it dawned on you making you blush as you realized.

“Ah..”

The luncheon before the wedding was a blaze, you almost drowned it all out as you sat next to Tywin, trying your best to eat something but it wasn’t like you could keep anything down. It was a harsh truth you were masking from your husband, you felt far sicker than you did while carrying your boys.

Lords and Ladies lined up to present their gifts to Joffrey and Margery, swords, books, jewellery and summer homes. Tywin got to present his gift next, which he styled to be from you and him. Though you had no part in this gift, your gift to Margery was the donation from your coffers for the second orphanage she wanted to build. You had nothing to give to that blond demon other than your good wishes and blessings. He presented the boy king with another Valyrian steel sword, which he promptly used to destroy Tyrion’s gift, making you flinch away at him mishandling a very dangerous weapon.

“Could I leave? I don’t feel too well.” You leaned in to whisper to your husband, he patted your thigh and nodded. Letting you take your leave to the personal gardens. You had sat with your sons, in your gardens; as they ate their lunch. More like playing with it since their father wasn’t there.

A cough pulled you from your thoughts, at the archway of the pavilion stood Oberyn, smiling at your sons. He found his way to sit next to them, his hands smoothing over their little heads.

“They are strong.” He fawned on.

“That they are.” You agreed.

Oberyn looked at your sons adoringly for a few more moments before turning to you and sighing.

“How are you Y/N, truly?” He questioned.

“I am well, just pregnant.” You quipped, sipping on your cup of lemonade.

“Ellaria sent for you, twice.” His voice was laced in pity and anger.

“I had no reason to leave.” You shrugged.

“Child…” He scoffed.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

“He is my husband, I love him.” You confessed knowing how distasteful those remarks must sound to your uncle.

“He has been good to me, hasn’t harmed me. I live a comfortable life, and I have children. I am happy, truly.” You reassured him.

“There was a time, when you wanted to sail to Essos with me. See the world, learn from the finest fighters.” He sounded reminiscent

“Times have changed, my father would have never let me leave.” You contended.

“If you are happy, then that is all I need to know.” He patted your cheek.

“I think it will be a girl,” you gestured to your belly. “I want her to be raised in Dorne.”

“So he wouldn’t let you leave but he would let your daughter?” He scoffed.

“He just might… he’d be dead.” You shrugged, making Oberyn let out a deep belly chuckle, making your grasp onto your tummy and laugh out too.

—————————————————————————

The night couldn’t have found itself earlier as you sat submerged in warm water that smelled of roses, you could fall asleep in here. The pain in your feet and back perished in the trickling heat, letting you find a few hours of comfort. Being pregnant was a blessing and a curse, being able to leave the pretentious gala’s and the wrath of your grandson with absolutely no consequences; however, you were sick, all the time. Hiding your fatigue was getting harder by the day.

Your dazed aura was interrupted by the door to your chambers opening with a creak, in walked Tywin looking just as exhausted from the long day of festivities however there was another worry that looked on his head as his eyes softened the second they fell upon you in the tub. He walked over to still back onto the chair resting by your tub, instinctively letting his hand caress your cheek before falling back into his chair with a cup of wine.

“How do you go through the feasts sober, is a question only the gods can answer.” You whispered, breaking the comfortable silence the two of you sat in. Your thought made him chuckle before sipping his wine.

“How are you feeling, truly?” Tywin’s voice dropped, his eyes taking in the strain on your face. “Do not lie to me, wife.” He watched as his suspicions were confirmed by you.

“It’s just nausea, chills sometimes. Maester said they were to be expected.” You shrugged

“They weren’t this horrible the time before.” He answered back promptly. You knew what he was thinking, what he was afraid of.

“I am alright, husband. Truly.” You reassured him and he let out a hum to agree with you. You were about to ring the bell to call for your handmaidens but he shook his head. Getting up to help you out of the tub.

It was moments like this when you truly questioned the intent of your marriage, you were forced your hand during this wedding, you weren’t allowed to leave and your purpose in this marriage was to bear children and yet he was so good to you. A man so cruel to the rest of the world was wrapping you in a soft towel and drying you. The man with Martell blood on his hands was the man whose hands gave you the most comfort in this alien land. You felt safe, and here everyone around you made you question if you truly ever were.

You were grateful…but was it truly blinding you?

It took a few moments but you crawled into bed with a soft white sleep tunic on, letting yourself melt on the bed the second your head felt the pillow behind it, Tywin pushed past the bed curtains climbing in next to you. Still a little worried about how exhausted and fatigued you looked. Once he found a comfortable spot, he let his body curl around yours as your back rested against his chest.

“A few more days, my love. Soon we will be home.” He whispered, placing a kiss my your ear.

It is all that you were looking forward to for weeks, to visit Castley Rock, and a clean beach you could deep your feet into. Teach your sons how to swim.

“Please don’t leave my side at the wedding tomorrow.” You whispered, hoping he’d stay with you. You were all for socializing, you were good at it. However these days, it made your head pound and surely having your husband do the talking for you wouldn’t be odd.

“I will not.” He promised.

[feralgremlinchild]

Tw death, medical, child custody

(also I can’t remember how to do a read more so heads up it’s a long post)

I’ve been gone a while, I kept meaning to return but everything in life just kept getting worse. Taking care of my mother became more of a challenge, and the past 6 months she was in hospitals and skilled nursing homes. We had some good times together, I took her to see the eras tour in theater because she absolutely loved Taylor swift.

My mother died a week and a half ago, thankfully she was aware of what was happening and she was ready for it. She had unfortunately already been legally dead and revived and intubated before she had a chance to sign a dnr. She hated being intubated, but I tried to help as best I could to make communication possible for her the seven days she was intubated. I made her a talking board.

I tried my best to treat her with dignity and make sure she had the little comforts the past few months. I drew signs for her hospital wall, I brought her her favorite stuffed animal, I clipped and filed her nails, I brought my (retired) service dog to see her because she adored him and he always made her feel better. Helped order her food. Found solutions to little problems like an elastic band for her watch instead of a buckle. Assistive devices and technology. It never felt like a chore, it wasn’t a decision I had to make, I just did things.

She had finally decided a couple months ago that she was not going to take more of her dilaudid than prescribed. And she was actually sticking to that. I had been waiting for that my entire life and I was so so proud of her. She was trying very hard. She wanted to see my niece again, she wanted to be around a while longer. Up until the beginning of March, the doctors told us they weren’t sure how much time she had left, but it could be months or even a year, it depended on her recovery. Her body’s ability to recover. In the end though it was just too tired, she’d been sick her entire life and she couldn’t recover from this last infection.

My niece’s dad allowed her to visit the hospital a couple days before my mother passed. I didn’t get to see the kid because I wasn’t at the hospital, I had already gone home. The kid had been given a phone for her birthday a few days earlier, and has been allowed to contact us so far. I haven’t seen her in person since December, but I’ll see her on Friday at the service. We’ve been texting though, mostly about games we both play and inside jokes.

I had to buy a black dress because my old one ripped. I have lost a lot of weight recently anyways, it probably wouldn’t have fit. It turns out stress and grieving can take the pounds off you even when an eating disorder couldn’t. It’s not exactly happy weight loss. I haven’t been celebrating it. But the weight did need to come off, so maybe at least my joints will be a little happier.

Now I have to find a job at some point in the next couple of months. The insurance money won’t last forever, and I had always planned on getting a job after my mother passed. She had been my full time job for years. I’m going to get a job, help my dad sell the house, and then move out of Texas. If all goes well I will be in New England this time next year. It’s a big move but I need to get as far away as possible, I’ve been dreaming of this for years and years and it’s finally time to start making steps towards it.

Also both of my big dogs have large tumors and I have no money for removal or treatment.

Also also my cousin’s wedding is in less than two weeks and it’s a 5 hour drive minimum and I did get a dress and it’s good but I do not feel like celebrating anything right now. The guy is nice tho, very kind and has what the church people call a heart of service. They’re cute together. And my cousin is great and I love her and I grew up with her almost like a sister, even going to the same schools. But I’m just not in a happy wedding mood. I’m going anyway of course.

[sims-inmymouth]

Delilah Five - Ep. Five

Jan 16, 20XX

My friends were able to cheer me up, but only a bit. It’s natural, I think. These things take time—that’s what Hossannah told me. When I first woke up, I went downstairs and went to eat breakfast. Hossannah was downstairs and led me outside to talk.

I told Hossannah what happened. She sat and she listened to everything I’ve had to say. She’s killed zombies before, but never before when they were a person first. I worded that poorly. When she SAW they were a person first. She seemed a bit twitchy, I hope I didn’t upset her with my story…

I needed to milk the cows and clean out their pens. Hosannah offered to do it for me, but I said I wanted to do it on my own. A mistake if you ask me--Gilead spooked and knocked the milk EVERYWHERE. I was soaking and smelled like sour milk. I gave the bottles I could scrounge up (six) to Hossannah to pasteurize while I showered.

I spent most of the afternoon tucked away in the fruit trees. Theodora told me a while ago that snow was bound to come soon, and the fruit would die with it. I thought of picking fruit but decided against it. I grabbed a few apples for myself, ate in the branches, and that was it.

I still don't know how to feel about the zombie situation. It makes me sick to think about, but it was either them or me. I wonder how Tamah feels about killing zombies. She's still away scavenging supplies as I write this. I hope she's safe.

Hossannah made roast chicken for dinner. We don't have chickens anymore, so I didn't know where the meat came from. I guess she must've gone off farm grounds and killed a wild one. She also baked cookies. As we ate, I started to notice that Theodora hadn't been here in a while. All day, in fact. She really likes cookies (REALLY likes cookies. Once, she fought Tamah over the last one, and it ended in minor bloodshed), so I was surprised to see her gone. It was another hour before she had shown up. She looked really smiley, and so did Hossannah.

They gave me gifts. Gifts! The first presents I've gotten since the whole apocalypse started. (Well, besides the home and shelter and food. You know what I mean). Hossannah gave me a set of markers! I didn't even know they still made those! Well, that's misleading, they aren't new at all. Hossannah told me they were hers and she used them to mark up her Bible, but she didn't need it anymore since the book was all marked up. I never took her for religious, but I guess the apocalypse does things to people. I've got a whole bunch of new colors, lemme try. We've got PINK and RED and BLUE and a couple nice GREENS. All I use to write these entries is a shitty black crayon. These entries are about to get a lot nicer!

Theodora gave me a small blue radio and an explanation for her absence; she spent all day fixing up the radio for me. It's got the weather/zombie station, a few radio stations from way far away, and best of all. There's a troupe of performers and actors super far away from here, and they record their performances and put them through the radio. The lines are crackly and give out a lot, but just being able to listen to something like that feels amazing. I tuned in and they were playing A Streetcar Named Desire. Never heard of it before, but I liked it!

I ended the evening stargazing with Theo and Hossannah by my side. I think that was my favorite part of the day. I felt a lot better with them by my side. Things will get better, I think. I hope.

I drew myself with the new markers! I think it looks great, doesn't it?

Yours,

Ruth Givens

[runningmunson]

Like The Movies

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Word count: 1.6K Summary: Requested- Eddie is your best friend and he reluctantly asks you to prom because you want to go. He is nervous getting ready and almost cancels. However, he takes you and fulfills your lifelong dream of going to prom. Friends to lovers once he finally admits his feelings while you share a dance.

Warning: swearing, fluff

A/N: I loved this request and hope I do it justice!

Masterlist

The sound of a girl squealing and an eruption of cheers brought you out of your thoughts. You draw your gaze from your lunch tray to the table a few down from yours. There was yet another prom proposal. The 5th one in two days to be precise. 

“Of course, everyone is getting asked to prom but me…” you mumbled, hoping that the guys couldn’t hear you. However, you weren’t so lucky. 

Gareth looked at you, cocking his eyebrows, “You seriously wanna go to prom?” 

This drew the attention of everyone at the table to you. You shifted in your seat, avoiding eye contact, “Um, I mean kinda? This is my last year, and I’ve never been. I think you all forget I'm a girl. I do like that stuff sometimes.” You let out an awkward laugh, waving it off and trying to change the subject, “But it’s not a big deal. Anyways how are you all feeling about the new campaign coming up?”

Thankfully they took the bait and shifted the topic to the next Hellfire meeting. Everyone except Eddie, that was. He found it hard not to notice your longing gaze or how your shoulders slumped when someone was asked to prom. He tried to push it aside and forget it, but you’re his best friend, and he hated to see you look like a kicked puppy. Damn it, Eddie thought, I’m gonna have to ask her.

Eddie cleared his throat and took a deep breath before reluctantly opening his mouth, “I guess I’ll take you to prom if you really want.” The table fell silent. 

“Would you really?” You asked, your voice suddenly an octave higher than usual. Eddie couldn’t ignore the sparkle in your eyes and how your mouth drew back despite your attempt to stifle a smile. 

“Can’t really have you going alone and embarrassing yourself, now can I? Besides, how bad can it be?” Eddie knew exactly how bad it could be. Prom meant dressing up and dancing. Eddie doesn’t like dressing up, and he certainly doesn’t dance. But you want to go, and you always got what you wanted when it came to Eddie. 

“Thank you so much, I owe you big time!” You blurt out, not believing he would do that for you. “Oh shit, I need to find a dress and figure out what to do with my hair. I’ll see you later, guys!” You ran out of the cafeteria in a rush.

Dustin looked at Eddie in shock, “Dude, what did you just do?” All Eddie could do was shake his head. 

The dreaded day finally arrived, and Eddie was a nervous wreck. He’d already been in the bathroom for hours trying to make sure he looked good. Wayne had to knock several times to make sure he was okay. Why the hell do I care how I look. I never have before, Eddie thought.

He tried to tame his hair, but nothing was working. It was still the same frizzy mess despite his many efforts to make it look good. Wayne’s old tux felt foreign on his body. The red tie that matched your dress wouldn’t stay straight . Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He threw the bathroom door open.

“That’s it, I’m not going! I look ridiculous, and I’m just going to embarrass her. Letting her go to prom with the town freak. What was I thinking?” Eddie said, throwing his hands up.

“Come on now, son. You look fine. And you’re not gonna cancel on her now. You wouldn’t, would you? No, because you’d do anything to see that girl smile.” Wayne rolled his eyes. He walked over to his nephew and helped him fix his tie. 

Eddie let out a huff, “You really think I look okay?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. Now go and get your girl, or else you'll be late.” Wayne said, handing him his keys and your corsage that he picked up for Eddie after work. 

“She's not my girl, Wayne. Just friends, remember?” Eddie said over his shoulder, making his way to his van.

Wayne chuckled, “Sure she isn’t. If only you saw how the two of you look at each other. Just friends, my ass.” Eddie ignored his uncle. With shaking hands, he put his van into reverse and made his way to your house.

You were on the other side of town, just as nervous as Eddie. The time it took Eddie to get ready? Yeah, double that for you. It was always your dream to go to prom with Eddie. It might not be under the circumstances you wanted, but you took what you could get. You wanted to look perfect for him. Maybe then he might see you as more than one of the guys. 

Your hair was styled perfectly, not a single strand out of place. Your dress hugged you in all the right places. Your mom was helping you with the finishing touches on your makeup. 

“You look absolutely gorgeous. Eddie is one lucky guy,” your mom had a smile on her face. She knew how much you wanted to go, especially with Eddie. She was so excited to finally send her daughter off to prom.

“Mom, stop!” You said, dragging it out. The doorbell sounded, making your mom stop fussing with you and leaving to open the door. You took one last look in the mirror, finally happy with what you saw, before making your way downstairs to greet Eddie.

You saw Eddie before he noticed you. He was talking with your mom, and boy, did he look perfect as ever. When Eddie turned his head to look at you, it was like one of those cheesy movies you always made him watch. The ones where time slows down, and it felt like it was just the two of you in the room. Just a girl and a guy madly in love, even though you didn’t admit it to each other. 

“You- uh. You look beautiful,” Eddie stuttered. His hands suddenly got sweaty. Your lips curved into a smile going all the way up to your crinkled eyes. Shit, shit, shit. How dare she wear that red dress in your favorite color and that smile. Looking so damn beautiful. You’re in some real trouble now, Eddie. “Um, this is for you,” he continued, thrusting the corsage towards you. You held your hand out and let him put it on your wrist. You shuttered when his fingertips touched your skin. 

“Thank you, Eddie. You look pretty good yourself, never thought I’d see you in a tux,” you teased him. You grabbed the boutonniere from your mom, pinning it on the lapel of his tux. Your mom took several photos before you were dragging Eddie out the door, telling your mom that she took plenty and that you couldn’t be late for your first and last prom.

Eddie ran to the passenger side door, holding the door open for you, “Your chariot awaits my fair maiden.”

Your cheeks flush, and you cover your mouth as you softly laugh, “Well, aren’t you ever the gentleman.”

Your drive was short. You and Eddie made small talk until you reached the school, both incredibly nervous. The music blasting inside the decorated gym could be heard from the outside as you made your way in. You had never seen it so decorated, taking all the new sites in. It was amazing, that's for sure. 

You grabbed Eddie’s hand, lacing your fingers with his, and pulled him inside toward the bleachers. You sat together, knees touching for half of the prom while you people watched, making fun of outfits and laughing at their dancing. When a slow song came on, you started bouncing your leg. It was one of your favorites, and you really wanted to dance with Eddie but were too chicken to ask him. Eddie wasn’t stupid; he could tell you wanted to dance, so he put aside his pride and stood up.

“C’mon, let’s go dance.” Eddie held his hand out. You grabbed it, and he led you both to the outskirts of the dance floor. “I’m gonna warn you, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You laughed. “That's okay. You’re gonna place your hands on my hips, and I’ll place them around your neck. Then we just kinda sway, I guess?” 

Eddie did just that. You swayed to the beat, with it ending way too soon. You tried to pull away from Eddie’s grasp, but he pulled you in tighter. Your cheeks turn red, turning your face to the side to hide in your hair. “Not so fast, princess. I’m not done with you yet.”

“B-but the song is over,” you struggle to get out. 

“So? I like being this close to you, and something tells me you do too,” Eddie smirked, thinking no other night was more perfect than this to let you know how he really felt about you. He gained a boost in confidence, watching you squirm in his arms. “If I were to hypothetically ask if it was okay to kiss you right now, what would you say?” 

“I- I would, hypothetically, of course, say it’s more than okay,” you were sure he could hear your heart racing. Your lips desired nothing more than to meet his.

“Well if you say so, I’m going to hypothetically place my lips on yours right now,” and with that, he leaned down and kissed you with such desperation, needing to know the way you felt and tasted.

And just like those movies, you stayed together with your lips locked. Dancing under the twinkling lights and ignoring the world around you.

[meg-moira]

The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

-

-

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.

He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.

He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.

When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.

“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”

The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.

The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.

“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.

What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.

“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.

What if you don’t want to?

Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”

People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.

“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”

When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.

He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.

Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.

She died within the day.

Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.

He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.

During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.

It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.

By the time he arrived, the battle was done.

It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.

Instead, it was a man.

Just a man.

The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.

Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.

The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.

The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.

“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”

Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”

Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.

The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.

Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.

Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.

Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?

As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.

Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.

By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.

Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.

In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.

After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.

Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.

Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.

He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.

One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.

A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.

When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.

I am here. I am here.

Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.

So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.

In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.

By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.

When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.

Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.

For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

And then, the skies erupted.

He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.

When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.

The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.

He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.

Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.

The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.

Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.

Severin did.

The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.

He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.

It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.

It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.

“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.

The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.

“And if these things do not happen?”

Then your soul will fade from the earth.

Severin felt torn in two.

The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.

“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.

No, none, the wind agreed.

“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.

The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.

The blade struck.

It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.

When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.

It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.

And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.

Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”

It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.

It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.

The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.

The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.

Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.

Months passed.

Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.

One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.

The barbarian had returned.

Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.

When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.

When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.

It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.

Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.

By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.

By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.

He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.

He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.

Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.

When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.

Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.

When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.

Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.

Eindred, was his answer.

Eindred.

Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.

Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.

Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.

It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.

Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.

Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.

Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.

Confused, Severin drifted closer.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

And,

May you live a life of safety and peace.

And Severin understood.

When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.

And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?

But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.

Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.

Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.

And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”

Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.

“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”

Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.

Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”

You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.

“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”

There it was.

His greatest enemy.

Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.

Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.

The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.

Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -

White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.

Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.

Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.

“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”

Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”

“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.

The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”

Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”

Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.

Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.

“Home, of course. Where else?”

“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.

By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.

“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.

Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.

“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”

“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”

Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes. 

He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.

“That’s better,” Severin said.

The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.

When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.

“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”

Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”

Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”

And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”

“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”

Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”

.

.

EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)

[j0hnj4ej3n]

𓆩♡𓆪 breaking up with nct dream 𓆩♡𓆪

(picture credit to owner)

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: the dreamies sound like assholes, a lot of angst

Notes: reminder that this a work of fiction and i don't know the dreamies personally, this is NOT an accurate representation of them. tmi but i was recently broken up with so, some of these are inspired by personal experience...sadly :") either ways i hope you all enjoy this piece of angst, i've been working on some of the requests even though i might not write them all :( but thank you so much for sending them in & for your kind words too hehe!!

𔘓 Mark

It was a pivotal point in his life, his career was taking flight and he had to make a decision. It was his fault really, for taking on so many responsibilities. He simply had too much on his plate, call him greedy but he refused to let go of anything that could help him achieve his dreams. The easiest thing he felt he could let go of at this time of his life was you. He still likes you very much but it wouldn’t be fair to you if he had no time to spend with you once he gets so busy. “I’m sorry but I can’t let this opportunity slip past me. I think it’ll be unfair to make you wait on me while I’m busy doing everything else. I don’t have the time to be with you right now, I’m so so sorry.” To him, you deserve better than what little he could give you, so he did what he thought was the right thing and let you go. (tldr: he chose his work over you)

𔘓 Renjun

Things were slowing down and not in a good way. It was not the comfortable silence that used to embrace you two. Your conversations got more and more dry and it never used to be a problem, but now it only made Renjun feel weird and awkward. This was not the relationship he wanted to be in anymore. Over the last few weeks of your relationship, he intentionally drew more distance, choosing to hang out with his friend than with you at home. He hopes this only helps with the aftermath of everything. He cooks you a simple dinner a week after the end of your finals and tells you that “this is where i think we end, i’m so sorry y/n”. Within three days, he packs his things and leaves your shared apartment. (tldr: he lost interest in you)

𔘓 Jeno

“I’m so tired of fighting y/n, I don’t think I can do this anymore”. Jeno couldn’t figure out why the two of you have been fighting so much. It wasn’t like this all the time, to be honest, the two of you rarely fought in the years you were together. He always wondered if that was a problem in itself. The two of you had drastically different fighting styles, too different. Jeno would want to calm down before talking things out, afraid he would say the wrong things. You on the other hand always had to deal with the problem immediately. So it led to argument after argument and at the start Jeno always thought that things would get better after each fight. Every hurdle crossed will only bring you two closer, no? But even he could tell that the both of you were tired of fighting. You were both sick of fighting each other and have long already stopped fighting for the relationship. (tldr: the fighting is getting too much and nothing is improving)

𔘓 Haechan

He should have seen it coming. The way he subconsciously compares you to his ex-partner. The things you did better, the way you reacted better. Even the areas where you don’t seem to match up, which leaves the void in his heart empty. He got together with you just a few months after his previous break up. And he was confident that he was over his ex, only to realise almost a year into his relationship with you that he wasn’t. What was he supposed to tell you? How was he supposed to tell you the truth and expect you not to go absolutely feral? “I really really like you y/n, you’re a sweet girl. But I… I’ve realised that I’ve never gotten time to myself to fully get over my previous relationship and now, I just can’t go on being with you. It’s just… the love, it’s not there”. He never really loved you and it pained him to tell you like that. To see your face drop, then harden, trying your best not to let the tears fall. (tldr: he never loved you because he still isn’t over his ex)

𔘓 Jaemin

He thinks you’re great and you might just be everything he wants in a life partner. The problem was, he doesn’t want a life partner, at least not right now. Unlike him, you clearly want to settle down. Not even in an obsessive way where you’re urging him to get a house or anything. You’ve just made your intentions clear. And Jaemin admits to himself that at this point, he’s just being a dick. Because he knows that he hasn’t reached that point in his life where he’s ready to settle with just one person for life. He can bet on his whole life that you were going to be the best wife and that he might regret this decision when he’s older but not right now. The longer he’s with you, the more trapped he feels and he just wants to be free. Free to do whatever he wants, wherever he wants, maybe even whoever he wants without having to think of having to limit himself because he needs to settle down. (tldr: he has commitment issues)

𔘓 Chenle

“I told you before y/n, I'm not a good person. I’m selfish, I just can’t find it in me to be as selfless as you”. Chenle told you when you started getting to know each other that you were the most selfless person he has ever met. He meant it as a compliment, really. But now, when you expect the same treatment back, he realises that he can’t do it. His love language is just different, and truthfully, he thinks more for himself than he does for you. Now, your selflessness is a factor that pulls the two of you apart. He can’t match up to you nor your expectations. And you simply can’t understand why. When someone tells you that they are not a good person, remember to listen. Chenle knew himself best, he knew that his views were too realistic and practical and self-centred. He doesn't think you're a good fit for each other anymore. (tldr: he can’t meet your expectations because he doesn’t want to)

𔘓 Jisung

The both of you were terribly emotional people. And it clearly hasn’t been healthy for your relationship. You’re both sensitive and avoidant. So when you’re upset with each other, you could go days without talking. Which only leads to more miscommunications and misunderstandings. The two of you are just way too alike. “Forget it, I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. You’re seriously the most annoying person ever,” you would spout out when you’re ready to brush this fight under the carpet again, giving it a few days before things go back to normal. It’s a vicious cycle at this point. But Jisung only replies with, “No, forget it. I want to break up”. After a few days, Jisung regrets even mentioning breaking up. But you can’t take back words like that. The damage is done, hearts have been broken, tears shed. And for the two of you there is simply no going back and maybe it is all the better that way. (tldr: the two of you are overly sensitive and can’t communicate to save your lives)

[winter-soldier-vibes]

avenger!reader who suffers from depression and is really hard on herself/themself and blames themself after a mission went wrong and locks themselves out, bucky is worried abt them and comforts them

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count:3102 (wow I went off the rails a bit huh 😅)

Warnings: self-blame, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks, breakdown, lots of tears, this one’s really angsty, flashbacks, some fluff/comfort but so much angst

A/N: I loved this request and had a great time writing it. This one’s a lil more angsty than I usually do and deals with some heavier themes than some of my other ones, so please take care of yourself and heed the warnings. I love you guys so much!

There was nothing you could have done.

You were the first off the quinjet, anxious to get out of the unbearable silence.

You kept your head down as you walked quickly to your room, trying to make as little noise as possible, stumbling to get into your room as fast as possible, locking the door behind you as you let the tears fall.

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stave off your breakdown as you tried to keep taking even breaths.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you said in a small voice.

“Yes?” the AI responded.

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice even. “Turn on soundproofing, please.”

“As you wish. I am picking up on signs of distress, would you like me to call Sergeant Barnes?”

You shook your head violently at the thought of anyone, especially your boyfriend seeing you like this. “No.”

“Are you sure? Would you like me to call -”

“Don’t let anyone in this room.”

“As you wish, Y/n.”

You heard a noise indicating that the room had been soundproofed.

And you lost it.

You brought a hand to your face and sank back against the wall, shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You pushed yourself back against the wall, trying to ground yourself. Your mind flashed back to the mission you had just returned from and you let out an agonizing scream.

You’ll never forget the looks on their faces.

“Y/n, come on we have to go!”

“Wait - no I almost have them!”

“Help us - please - no don’t go!”

Blood curdling screams that didn’t belong to you, followed by your own.

A building had collapsed on an innocent family in the aftermath of the fight. You tried to get them out, but you were too late, Steve pulling you away at the last second before you were taken out too.

You were so angry, you had been so close - if you had seen them sooner, if you had just a few more seconds, maybe you could’ve gotten them out.

The last thing that they saw was their only hope being pulled away from them before being suffocated.

You were the last thing they saw, you had promised to get them out.

And you had lied to them.

The last thing they felt was hope that they’d see another day. No - the last thing they felt was betrayal and fear when they realized that one of the world’s greatest heroes couldn’t be their hero too.

The moments that had followed were a blur, your eyes frozen on where their eyes had been, shock coursing through your veins. You had seen someone die before but...not like that. Not when you could’ve maybe saved them.

The shock quickly bubbled into anger as you turned to Steve.

“Why the FUCK would you do that? I could’ve saved them!”

“You would’ve died Y/n!”

“If you hadn’t been distracting me then maybe I would’ve gotten them out in time!”

You had angry tears in your eyes, hitting Steve’s chest and doing exactly nothing to his broad form while he tried to console you.

“Get the fuck away from me! I could’ve saved them, this is YOUR fault.”

The ride back was silent. No one dared to talk to you about what had happened. You felt bad after a while but you couldn’t apologize without completely crumbling. If you opened your mouth you were certain that sobs would come rather than words.

You did feel horrible for what you said, because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t Steve’s fault.

It was yours.

So you waited until you returned to the privacy of your room, screaming bloody murder over the guilt you felt. Replaying what had happened, telling yourself everywhere you had gone wrong, every hesitation that could’ve given you an extra few seconds.

You felt like you’d never stop seeing their eyes, paralyzed by fear.

You were the last thing they saw, and now you would remember their last moment for the rest of yours.

You couldn’t imagine the amount of pain and fear they had felt when they realized they weren’t getting out of the rubble alive. That they would die as a part of a warzone they didn’t intend to be a part of. The feeling of hope draining from their bodies, blood running cold as they realized they had mere seconds left.

“No!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, body curling in on itself as you drew your knees in and wrapped your arms around your torso, sick to your stomach.

This was your fault, and you would never forget it.

---

The rest of the team had sighed as they watched you get off the quinjet, walking a bit too fast to be alright. They shared concerned looks with each other, watching your form disappear into the compound.

You weren’t okay, but after what had happened when Steve tried to approach you, they thought it best to give you some space.

The rest of them entered the compound, going their separate ways as Steve sat to down and ran a hand down his face, trying to get his mind off of what had happened. He was shaken up too, but he couldn’t lose you like that. You would die protecting strangers, and while he thought that was noble, he wondered when there wouldn’t be someone to pull you out in time.

Bucky had come down to check on you, knowing that the team had gotten back from a mission. But before he could knock on the door, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke. “Sergeant Barnes, Y/n has requested that she not be disturbed.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, both in concern and confusion. Usually when a mission hit you hard, you would talk to him about what had happened. So either you were just tired, or this was worse than it had ever been.

He clenched his jaw and stood there for another few moments before he walked away, heading towards anyone who may be able to tell him what happened on the mission.

He came into the common room, seeing Steve doing a mission report. Well - the mission report was in front of him and he was staring blankly at it.

“Steve?” Bucky said softly, trying not to startle him.

Steve didn’t look up.

“Steve,” Bucky said a little louder.

Steve looked up from the papers, shaking his head slightly. “Hey, Buck. What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, taking in Steve’s tired appearance and how his mind seemed elsewhere.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said, barely looking at Bucky.

“You know, I’ve taken care of enough black eyes from mister back-alley hero to know when you’re not really fine.” Bucky said with a small smirk.

Steve’s eyes flicked up to Bucky’s as he sighed. “It’s not me you should be worried about,” he muttered.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

Steve recounted the mission to his friend, Bucky getting increasingly concerned about you. He knew you had a tendency to blame yourself for different things, and he knew what blaming yourself for someone’s death was like, even if you couldn’t control the situation.

Bucky was brainwashed. You were too late. Two different things, but the survivor's guilt was excruciating.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asked nervously.

“She didn’t get hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Steve started, “but she seemed pretty shaken up. You haven’t talked to her?”

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “Just give her some time,” he said, worriedly.

Bucky nodded, though unconvinced. He bottled up his emotions until the two of you met. Ever since the two of you never kept anything from each other. And he knew that seeing someone die and feeling at fault for it could destroy you. He wasn’t sure if time and space was what you needed.

But it was what you wanted right now. So he wouldn’t get in the way.

----

Back in your room you were curled in a ball on the floor, sobs wracking your body as you lost all sense of time and space and all you knew was it hurt and if you closed your eyes they were right there and you couldn’t do anything about it. You had a hand pressed to your chest as you tried to breathe but eventually gave way to a new surge of agony when your mind went back to how people died and you couldn’t help them.

You tried to calm down but then your mind would remind you that they had a family and they would never see them again and it was your fault.

“Stop, please just stop,” you put your hands over your ears as you tugged slightly on your hair.

They died terrified.

“Please make it stop,” you sobbed.

You were supposed to help them and you failed.

“No, God, please stop…”

They died because of you

----

You had fallen asleep on the floor at some point, when, you weren’t sure, but you woke up to your own screams. You were drenched in a cold sweat, dried tears on your face and chest heaving as you tried to breathe. You brought your hands to your mouth when you realized it was just a dream, sobbing once again.

You didn’t know why these people’s death was hitting you harder than any other death you had seen. This wasn’t the first time you had seen people die - far from it. You’d killed your fair share of agents without a hint at remorse. Because they deserved it.

You’d seen buildings burn down, fall apart, innocent people die - but you’d never felt as responsible as you did this time. Because they were right there. And you were so close.

But they still died and you saw their last moments. And you were theirs.

And it was destroying you.

----

You didn’t leave your room the following day. Or the day after that.

Needless to say, the team was extremely worried about you. Especially Bucky.

He knew what survivor’s guilt could do to a person, and he knew being alone with your thoughts wasn’t helping. He also knew that pushing the topic could do much more harm than good, causing you to retreat further into yourself.

He tried texting you, wanting to let you know that he was there for you, that he was worried about you, and that he loved you.

None of them went though because your phone was off, you having not even looked at it since coming back from the mission.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was still telling everyone that you did not want to be disturbed, as you had requested. Obviously Tony had the power to override the locks, but again, no one wanted to push you.

When it had been 3 days since you had seen any sunlight, Bucky had had enough. He knew you couldn’t be taking proper care of yourself and he couldn’t let you do that to yourself. He had Tony override your locks and he came to your door, knocking gently.

“Y/n?”

Silence.

He knocked again, a little louder. “Y/n? I’m coming in, alright?”

Silence.

Bucky took a deep breath before he opened your door slowly, peeking his head in. it was the middle of the afternoon and your room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway and from the cracks between the shades, which were drawn shut.

Bucky let himself in and turned on a lamp, shutting the door behind him. He looked at you with worried eyes as he took in your appearance.

You were pressed up against the headboard of your bed, knees drawn to your chest as you stared blankly, your eyes fixated on your bedsheets. Your eyes were red, face blotchy, your hair was a mess and you were still wearing your uniform from the mission.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, voice raspy from yelling these past few days.

“Y/n -”

“Get out,” you said quietly, though not angrily.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, y/n.”

“Please,” you said, cursing yourself as your voice cracked. You didn’t want to breakdown in front of Bucky.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.”

You pushed yourself off of the bed, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this right now, Bucky.”

“You’re going to have to talk about it at some point, y/n.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“This kind of thing isn’t going to go away, okay? Time heals but not by itself.” You weren’t listening as you ran a hand over your face, overwhelmed.

“Please, talk to me y/n. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“This isn’t fine. Not taking care of yourself and living in the dark staring at the wall isn’t fine, y/n. Please, don’t hide from me. It’s just me, y/n.”

You shook your head, eyes glazed over like glass. “I could’ve saved them.” you said simply.

“Y/n, there was nothing -”

“BULLSHIT!” You yelled. “There had to have been something I could do, if I had gotten there earlier or - or if I had moved faster or been stronger then I could’ve gotten them out! It’s my fault they’re dead okay? I couldn’t save them and that’s my fault!”

Bucky walked over to you slowly, asking you to look at him. “It isn’t your fault, y/n. The building collapsed, no one could’ve gotten them out.”

“I could have saved them.” you said again, tears falling down your face. “I could have gotten them out. I was the last thing they saw and you know what I was doing? Being carried away like some coward. They died afraid because a superhero couldn’t save them. And that’s on me.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “You can’t save everyone, y/n.”

“So what, am I supposed to choose? I’m supposed to choose whether I save people or move on because they aren’t part of the mission? Am I supposed to let them die?” you asked incredulously.

“You can’t risk your own life like that, y/n.”

“What? And pretend like my life is any more important than theirs?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n -”

“No, why do I have the right to walk away from people because I’m afraid of getting hurt when they’re about to die? What gives me that right?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” Bucky exclaimed. “Yes, those people matter, but goddamn it y/n, you have helped so many people and you will keep saving so many people, but you can’t do that if you’re dead. We help who we can and mourn the rest. It’s not your fault that those people died. There was nothing that you could have done.”

“But if I had a few more seconds -”

“The building still would have fallen and you’d be asking yourself for a few more seconds. There is nothing you or anyone else could’ve done.”

You stayed silent, more tears falling from your eyes. Bucky pulled you in for a hug as your shoulders started to shake with more sobs. “I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it’s not your fault.”

“I can’t stop seeing the look they had on their faces,” you shook your head. “Everytime I try to sleep I see them and I can’t make it go away. And I want to forget but I don’t deserve to and it hurts but I don’t deserve to forget.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said, knowing all too well what being haunted by the fear on someone’s face was like. “But it’s not your fault. You didn’t let them die, y/n. You would’ve given anything to save them, if Steve hadn’t pulled you away you would’ve died with them. You didn’t run away even though you knew you would die if you stayed. You do know that right?”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” Bucky said softly. You felt new tears fall from your eyes as you hid your face into Bucky’s chest.

“You can’t tell me that nothing could be done. You can’t tell me that innocent people were going to die and that’s the way it has to be. That isn’t fair,” you spoke through your tears.

Bucky pulled back to wipe the tears from your face and look you in the eyes. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you did everything in your power to save them. It’s not your fault that you got there too late. Those HYDRA agents who destroyed the city - it’s their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect people,” you said as you shrugged and shook your head slightly. “If I can’t do that then what am I?”

“A person who is trying their best. You don’t always have to be everyone’s hero. You don’t have to take responsibility for everyone, that’s too much to expect of anyone. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone because you can’t. But you’ve saved so many people that would’ve died if you weren’t there. You are so important, but you have to stay alive to help more people.”

You took a shaky breath. “Those people were going to die no matter what,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Bucky. Your chest tightened again and you felt sick. “Oh my God,” you said, the acceptance of the fact brought on a new wave of emotions as your knees felt weak.

Bucky pulled you back into his chest again, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “It’s not your fault, y/n.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” you sobbed against his chest.

“Because you have a good heart.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I don’t want one if it means it’s going to hurt this much.”

“It’s okay, y/n. It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

“Please make it stop. I don’t want it to hurt anymore.”

Bucky felt tears sting his own eyes at your pain, holding you tighter against him. He cleared his throat before saying “I can’t make it go away. But I’m here to hold you and do everything I can to make it better. I’m not going anywhere y/n.”

He held you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

--------

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Main Masterlist

[rere-the-writer]

Title- Mikaelsons and a baby

A part two to this ask

Part three

Part four - coming soon

Pairings: Poly!Mikaelson x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Soft!Mikaelsons, Just a little bit of angst, Klaus and Kol threating people

You sat with Rebekah trying to distract yourself from not worrying about Davina as lately the young witch hadn't been feeling well lately. You looked up seeing Hayley leaving with Sophie and thought nothing of it.

"Hey Beka?"

"Yes, beautiful?" Rebekah questioned looking over at you seeing that you were knitting you fourth scarf.

"Is Davina okay? Marcel was asking about her earlier." You asked Rebekah watching drop her book worry came across her face.

"Also it is probably nothing but I over heard Sophie talking to Nik about completing the Harvest." You answered Rebekah startled when she suddenly stood up.

"I need to find Elijah." Rebekah said leaving making you worry as it was never good if Elijah needed to know and decided to find Kol since you were still mad at Klaus when learned what he did to Davina.

"Kol? What are you doing?" You asked him finding him in your bedroom trying do something.

"Putting the crib together." Kol said smiling up at you as you giggled seeing that it was looking more like a hot mess than a crib.

"Babe, that doesn't look like a crib." You giggle sitting next to Kol as he placed his hand on your baby bump.

"Well right now it doesn't but it will be."

"Need any hel......" You were cut off when the room shook and Kol quickly grabbed you protecting you as things fell from the wall.

"What was that?"

"Davina. She can't control all that magic she has." Kol says walking out of the room with you following worried as you mothered the girl as Kol would tease. You followed Kol but paused seeing Hayley with Elijah and as much as you knew to follow Kol. You were curious what they were talking about.

"Elijah, I have something to tell you." You heard Hayley say as you peeked around the corner knowing Elijah most likely knew that you were there.

"What is it Hayley?"

"Sophie called asking for a favor and at first I thought it was about the baby as Sophie promised me that she would help break the curse," Hayley says as she walked ahead of Elijah as he narrowed his eyes, "that Marcel put on my people for information. I didn't think nothing of it but Davina started doing those pictures of Celeste."

"Hayley, what did you do? It have better not put Y/N and the baby in danger." Elijah said walking up to the werewolf as you swallowed a bad feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

"Sophie wanted to find Celeste's remains so I asked Y/N and went though your journals to find out where you buried her the told Sophie," Hayley tells Elijah sounding hurt as you felt sick and guilty as Elijah told you in confidence, "I know it was snoopy and I should have just asked you."

"Celeste wanted to be left in peace. When a witch's remains are consecrated, that power fuels the rest of their community." Elijah tells Hayley hurt lacing his voice while guilt ate away at you. Hayley looked down feeling terrible as Elijah walked up to her.

"She did not want to be found, she made me promise to make sure she couldn't. Not only did you violated my privacy but you have broken my promise to her."

"I thought they were just bones Elijah."

"If you truly believed that, why didn't you ask me where to find her instead of using Y/N and looked though my journals." Elijah said walking pass Hayley going to chase after you hearing you walking off.

"Baby, Y/N. Wait a minute." Elijah says gently grabbing your arm and cupped your cheek wiping away your tears.

"Why are you upset?"

"Because I helped Hayley break your promise. I know how much they mean to you." You tell Elijah as he smiled softly pulling you into a hug.

"You are too sweet baby. I am not mad at you for you couldn't have known her little plan."

"But still Elijah." You mumble against his chest as Elijah kissed your head when you hugged him. It wasn't hard to see Elijah was angry at Hayley as Kol and Rebekah could tell but Klaus wasn't surprised as you finally forgave him and told him everything.

"Elijah can we talk?"

"Just on my out." Elijah said holding your hand taking you with him for the day as Klaus followed teasing Elijah.

"You don't have to be here. You also didn't need to bring Y/N, it'll take Sophie some time to prepare the consecration."

"I have nothing but time and Y/N needs time out of the Abattoir. I owe Celeste this much." Elijah says watching you stand at the grave flowers in hand as you told Elijah you wanted to pay respects to the dead witch.

"Care to elaborate?" Sabine asked walking up to Elijah as he looked at her then back at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"Ever experience something so profoundly wonderful that when it was taken from you. Your life felt unbearable?"

"Yeah I've felt that. I have scars to prove it." Sabine says noticing how Elijah watched you as if you were the only woman in the world.

"I believe when you love someone like I had Celeste, they leave you uniquely vulnerable. Y/N has the power to hurt me like no other."

"You really love that woman don't you?" Sabine asked looking at you also as Elijah took out a handkerchief.

"I do." Elijah says walking up to noticing a tear rolling down your cheek wiping it away. Learning that Marcel took Davina to protect her from the Harvest left a hollowed feeling in your chest.

"You okay there?" You heard Sabine ask as you left at the Abattoir as the family went looking for Davina and Marcel.

"Yeah.....I....just...it's nothing."

"You can tell me." Sabine says sitting next to you as you sighed rubbing your bump.

"I feel bad for Elijah. I understand Hayley wants to help her people but it made Elijah break his promise to Celeste."

"You knew were she was buried."

"Yeah....I asked wanting to pay respects to the woman that got to love Elijah before me."

"You are adorably dumb."

"So Nik and Kol tells me." You tell her with a bright smile as Sabine could see what the Mikaelsons saw in you. You had a softness to you that drew people in, that made them comfortable.

"Where is Hayley?"

"Hanging out with her wolves." You answered Sabine watching her pull out a pendant of some kind.

"Wanna know the sex of the baby?" Sabine asked you watching you light up nodding.

"We found Davina." Kol says sitting next to you seeing you playing a card game with Sabine. You paused looking at Kol as that hollow feeling returned.

"Oh." You said in a quiet voice which Kol picked up something was wrong with you and made a note to ask you later about it. Rain poured as you stood next to Kol with Elijah holding an umbrella over you as you all watch Sophie complete the Harvest.

"It didn't work." Hayley whispered as the witches didn't wake up as the rain stopped. You bit your lip tears falling seeing Sophie cry over her dead niece.

"Shhh darling. It's okay." Kol muttered softly hugging you as you cried Elijah felt his heart break hearing your sons.

"Rebekah, you and Kol take Y/N home while Niklaus and I take care of this."

"Come babe. We'll get you and get some tea." Rebekah says as you nodded walking with her and Kol.

Bad juju is what your grandmother would say when ever you would get a hollow feeling. For the last few days witch bad juju was running a muck as Klaus and Rebekah was missing while Kol had to save Hayley and a wolf you learned named Jackson.

"Baby?" Elijah questioned finding you sitting in Klaus's art studio dress in one of Klaus's shirts as non of Rebekah's clothes couldn't fit you anymore.

"I miss them 'Lijah." You tell him as he sits next to you kissing your head.

"We'll find them baby." Elijah tells you as you nodded. It was weird to you hanging around Hayley as you had been noticing how she would look at Elijah. You hadn't noticed until Celeste pointed it out after you learned she was controlling your new witch friend.

"You're a lot cuter than what Hayley told me about you." You heard Jackson say making your cheeks warm up looking up at the werewolf.

"Well I could say something nice about you but Hayley barely said a word about you."

"So why are you out here with Hayley?" Jackson asked sitting next to you.

"Hayley's idea. She told Elijah that it would be safer for me until they find Nik and Beka."

"I see. What are you having?"

"A girl." You tell him with a smile as you two talked.

"You let Hayley take my unborn child and Queen out in a swamp."

"Firstly it's a bayou Niklaus and second it was to keep her safe from Celeste." Elijah tells Klaus helping Rebekah over a log while Kol was ahead with Klaus. After a long night in a graveyard airing out centuries of problems, the Originals were inching to have you near them again.

"She is going to upset that Sabine is dead." Rebekah said knowing that you grew close to the witch

"Yes, we should tell her later." Elijah says as Hayley met up with them to which Klaus and Kol noticed right away that Hayley moved next to Elijah.

"Hayley have you and the wolves been taking care of Y/N?" Klaus questioned there was a dangerous under tone to Klaus's voice. Hayley looped her arm around Elijah's nodding as Elijah raised an eyebrow but pushed it aside.

When they reached the wolf pack, they heard your sweet laugh and saw you standing in front of what looked like a work bench. Jackson stood behind you gently holding your hands showing you how to drill.

"Hayley who is that touching my wife." Rebekah asked lowly as Hayley looked at her seeing the blonde vampire glaring. Hayley looked at the other three jumping when she heard them growling also glaring.

"That's Jackson. Y/N and him has been getting close."

"You have told him who she belongs to yes?"

"I though her being pregnant was a clear enough sign." Hayley told Klaus not caring for his glare. Rebekah got your attention easily something her and the boys was always proud of.

"Beka!" You cried moving from Jackson throwing yourself into her arms as she held you. Hayley walked up with boys seeing you peppered Rebekah with kisses.

"Nik! You're okay!" You squealed happily giving the hybrid the same treatment as Jackson watched happy for you.

"Oh guys meet Jackson, Hayley's fiancee." You said smiling making the Originals blink confused while Hayley stared at you. While they weren't looking you gave Hayley a mischievous smirk knowing just what you were doing surprising the wolf.

"Fiancee?"

"Yeah. Some old wolf thing." Hayley answered Elijah waving her dismissively while you put on the most innocent look getting Elijah's attention. Both Klaus and Kol knew what you were doing while Elijah had no clue.

"Eli don't you think that maybe we can help Jackson move closer to Hayley or maybe help set up a cabin. So that Jackson isn't away from fiancee?"

Klaus and Kol was smirking as Rebekah stood next to quietly laughing behind her hand. They knew when you were jealous as you would get mischievous and since Hayley seemly liked Elijah, you were going to nip it in the bud.

"You're right baby. Hayley you should be getting to know Jackson and getting the pack together if you want them at faction meetings."

"Right.....Elijah or everything is fine just the way it is."

"But Hayley, 'Lijah right. If you want wolves in on the meetings it best you and Jackson unite the wolves." You tell her pressing closer to Elijah who smiled at you unaware of what you did.

"I'll even help little wolf." Klaus said throwing gas on the fire while Jackson smiled also unaware of what little plan you did.

"Okay." Hayley said sighing as you grinned feeling Elijah kissing your head telling Jackson that they needed to get you home.

"You little minx." Klaus teased sitting on the couch pulling you into his lap.

"I don't know what you are talking about." You tell him faking innocence as Kol joined you both laying his head on your belly listening to the baby.

"Don't worry darling it's our little secret." Kol tells you smiling kissing your belly as you just hummed relaxing enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasted.

[hops-hunny]

Angels on Earth

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Request: “CONGRATS ON 300 FOLLOWERS!!!! I love your writing sm <3

this is my first time ever making a request and recently I found out that the person I was dating is still in love with their ex so I'm looking for comfort rn hehe

could you do a 23, 33, 35 with Ron, a mix of fluff and smut? chubby/plus size fem reader please”

Summary: Ron thought he was obvious, but it was clear (Y/n) was more obvious.

Warnings: Sexual themes

A/N: This took a while but I’ve also been busy but, enjoy!

23. “Cause I never believed there was a heaven till I found you.”

33. “Would you fuck me if I was skinny?” “I’d fuck you right now.”

35. “If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just said so.”

For as long as Ron could remember, he had always found his potions partner to be beautiful. Who could blame him? (Y/n) was a beautiful girl. Round cheeks, soft all around, beautiful (h/c) hair, and the prettiest set of (e/c) eyes he had ever seen. But that wasn’t originally what drew him in, it was everything else. (Y/n) had an aura that surrounded her that was so bright, so full of life. Everyone who befriended her was always in a positive mood, smiles seen left and right from the jokes she’d tell. Even right now, with her hair pulled back from her face and the cute little goggles she insisted on wearing, he couldn’t help but admire her.

“Right. I think that should be it.” She said, pushing the goggles up her face as she turned her head to look at him. His face flushed and if she had noticed, she didn’t say much. “That is unless you fucked something up. Merlin knows how bad you are with Potions Weasley.” she giggled, his heart pulling and racing in his chest. 

“Oi! ‘M not that bad. Plus you didn’t let me touch anything, should be fine unless you managed to make a mistake.” He leaned towards her a bit with a devious smirk. “But it’s impossible for you to do that isn’t it? I forgot you were just a perfect princess.” He pulled away, eyes trained on the potion in the cauldron in front of them. Amortentia, was it? He found it a bit strange because he couldn’t smell anything but the girl’s perfume no matter how far he leaned in. In his own state of confusion, he completely missed the girl’s own shocked look on her face.

“What do you smell?” she questioned, gathering her things due to the period drawing to a close. His eyes widened at his realization before calming down. Now was a better time than ever. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before sighing.

“You.” his eyes shot open at the sound of a snort. (Y/n) had made her way towards the exit of the potions room, (e/c) eyes rolling at him as she shot him a smile. She went to leave the room before giving him an up and down.

“If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just said so.” she teased, shooting him a wink before exiting the room. He groaned, rubbing his hands up and down his face as he adjusted the awkward bulge in his pants. He stood, gathering his things as he huffed to himself.

“I’m in deep aren’t I?” he said out loud, ignoring the look his slimy potion’s teacher gave him. Without another word, he left continuing on his path to his next dreadful class of the day.

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

“She probably thought you were joking.” Harry said, causing Ron to give him a glare. Even though there was a big possibility that Harry was right, he didn’t want to believe him. He thought his attempt was a good one! He was direct about what he meant, right?

“He’s got a point. You guys usually joke around and mess with each other a lot. She probably thought you were cracking a joke. Have you tried just telling her how you feel?” Luna asked as if the answer was obvious. Ron felt his brow twitch as he sighed, sinking down in his seat more as he threw his head back.

“What can be more obvious than saying you smell someone in your Amortentia? Do you guys even think?” He questioned.

“Do you? Cause if you did then you’d know that was a poor attempt.” Hermione chimed. Although at first he was sure his attempt was good, that it was obvious, suddenly he was beginning to have second thoughts. Was he clear enough? Sure, you could say one thing but he’d be the first to admit his actions didn’t match. He huffed, looking at his friends, desperation hidden in his eyes.

“Well, what should I say then?” 

“Say something truthful! Let your heart speak for what your actions couldn’t.” Ginny chimed, causing them all to give her a strange look. She crossed her arms, looking away with red cheeks. “What? I think I’d know what chicks like, I do shag em afterall.”

“So tell us, what does your heart say Ron?” Luna asked, he sighed as he racked his brain. He liked her a lot. How could he not? (Y/n) was beautiful, a gift from the heavens above. The softness of her skin, the roundness of her tummy, and those beautiful luscious thighs. He was surprised no one else had made a move on her yet. She was kind too, always willing to help her fellow (y/h/h) in need.

A lovesick dopey look took over his face. “I...I’d say…” he let out a dreamy noise as hearts took over his eyes, “I never believed there was a heaven till I found you. Never believed angels walked among us at Hogwarts, that I think she’s amazing and I-”

“Okay ew that’s enough. I’m gonna be sick. Save it for her.” his sister said, grimacing as she stood up. “And with that note, I’m gone. Why not tell  her at the Gryfindor party tonight? I’m sure she’ll be there!” Ron gulped nervously. That soon? Surely a few hours wasn’t enough time to prepare! Maybe he’d try in a few months…

However as he looked across the hall, seeing some twit practically eye fucking her, it was settled. Tonight he would tell her and if not, he’d at least make some progress.

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

Ron let out a shaky deep breath, wiping his sweaty hands along the front of his jeans. Whether it was the sweltering heat of all the warm bodies, the shots he had taken, or the thought of what he had set out to do tonight he didn’t know, but either way he was burning like a phoenix. His eyes trailed the room nervously, looking for (Y/n). How was he sure she’d be here anyways? She wasn’t a frequent attender to parties, only showing up to them sporadically. However at the sound of a familiar laugh-snort combo, he had all he needed. 

In his buzzed(and slightly drunken) haze, he followed the sound blindly, face heating up at the girl's appearance. She wore a blush colored bodycon dress that clung to the folds and curves of her body nicely.. Her hair was styled differently than usual, but suited her perfectly nonetheless. Most things did. And when she saw him? Her face broke out in a bright smile as she hiccuped, handing her half empty cup to one of her friends. She stumbled her way over to him. He steadied her by placing his hand on her waist, looking down at her.

“Ronnn! Omg Ronnie, what’re you doing here?” she hiccuped again, giggling as she stared up at him. He smiled back at her softly, stroking along the softness of her waist.

“ I could ask you the same thing, love, you’re not much of a drinker usually.” he placed a hand on her cheek, thankful for the liquid courage flowing through his system. “You alright? Come on, let’s sit you down. You don’t seem to be too steady.” he said, guidning her towards the couch. When they got there, he expected her to sit next to him but was in shock as she parked herself in his lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck, smiling down at him drunkenly. He handed her a glass of water, the same one he had been handed earlier when he was getting a bit out of hand. She thanked him, sipping on it at a slow pace. 

After a few minutes, the hiccuping and giggles had died down from her, leaving her to form goosebumps at their current position. She was fully seated on the boy’s lap and he had his arms wrapped around her, rubbing his fingers along her soft pudgy sides. She bit her lip as she looked off to the side, before bringing her eyes back to his.

“Uh, Ron,” she started, looking down as she picked at the skin around her nail beds. Letting out a deep sigh, she continued, “Can I ask you something?” her heart began to race rapidly as she looked at him, watching as he nodded before offering her a soft smile.

“Course. What’s up?” How should she phrase it? Should she be simple? Should she-

“Would you fuck me if I was skinny?” she blurted out, eyes widening. Although she had wanted to ask him something about if he was attracted to her, she hadn’t intended on being so...bold. She was known for speaking her mind but not in situations like this! In a state of panic, she went to stand up but was pulled down by a strong pair of arms, pulling her close to an even stronger, toned chest. He chuckled in her ears, hair tickling the edge of her neck.

“Shit princess, I mean...I’d fuck you right now.” his grip on her sides tightened, trailing one hand on her thigh. Out of all the things she could’ve said, this was the last one Ron expected. (Y/n), his snarky potions partner, in his lap in that god forsaken dress asking if he’d fuck her. He felt his own heart begin to race. Did she mean to say it? Well, did she mean to say it to him? Or did she just want his opinion for someone else?

“O-oh.” she stuttered out. (Y/n) pulled back some, turning her head to look at him, finding that his eyes instantly were drawn to hers. 

“Do you mean that?” they both asked. Ron’s cheeks turned red as (Y/n) felt her own face grow warm. Both of them let out breaths they didn’t even know they were holding, laughing with one another.

“I meant it but, did you?” she asked, breath hitching of the closeness of their faces to one another. She could smell the fire whiskey mixed with hints of cannabis and weed mixing with it making her absolutely intoxicated. He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers.

“‘Course I did, love. You don’t have to be skinny for me to do anything with you, let alone fuck you. Because trust me,” he trailed a hand along her upper thigh, sliding it between the soft expanse of them. “It’d be my pleasure to fuck a woman with a body like yours. A woman so soft, so tender, bet that cunt of yours is tight and dripping. Isn’t it?” the girl squeaked, clenching her thighs around his hand. He leaned down, pecking her lips softly before pulling away, (Y/n) whimpering  in a desperate attempt to let him know she wanted more..

“And if I were to grant you that pleasure right now?” she purred, placing a soft hand on his cheek which he gladly leaned into, a dark chuckle leaving his lips.

“I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

[novaiya]

Love below 0°C - Arthur x Reader

Summary: You’ve just escaped from Blackwater, barely ducking from bullets that were shot your way. Your trusted horse, however, wasn’t so lucky. Stuck in Colter with no stables to buy a horse from, Arthur decides to go out and get you one, but not just any one, a White Arabian. Is the horse the only thing he's bringing back?

Words: 2.8k

Tags: Established Relationship, FLUFF, 

A/N: I think the last line in this piece is the best line I’ve ever wrote simply because oh the image it evokes :(

Based on this request: Could you please do a fic set during the prologue of rdr2 in Colter, that Arthur tries to tame the white Arabian for the reader because their horse died instead of Boedecia, it takes hours to do it and when he brings it back to camp he starts sneezing and catches a cold so the reader thanks him by taking care of him :D

If you prefer to read on AO3, click here.

The wind was brutal, hitting your body with such force that you were wondering how the horses were able to keep going. If it wasn’t for you holding onto Arthur, you were sure that the wind would’ve taken you away.

Having escaped from Blackwater, the entire gang have found themselves up in the mountains, caught in a snowstorm. Although the weather was cruel and you could already feel your limbs go numb, it beat being captured by the Pinkertons and the lawmen that would surely kill you more painful than the weather would.

As everybody rode on, thinking about the next move or the weather, you were thinking about your horse. From the East to the West and back to the East, he was with you through it all. A gift from Arthur, he was the first, and only, horse you’ve had since joining the Van Der Linde gang. He was loyal to you from the start, patient as you learned how to properly ride and take care of him, and he deserved more than to be killed by a stray bullet from a Blackwater lawman. Tears pricked your eyes as you remembered the image of him laying on the ground, taking his last breath right before Arthur ran up and scooped you away, putting you on his horse and riding away from the damned town.

Your head was laying on Arthur’s back as he rode through the snow, following the light of Dutch’s lantern. You were starting to doze off, Arthur’s back, warm and soft, being as good as any pillow. The voices of Dutch and the rest of the gang were fading into the foreground as you fell asleep, the sound of wind howling accompanying you into the dream world.

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself in a bed, with a blanket over you and Arthur snuggled behind you. Despite the snow outside making the windows of the cabin tremble, you were as warm and cozy as you could be. You turned around in Arthur’s hold, facing him; he was so cute when he slept, with his mouth slightly open. His nose and cheeks were a bit red, indicating that he was probably out in the cold last night. You had to make sure to keep him warm and safe while you were in this weather, you thought, otherwise he was bound to catch a cold. You knew how reckless he could get, forgetting to take care of himself and putting others first. It was one of the best and at the same time worst traits of his.

As if he felt you watching him, he gradually opened his eyes.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Morning,” you returned. “Were you out last night?” you said, running a hand through his hair and down to his reddened cheek.

“I was. Me, Micah and Dutch went to check out a homestead Micah found. The O'Driscolls got there first. Found a woman there, brought her back.”

“What about the homestead? Can we go back and stay there?”

“Unfortunately, Micah got to it first, burned the whole thing to the ground.”

“Jesus…” you drew, shaking your head.

The two of you were silent for a moment before Arthur spoke again.

“How are you feeling?” he said, eyeing you with a bit of worry. The two of you didn’t have time to discuss the situation till now.

“I’m okay,” you said, shuffling a bit and rising up so you could sit against the headboard. “Just sad about Happy. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, following you and sitting against the headboard as well. He smiled as he remembered the day when he gifted you your horse. Since joining the gang, you would either ride one of the unused horses kept by the hitching post, or ride on the back of Boadicea with Arthur. Despite never being without a ride, you felt that you were ready to have one you could properly call your own, and shared that with Arthur. Being the gentleman he was, Arthur quickly took you to the nearest stable and bought you your new horse (an act for which he got a kiss and which started your relationship) “I remember when the two of you first met, you didn’t even have to break him in. He practically wanted you to mount him,” he said with a laugh.

You smiled and chuckled a bit, remembering how quickly you formed a bond with your horse. That smile quickly faded as you realized you were never going to see Happy again. You shook your head, trying to push away the thoughts.

The two of you got ready before going out of your room and into a dining room-kitchen area of the little cabin you stayed in. Molly was standing by the counter, looking out of the window and sipping on a coffee. Hosea was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, warming up his hands. You went to the counter to make a cup of coffee for yourself and Arthur.

“I know it might be too soon,” Arthur said, coming up to you and taking the coffee you offered. “But we need to get you a new horse.”

His words stung you a bit; you felt bad for replacing Happy so soon, but you knew that you had to. If you had no horse, you couldn’t be a productive member of the gang.

“I know,” you said, looking down into your cup of coffee. “But how are we supposed to do that? We can’t just go out to buy one now, it might be too dangerous.”

“I’ve heard stories of an Arabian horse roaming in the mountains not far from here.” Hosea’s voice made both of you look at him.

Arthur turned around to face him. “Do you know where exactly?”

“Well, no one is sure for certain, and they are just that, stories, but people said they’ve seen it around Lake Isabella.”

__________________________

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” you said, standing next to Arthur’s horse as he mounted it, getting ready to make the trip to Lake Isabella.

“You know me darlin’,” Arthur said with a smile. “I’m always careful.”

You chuckled, slapping his leg playfully.

He bent down slightly, and you stood on your tiptoes, meeting him halfway and kissing him. His lips were cold, and so were yours, but neither of you minded. When you broke apart, he gave you a smile before spurring Boadicea and disappearing into the snowy plain.

You stood in the snow for a few more minutes, looking out into the distance where Arthur rode away to. You hoped he would be careful and take care of himself like he promised. He had a tendency of neglecting himself, being careless and letting himself get hurt or sick. On more than one occasion you had to make sure he wore warm clothes when you were in colder climates, or wore his hat when the sun was especially brutal. Despite being a one of the leaders of the Van Der Linde gang, stepping in for Dutch or Hosea when he had to, he could be so silly when it came to trivial things.  You chuckled to yourself. Good thing he had you, you thought, a thought that Arthur often had himself.

__________________________

The snowstorm was getting more brutal the further he went into the mountains. At some points, he couldn’t even see in front of him, everything hidden by the white of the snow. From time to time, the storm would get so brutal, Boedecia could barely move through it. Finally, after a few hours he could see the frozen Lake Isabella. Everything was covered in white; the trees, the rocks, the lake itself. All the animals that were able to withstand the harsh weather and roamed around too wore coats of white, blending in with the surroundings. In this scenery, Arthur stood out like a sore thumb with his dark blue coat and his black hat.

He hitched Boedecia to one of the trees that lined the shore of the lake before venturing out, trying to get a feel for the surrounding area.

He should get a fire started, he thought, warm himself up before getting to work. That’s what you would’ve done, at least, if you were here. He promised you that he would take care of himself. He felt bad for not doing that, but he hoped he would be in and out within an hour, so forth he went.

It was hours before he finally found her, having missed her white coat in the equally white snow a countless times. Finding her, however, wasn’t even the hardest part, breaking her in, that was. She bucked him off for what he felt like a dozen times. He could barely feel his face in the end, having been thrown off face first in the snow far too many times. Finally, as if the horse was just as tired of bucking off Arthur as Arthur was tired of being bucked off, she gave in, relaxing under him.

Despite being cold, tired and hungry, he forwent setting up camp to rest, already planning the route back to Colter. Being the completionism that he was, he didn’t feel that his mission was over until you had the horse’s reins in your hand.

“Let’s get you to your new owner,” he said, patting the mare’s platinum mane.

He whistled for Boedecia, and when she came, the three of them started their journey back to Colter. The snow storm still blew, but it was not as rough as it was before, and Arthur could see the path in front of him. He noticed how serene and quiet the area was, and if it wasn’t for his occasional sneezes cutting through the silence, there would be nothing heard. When his nose started to run, he cursed himself, using the cuff of his coat to wipe at it.

__________________________

You were standing by the window, sipping on your coffee and looking outside when you saw Arthur make his way up the path on a horse that was as white as a fresh winter snow. “Arthur!” you exclaimed and ran outside.

“Got a present for ya,” he said as he dismounted the horse.

As you looked over your new ride, taking notice of her beautiful, platinum hair and her equally platinum body, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the sneezes and sniffles that came from Arthur. Oh, Arthur! Of course he didn’t listen to you, you thought, probably didn’t set up a fire and most likely spent too much time in the snow. His selfless act, as much as it meant to you, came at a cost that you would now have to help him pay.

“Oh, Arthur,” you said after he sneezed again.

“I’m alright,” he said like he always did, waving away with his hand.

“C’mon,” you said, taking Arthur’s hand in yours and leading him into the house and your room. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Darlin’, I told you, I’m all right.”

He would not have been Arthur Morgan if he didn’t try to reject your help at least once. He hated being a burden to you or to anyone, especially when he was at fault. You, however, after being in a relationship with him for the past few years, learned to not pay attention to his rejections, simply continuing on with what you were doing. With your help, after a few minutes, he was down to his union suit, his clothes, heavy and wet, laying in the corner of the room to be hanged up to dry later. You fished out a fresh set of clothes from your unpacked bags, a pair of pants, a shirt and a warm jacket made of sheepskin, and gave it to him before leaving the room to get a hot cup of coffee and a meal for Arthur.

The room was quiet while you were outside, and Arthur had a moment to let his thoughts travel freely in his mind. He looked at his arms and his legs, clothed in fresh, dry clothes. He looked at the door where on the other side you, his love, were preparing food for him. The warmth that the clothes provided could not rival the warmth he felt in his heart through all your acts of love. He never imagined that someone could love him as much as you did. Not only that, he didn’t think he deserved it, after everything he has done in his life. The words were no match for what he felt for you as you opened the door, balancing a cup of coffee and a bowl of stew as you held the doorknob, your cheeks red from the cold, your eyes full of love as you looked at him.

__________________________

“You silly, silly man,” you said as you sat on a chair next to the bed, looking over Arthur. It has been a few days since Arthur brought back the white Arabian and with her, the cold he caught. He was sneezing, coughing, blowing his nose, the whole nine yards, yet despite all that, he still wanted to get back on his horse and to work. You had to all but tie him to the bed to keep him from going out.

“I need to go out with Dutch,” he would say between sneezes, trying to get up and go.

“They'll have to manage without you,” you would return, pushing him back on the bed and covering him with blankets. “I’m not gonna let you get any more sicker.”

The next few days were mostly spent in the confines of the four walls of your room, with you taking care of Arthur. Surprising yourself, he didn’t fight too much, giving in almost right away and letting you nurse him to health. He could get used to it, he thought, as you kept taking care of him, tucking him under blankets, bringing hot bowls of stew. On a couple of occasions, he caught himself imagining that he wasn’t in some broken down cabin in Colter, hiding from Pinkertons and lawmen, but in his own house, on his own land. The image warmed him up more than any bowl of stew or cup of coffee could.

As you were laying in the bed with Arthur, you could hear the snow storm playing outside, threatening to break the windows and invade the room. Although the walls were cold, with Arthur’s body and a blanket over the two of you, you were warm. By now, Arthur has almost completely recovered, the only trace of the sickness being a sneeze here and there, but it too was almost completely gone.

“You know,” Arthur started, making you look up at him from where your head was on his chest. “It’s in moments like these, when I can see us bein’ somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

He imagined the two of you on your own ranch or a farm. No bounties to hunt, no debts to collect. He could see himself as a rancher, not carrying his gun belt every waking hour, a dog by his side. He imagined you, in a light, flow-y dress, taking care of the house, bringing love and light to it just as you did to every tent the two of you have shared. Maybe the cold has made his mind delirious, but he could even see the two of you grow old together, sitting on a rocking chair on the porch of your house, your hair gray, your face littered with wrinkles, each one telling a story.

“Me too,” you said, imagining a similar scenery in your mind. The mess that had just gone down in Blackwater had shaken your trust in Dutch just as it had for Arthur. Something has changed, and despite continuing following Dutch, the two of you realized you could only rely on one another. It’s a realization, so crucial, which would come to play strongly in the next few months, a lifeline that would lead you to your happy ever after in the end, with you, in a flow-y dress on the porch of your ranch, watching as Arthur tended to the herd, no gun on his hip, only sweat on his forehead from an honest day of work.

[jarofstyles]

Crush

A/N: this one.... biiiitch.... giving you all a little college!harry, he’s so cute 👉🏼👈🏼 enjoy hehe 😈 - n + d

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masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: smut. FILTH. 

word count: 9.7k

Harry felt a bit creepy. 

It wasn’t as if it was on purpose! No... but she was at all of the places he went. At first he had thought it was a coincidence, but as he developed a routine for his classes, he found that they were often around each other for similar reasons. And usually? He would try and go up, introduce himself, and make a friend. The problem was... she was pretty. 

Not like normal pretty. Pretty as in, holy fuck you make me so nervous and perhaps I’ll word vomit, pretty. He was shit at making the first move. She was in his Monday and Friday classes and sat not far from him, he noticed. And they always ended up at the Coffee Bean on Tuesday and Thursdays, sitting not too far from one another again. She got tea with a few cookies, and he got a black coffee and an orange scone. They’d work on their coursework and Harry would wait for her to leave and see her make it to her car before he would leave, not wanting to make it seem like he was following her. He’s found out her name through friends stopping in to see her. It was Y/N. Gorgeous, just like her.

Funny enough, Harry wasn’t the only one who had a bit of a crush. Y/N realized in the second week of classes that Harry was in fact one of the most intimidatingly cool and attractive men she’d ever seen. College boys weren’t supposed to look like that, but he was all soft in his sweaters and baggy pants. She wasn’t sure how he pulled it off so well, but she could admit she was jealous. 

Seeing him at the Coffee bean was a relief because well, he walked in after her every time. She assumed it was because he had a class that ended later or something, but it didn’t go unnoticed that  he was there. Usually it wasn’t too busy or loud so she could glance at him from the corner of her eye as they sat at one of the big tables. She felt like it would be too weird to talk to him, he seemed so... quiet. She’d never heard him speak, hell, she’d only ever locked eyes with him for milliseconds. Y/N wished she could be one of those girls that could effortlessly flirt, ask for a pencil or something, but she knew she’d freeze up and forget her rehearsed line. 

Today however, when Y/N arrived, Harry was already there at his usual spot. Okay, Y/N... act natural. She thought to herself, going to order her usual before walking to boldly take a seat across from him. It would have worked out fine if her tote bag didn’t accidentally catch the corner of one of his books, sending things flying. 

“Shit— sorry, I—” Y/N swore, setting her bag on the table before bending down to get the book and a few papers and a pen. Real smooth.

Harry was slightly startled when his shit went flying, but when he saw who had knocked it over, his heart picked up. Oh, shit. 

“Oh— it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Harry’s voice was a bit gruff from not using it much today, pushing his chair back and bending down to grab the stuff with her. “S’my fault for putting it so close to the edge. I used to do that at home and my cat would knock it all off.” 

Great. Already rambling. 

Y/N didn’t register it at first, but he was british? Fuck. If she wasn’t already on her knees she would dropped down anyway, biting her lip to stop any noises that could have escaped. She giggled when he said his cat used to knock things over, “mine too.” She mumbled and went to stand up, feeling a tug at her arm. 

“Ah, shit.” Harry had caught his ring in her sweater, pulling one of the threads. “Damn, I’m so sorry.” He blushed slightly, knowing how annoying it was to have a pulled thread. His collection of sweaters was immense, thanks to his nan— and he felt terrible. Damn his chunky things. “They always get caught in mine too but I wear them anyways. I can replace the sweater, if you need.” Damn it. He was trying to come off as smooth... not so nervous. But he was. She was so pretty and she was up close, she smelled like peaches and vanilla and a bit of sweet mint and her hands were so soft.

“Oh no, It’s fine! it’s old anyway— I can just cut it off or tuck it in or something.” Honestly, Y/N would figure it out. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel bad, it was an accident after all. She let him untangle it, holding her hand still though it seemed like he needed some help. “Smaller fingers...” She mumbled, using her nails to get the thread gently off of the ring. “‘s a nice ring.” Y/N complimented, finally meeting his eyes and feeling the breath leave her lungs at the close proximity. Her lips parted naturally, scanning his face for any signs of discomfort.

She was beautiful Harry though he may get sick because wow. Wow. He had imagined holding her hand and kissing her but this exact moment he hadn’t a clue on what to do. So he improvised. 

“Are you in the 8 am psych class on Mondays?” He tilted his head. “I know I’ve seen you before.” Oh, he had seen her a lot. Especially in his dreams, day and night. It had been a bit intoxicating, really. At her nod, his grin came on his face. “Sick. S’that what you’re gonna study for?” He didn’t bring up the other class because... it would be embarrassing if she hadn’t noticed him before and he knew all too much. He needed a refill of his coffee though so he grabbed his cup, gently taking her things and placing them on the table next to his. “At least let me buy your stuff though. I feel awful about your sweater.”

“I’m actually just waiting on them to finish making mine, I was on my way to secure a spot but—” Y/N blushed, realizing the mess she had made. “Could you get it for me while you’re up there? It’s for Y/N. I can sit here and watch your stuff.” She felt like that was a subtle way for her to tell him her name. 

This was the most she had ever spoken to him and it had been about a month or so that she’d been eyeing him up. She knew he was in her English literature class as well, but psych was her major. Y/N wondered if maybe he too was a psych major, maybe that’s why they sort of had the same schedule? Regardless, she felt a bit nervous making conversation so she spent the time he was away coming up with what she was going to ask him and how she was going to keep the ball rolling. Hopefully she didn’t interrupt his studying, if anything she’d leave him alone.

“Y/N?” He tested it on his tongue out loud for the first time. It tasted good. “Yeah. M’Harry. I’ll be back.” He nodded, going towards the front. His heart going a mile a minute, he couldn’t believe how quickly his luck had changed. He ordered an extra cake pop today, for her. she had said it didn’t matter but to him, it did. Eventually he hoped he could buy her a replacement. Or... maybe she could wear his around. Wow. That would stroke his ego and his fragile heart to the core. He could already see her on his lavender fishermen’s sweater, in front of his fireplace back at home. She would be so cute. The voice calling her name snapped him out of the fantasy, Harry grabbing it and then his own shortly after before returning to the table. “Here. I got the last cake pop for you. Don’t tell anyone I’m the offender.”

“Ooo you’re a dead man if they find out.” Y/N said, looking around before gently taking it from him. “Thank you... that’s sweet.” She blushed, taking a bite of it before taking a sip of her chai latte. Now that she had stuff to fiddle around with she could take a breather and not have to worry about filling space. “But um.. did interrupt something? Don’t want to distract you...” Y/N nodded over to his laptop, secretly hoping that he wasn’t up to much so that she could chat to him. She just wanted to know the basics, literally anything would satisfy her craving. Harry was quite literally her wet dream, she’d been looking all around campus for someone like him to come around. “I uh... I think I’m also in your English lit class? I feel like I see you around often.” Y/N spoke, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “What’s your major?” She felt like this conversation was light, something that would eventually lead into other things like... if he was single and looking for a girlfriend.

“Oh, you’re not bugging me. I’ve kind of been staring at the screen and zoning out if m’honest.” Harry chuckled, embarrassed a little to admit it. But everyone could relate to that, right? “And yeah... actually I think so.” He smiled lightly before taking a sip of his drink. Victory! She had noticed him too. He wasn’t the lonely creep who stared at the first who had no idea who he was. She knew who he was, kind of. He gently drew his sweater over his hands like little paws before going to her question. “English. I want to write and stuff, edit maybe. My dad has a publishing company so, I’m lucky I like a bit of the family business.” He tried to joke, looking at her. God. It was unnerving how beautiful and also, how fucking comfortable she was to be around. What a contrast. “And you? What major?” He took a nibble of his scone, not wanting to make a mess.

English? He’s a writer? Goodness. She was going to lose it. 

“That’s cool, any specific genre you like to write?” Y/N asked curiously because well, it would actually tell her a lot about him and the kind of person he was. “I picture some mystery or possibly poetry, could go either way.” She said and squinted her eyes as she looked at him, pretending to size him up. “I can’t say I’m all that interesting, a psych major. Just like every other artsy person who doesn’t exactly want to commit to an art degree.” Y/N chuckled, “still deciding between criminal justice or counseling but... either way I’d be happy to get to pick someone’s brain. She did have the habit of analyzing people but only so she could understand them better. Y/N knew that all people wanted at the core was to be understood and loved for who they are, for the most part. Harry seemed reserved, calm and relaxed, secure in himself that’s for sure. It was extremely attractive.

“Oh? That’s really cool though.” Harry was genuinely interested in what she had to say either way. The major didn’t matter in his interest in her but it gave him information and something to talk about. If she was marketing or math he would be just as interested. “Criminal seems particularly interesting. Like that criminal minds show then? You’ll learn how they work and all of that?” He didn’t really know what it meant or why she had chosen it. “But close. I write romance novels.” He blushed fully. “Don’t judge me for it. But s’easy for me and I’m good at it, or so I’ve been told. I’ve been writing for a while.” He felt himself loosen up as they talked. Even if she intimidated him, she was really nice and sweet. “Poetry too, lots of it. But romance is my main thing, I’d like to do novels and that sort of stuff.” He could see she didn’t think it was lame, rather interesting. Which was a major relief. He wanted to impress her, so so badly.

“Sorta, yeah. Like... being able to predict a criminal's next move, psychologically.” Y/N explained and shrugged, “feel like it’s really fun and interesting but terrifying all at once. Dunno if I could actually interview a criminal without feeling like it was going to cry.” She let out a laugh, knowing she was quite soft. Her face lit up when he said he wrote romance novels. Wow. Well, as if he wasn’t a character right out of a romcom himself! She felt like that’s what this was. A romcom. Bumping into him at a coffee shop like a scene straight from one. “Really?! So you’re a proper romantic then? Buy the last cake pop for every girl, hmm?” She gave him a bashful smile. The very last thing she was doing was judge, she was more so thinking about their wedding. Yep. Already. Daydreaming because she swore she’d hit the jackpot. Wasn’t even sure if he liked her yet, but she was hopeful. After all, she’d turned on her charm.

“I guess I am.” Harry smirked to himself slightly at the good reception. Damn. He had been so worried and hesitant- he should have just talked to her. She wasn’t... that scary. Only a little bit. 

He let her talk a bit more about her degree and Harry went on to speak about his favorite authors, and then the conversation shifted towards their classes and how he had been struggling slightly in psych— which led to her offering to help. Harry was shocked because honestly he hadn’t expected it from her, but he was pleased. He was happy to have an excuse to hang out with her more. See more of her and be able to teach himself to relax properly around her. He felt like a damn wind up toy, giddy and excited. 

“That would be so helpful, if you could. And if you don’t mind.” He stressed. “I have a place off campus, if you’d want to go there? I’ll buy you some pizza or something for your help.” He was a giver and if it meant getting a $20 pizza for her because he wanted good quality, then he would!

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Y/N was practically jumping up and down with joy in her mind, this was a turn of events. She went from secretly crushing on him to being invited over his house in only a few hours. “I can never say no to pizza, but it’s really no problem. They say if you can teach it to someone else then you truly understand it so it’ll be a good test for me. Y/N also knew that they wouldn’t just study. Come on. It was a Friday night and study was practically code for hook up, especially considering he had invited her to his place and not the library. She had to prepare, had to make sure she looked cute and everything. She’d shower before hand too, the whole nine. “I can be there around 6?” Y/N suggested, checking her calendar app even though she already knew when she could come. She had to at least look like she wasn’t jumping at the idea.

“That’s cool. Uh— here, if you want I can put my number in your phone and whenever you want I can text you the address?” Oh, fuck. How, how the tables have turned. He had gone from wistfully staring at her every day to having a scheduled study session with her, the girl he’d been practically having wet dreams about. Having a full conversation and then her having his number! He was giddy and playing with the sleeves of his sweater as a result of the excited nerves. “Do you have any allergies? I do have a kitten at home.” He wanted to make sure he wouldn’t have to put Marie away. He loved his baby but he wanted to try something and see if she would be cool with him in a private setting. It would be less hard to talk about deeper things without people around. He took her phone from her and typed in his number, adding his name with a little  📚 after it. That wasn’t too much, right?

“Aw you do! I have one too, well... he thinks he’s a big boy.” Y/N shook her head at the thought of her sweet little Milo. Despite not doing anything she planned to do at the coffee shop, it still felt like a productive day in her eyes. Finally getting to chat with Harry felt like a breath of fresh air and he wasn’t all that scary now that she got to chatting with him. She took her phone back and smiled at the cute little emoji, sending him a text to let him know it was her before hesitantly getting up. “Alright well, I gotta get back to my kitten... but, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/N smiled, watching him stand up as well. The two of them walked out of the coffee shop and to their cars, Y/N being bold enough to give him a hug before opening her car door. “Night!” She was surprised with herself. Y/N was proud, completely over the moon and honestly she wasn’t sure how she was going to sleep tonight.

-----

Harry laid out on the bed that night with Marie on his chest. He had told her all about how the pretty Y/N had met him and that she would be coming over. The pretty cat was a long haired white kitty, and she purred along with Harry as he spoke. She liked hearing Harry be happy. It made him want to squeak when he heard his phone buzz and a little text from her popped up— he saved her as ‘Y/N 🌼’ because he felt like it fit. Part of him wanted to put a heart but he would be mortified if she saw and thought it was weird. She wore a yellow flower shirt one day so he figured that’s what he could excuse it as. 

‘Hey, happy to hear from you! :) I hope your kitty is doing well. I meant to ask, you aren’t vegetarian are you?’

Y/N smiled at his text and attached a photo of her gray kitten laying across the top of her head while she laid down. 

‘Yes, he’s quite cozy.’

‘I am actually! But I’m not too fussy.’ 

She couldn’t help it, she loved animals and she couldn’t bring herself to do it anymore. Occasionally, she would indulge in a chicken nugget or seafood, but for the most part she didn’t feel like she had to. 

‘I’m going to get some sleep though, Good night Harry 💓’

That wasn’t too much was it? It was just a heart! She sent them to everyone. Y/N stayed up for a good ten minutes just digesting the day. Tomorrow would be even better, she had a feeling.

——

Harry was... well, he wasn’t sure how to describe the emotion. When Niall inevitably quizzed him on why he was acting strange, the best he had come up with was a mix of nerves and giddiness, also terror and extreme happiness. He was going to hang out with the girl he had been silently crushing on— and they had been texting quite frequently in the short time they had each other’s numbers. Was this going to be a regular thing? Was it going to blossom into more? He knew that he had wasted time before, not talking to her. She wasn’t scary! No... she was so sweet and kind and beautiful and everything she said made him a literal heart eye emoji. She had taken to sending him random photos, even so quickly in and it felt comfortable. He had even sent her a shot of Marie on the counter this morning, on top of his school notes. It was odd. The excitement he felt when he heard the bing from his phone of the vibration in his pocket... it was incredible. He liked this feeling. Damn it. This was such a new thing. He wanted to do more. 

He saw her in class, watching as she crept in a bit after the last call should be with a sheepish smile on her face. He waved to her silently and watched her climb up, his heart beating quicker when she chose a seat closer to his than before. She wanted to sit near him? He clutched the rainbow patchwork sweater by the sleeves and fiddled with the cuffs, nerves and excitement swirling in his tummy.

If class wasn’t already on, Y/N knew she would have tried to spark up some conversation with Harry, but for now all she could manage was passing him a note. 

‘I like your cardigan :)’

It was really cute. Most of Harry’s wardrobe was and in her dream world she already stole a few to wear. English literature wasn’t exactly the most exciting class, but Harry seemed invested. Y/N enjoyed watching him focus and take notes while she mostly doodled some random flowers and bears in her notebook. Her mind was thinking about what she was going to wear to his house and how she definitely needed a shower before and that she had to put on the lotion that matched her perfume. Was she overthinking this? Maybe. Of course it was just a study date, but you could never be too sure where things could go. And if they did— she wanted to be ready.

He knew that he needed to contain himself but his smile made it hard. She liked his cardigan. The random compliment had him feeling mushy and happy and there was definitely a blush on his cheeks as he clicked his pen and wrote back to her. 

‘Thanks :) my nan knitted it for me. I like your little head band.’ 

He passed it back before opening his notebook back up. Her stare could be felt and he wanted to smirk a little at it because, well, who wouldn’t? She was so great, and he wanted to experience more of her but he was trying to not rush shit. He was a romance writer after all. All of it felt so in tune with his own wants and he had a hard time believing it was real. Sweet little Y/N wanted to hang out with him and she complimented his cardigan!

‘Awe!! That’s cute and thank youuuu 🥰’ 

She drew him a little smiley face with hearts around it, felt like it was very on brand for her and her emotive texting. Y/N felt all giddy because she had made a new friend but she was really hoping they wouldn’t just be friends. 

Y/N knew she was hard to read because she was generally nice to everyone and honestly, Harry seemed to be the same way. She could only assume he liked her because he asked her to hang out so quickly. And he’d bought her a cake pop and was planning on buying pizza tonight. Was it a date then? Gosh, she needed to stop reading into it. Her leg kept bouncing up and down, mind trying to refocus and thankfully, their professor was discussing something she too had noticed in her reading. She still managed to steal quick glances at Harry for the rest of the class, giving him shy little smiles. It wasn’t till class ended that she ended up speaking to him, but even that was quick. She needed to get home and get ready.

Harry had gotten a quick hi, and a ‘see you tonight!’ With her hand brushing his arm before she skipped off to.. wherever she went. And that had him nearly sprinting home. Cleaning top to bottom, vacuum, scrub, vacuum again. Changed his sheets— why, he wasn’t sure— put his laundry in the basket, filled up Marie’s food and water, fluffed the pillows, cleaned the windows and coffee table... he did it all. Even cleaned out the fridge! Like she would care? Harry didn’t know. All he did know was that he was finally showered and smelled nice, hair fixed and the pumpkin patch candle was lit! The tv was on low because he was nervous and needed some filler noise to keep himself from overthinking.

Y/N was doing the same, not cleaning her apartment but cleaning herself. She stripped out of her clothes when she got home and immediately got into the shower, taking one of those full maintenance ones for good measure. Once she was positive she was squeaky clean and smelled nice, she jumped out to take the next steps. God, she really wanted to impress him. He’d been her crush for a while and she needed this. She wanted to look like she didn’t put in my effort when she did so she decided to put on some light makeup and chose an outfit that was more laid back. Usually, she was seen wearing sweaters and jeans, nothing too fancy, so that’s exactly what she settled on. Y/N wanted to look warm and inviting. 

Milo mewed beneath her feet as she collected all her study supplies, rubbing against her ankles in need of attention. “I’m sorry bubs, I know I didn’t get to spend lots of time with you today but don’t be too mad.” Y/N pouted, picking him up and giving him a cuddle for a few minutes. She held him up to her chest as she finished up, deciding she needed to leave now.

‘Leaving now, be there in 20 ��’

She sent, hopping into her car with nerves bubbling up in her stomach. God, she really hoped tonight went well.

——

When Harry heard the knock at the door he shot up, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants before forcing himself to be slow, walking to the door. And when he opened it, it really did feel like being hit in the gut. Seeing someone so beautiful, so up close? It got to him. He had to admit that. Y/N has this natural beauty that he drooled over. That felt like a hit. Every time he saw her he swore she got more beautiful. 

“Hi.” He spoke with a smile, opening the door up for her. “Come inside. Marie is wandering around so I have to close the door. A little escape artist, she is.” He joked, letting her scurry in and close the door behind her.

“Hey! Oop— okay!” Y/N giggled and stepped past him into his apartment. It was very cute and very tidy. Y/N felt a little flutter in her belly, it was freshly cleaned. She stepped out of her shoes before further examining the decor. The style was something she very much expected for Harry, it was cozy and artsy. Lots of earth tones and that sweet autumn smell coming from the candle made her feel that much more excited. “It’s so nice in here! I love the pillows.” Y/N complimented, liking how some were fluffy and some had funky patterns on them. It was then that she heard a meow from below, Marie sniffing at her sock covered toes. “Oh hi there... sorry if you can smell Milo on me, gave me lots of snuggles before I left.” Y/N cooed down to the kitten, dropping down so she was closer to the ground and extended her hand for her to sniff and get used to. 

Y/N realized this was very real now, especially because he had gone out of his way to make his place look nice. Most guys wouldn’t care, but maybe Harry did this for everyone. When she stood back up and turned to face him, she got a whiff of him and noticed his semi damp hair. He showered too. Oh—

Harry smiled at her and Marie, happy his kitten seemed to like her. Usually she would sniff his friends and run off but she began to weave over her legs and beg for pets. He was in awe. Christ. She had him by the balls already. 

“Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got diet soda... apple juice, lots of teas. And water.” He hummed, going into the kitchen with her behind him. It was an open concept though, the kitchen the first thing near the door and it opened into a large living area, the hall down going to the master bedroom. It was simple but perfect for him in college. He gave her a moment to think it over as he looked at her. So cozy and... cuddly. He wanted to slide his hands under her sweater and feel her warm skin and nuzzle into the crook of her neck, let her fingers play through his hair.

“Apple juice sounds good.” Y/N smiled, having picked up Marie at this point to carry her into the kitchen with them. She had a feeling she’d get along just great with Milo if they ever got to meet. “You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” Y/N cooed at the kitten, seeing her comfortably settled against her. “Does your Daddy spoil you with snuggles too?” She asked toying with her little paw before looking up at Harry with a smile. He had fumbled a bit with the lid of the juice at her words which made her giggle, “How are you? How was your day today?” Y/N was genuinely curious, deciding to make some small talk before actually sitting down. In her head she could already imagine the two of them hanging out here constantly, tangled up in one another, kissing and laughing and doing all the cute things that Harry likely wrote about in his stories.

“I’m— im good.” Harry’s mouth was dry. He knew that she hadn’t meant anything by it, but he heard her say ‘daddy’ in reference to him, and his stupid cock had jumped, tummy felt hot. Damn it. He wished he wasn’t so deprived but... she had been at the forefront of his mind. “It was a good day. I was happy to talk to you. You’re fun to talk to.” He meant it too. She was so interesting and funny and he was completely whipped and okay with it. Damn. He wished he had maybe a bit more restraint with his imagination but he didn’t. Not at all. “I have a harder time meeting people... i can be a little shy sometimes. I’m in my own head a lot you know? I have my core group of friends but... it’s hard to get to know people. I want to know them.” Her. That translates to her.

“Yeah?” Y/N felt her heart jump. He was happy to speak with her even just a little bit? He wanted to talk to her and get to know her? It wasn’t just a one sided thing. They were both making an effort in their own way and she was thinking someone had to break the tension. “I’m happy you think so.” Y/N blushed, “I um... I also like talking to you.” She had her little friend group as well but she never thought she’d actually end up being friends with Harry. Listening to him explain how reserved he was definitely made her feel special though. He chose to open up to her, she was special enough for that and that made her cheeks grow warm once again. “I’ll tell you just about anything you want to know.” Y/N smiled, hesitantly placing Marie down before taking a few steps closer to him to get her glass of apple juice.

“Ooooh, a little daunting. Anything? Your social security number?” Harry was joking. Trying to clear the air and make her relax because she was a bit shy too and he wanted her to be comfortable here. This place should be a good spot for her. He motioned for her to come sit on the couch with him, Marie trailing after Y/N. Little traitor had a new favorite already but... he couldn’t say he could blame her. “I dunno... it’s hard sometimes, in this age to make genuine friendships. Feels like everyone’s already got their friend groups and you don’t want to infringe upon them yeah? And... I write a lot. I’m not a partier. Not to sound cliche but again.... I’m a writer.” He chuckled.

“I said just about!” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head to herself at his joke. She felt like she was an open book, she was pretty open with the things she liked and generally she aimed to spread positivity and love where she could. Her hobbies included lots of things, music, knitting, reading, gardening. That kind of stuff. “But yeah, I get that... I’ve been pretty content with my group of friends, though I think most people are open to making new ones. At least I am... I am a bit shy though.” Y/N took a sip of her apple juice before setting it down on the coffee table again. “Yeah, you said. Romance novels.” She smiled and leaned back into the couch, getting comfortable. “What sorts of romance novels?” What? Could you blame her for wanting to know what sort of content was in them? Maybe it could give her some insight on what he wanted.

“Oooooh. Hard hitting stuff.” Harry huffed out playfully. “I’m... it’s a variety, I think. I’ve done supernatural, classic tropes, historical romance was very fun. I am partial to enemies to lovers or forbidden romances though. They’re the most fun to write.” Y/N genuinely looked like she cared so he continued. “I’ve been trying out different stuff but....” he blushed again. “I’m... looking at erotica right now.” It wasn’t something he usually would blurt out but hey, she seemed trustworthy. Plus she didn’t seem like she would judge either. It was a new favorite of his. The rawness of it and writing sex scenes... it was amazing. Reading it, writing it, he thought he could do some on the side and sell it under a pen name. It would be a fun thing to try.

Erotica. This man sat down and wrote detailed sex scenes, likely kinky, for fun? Thankfully she didn’t have any juice in her mouth because it surely would have been spat out. 

“H-how are you finding it?” She asked, reaching for her apple juice because she felt like she couldn’t sit still now. How else was she supposed to go about things when all she could think about was sex. Sex with him specifically. Y/N wasn’t blind, she knew that Harry was very attractive and very much gifted with beautiful hands. She could only assume he would have a wonderful cock as well. She knew there was no way someone so quite couldn’t have the filthiest of minds, she knew hers was. Her fantasies were where she roamed free.  

“I mean... I do like it a lot, actually. I hope that doesn’t come across as creepy or pervy but I like to be able to write something like that. It’s freeing, in a sense.” Harry couldn’t really properly describe why but, he was a kinky dude. You’d never think it. He was soft and wore sweaters a lot and drank tea at home from a kitty mug but he was.... a kinky fucker. And he loved sex. There was just something about it. He wanted to try more and more of it but he had a tendency to get attached to his partners, even hook ups... so he had put that on a hault. 

“I’d like to read some...” Y/N felt like at some point, she’d want to read his writing. If he felt comfortable now she didn’t mind. It was just writing, wasn’t it? 

“You want to?” She looked at him with bright eyes and her a fast nod so Harry decided to say, fuck it. If they were going to work as friends... or lovers, which is what Harry really wanted... she would need to accept this side. He grabbed his laptop and boosted it on, letting himself grab the latest completed scene. “Here. You can read this, i'll order the pizza.” There were obvious nerves in his belly from letting her read filthy smut from his computer but Y/N... she was different. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but she was.

They were meant to be studying. 

That was long forgotten though as Y/N nodded and got comfortable on the couch with his laptop sat in her lap. It felt a bit taboo, but she figured she could separate the writer from the story. 

The scene was from a male character’s perspective, describing him having a long and hard day at work where all he could think about was his partner. Y/N felt her face get progressively warmer as the character spoke about his partner, she couldn’t help but imagine this was how Harry was when he was horny and needy. 

Y/N knew that if she was his, she would certainly brighten up his mood after a tough day at work. Seeing her own name in the document however proved that Harry thought the same. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, her eyes lifting from the screen to look up at him as he ordered the pizza completely unaware of her discovery. 

This is what he imagined? This is what he wanted to do.... with her?

Harry ordered two cheese pizzas and some cinnamon dessert thing because there was a a special going on. He had thought about getting more but he didn’t want to go overboard with it, so he finished the order. Thank god for online ordering.

“Okay... it’ll be here in 25 minutes I think.” He hummed, looking up and freezing slightly. She looked blushy and her eyes wide as she read the post and he wondered why she looked a bit startled. “Hey... y’alright love?” He asked quietly. God damn it. Had he freaked her out too much? Was it just too much in general for the first time they properly hung out? He couldn’t remember exactly what scene he had pulled up. Just that it was recent, a billionaire type of thing.

Y/N casually moved the laptop on to the coffee table without answering his question. She didn’t think twice before she climbed on to his lap, hands settling on his shoulders. Sure, it was a risky move, but after what she’d read? She felt like she had to make her move. She wanted to be just as hot and sexy as he had imagined her to be. Harry’s shocked expression made her smile, hand going up to cup his cheek. 

“You left my name in the document...” Y/N’s voice spoke low and slow, thumb brushing over his now parted lips. Never did she think she could be so bold so soon, but fuck did it feel good. She felt so powerful, so sexy, and so so horny. “Thought about me riding your cock so much you wrote about it?” Y/N whispered, leaning in to kiss the skin just below his ear before nibbling at the skin. “Noticed me before we properly met... thought about me... is this what you wanted, baby?”

Harry blanked. 

Oh. fuck.

He hadn’t expected her to climb into his lap. Climbing on and straddling him, cupping his cheek, talking in that hot little voice that had his cock filling a bit. Holy fucking shit. 

“Oh—” He was cut off by her thumb over her lip. She was into it, into him. How had this happened? He had to be dreaming. But... no. Her heat was too real to be a dream. Her eyes too clear and dark, her smell too real. It was real. “Y-yeah...” He whispered, gasping when she kissed his skin, hand grabbing her waist. Oh, hell. Under his pants, his cock was quickly hardening. You couldn’t blame him, his dream woman, his crush, was straddling his lap and kissing his neck. Talking like this. 

“Thought about it ‘lots.” He muttered. She was so bold for this and that was something he found so sexy. When her teeth scraped his skin and bit down a bit harder, a dark groan left his mouth, hand on her waist tightening. “Holy shit... Y/N.”

“Hmm... feels good?” Y/N questioned, licking over the spot that she bit before moving to a new one. “Think I can make you cum in 25 minutes?” Y/N felt like she could take on the challenge, his cock was already hardening beneath her and she was a bit of foreplay away from being completely soaked. “Wanna try all of it, yeah?” Y/N muttered, nipping at the spot just where his jawline met his neck. “Riding your cock.... you bending me over, can choke me too. Please do...” She moaned at the thought, her hormones completely taking over. He still seemed to be frozen, despite his hand now on her waist so she moved her hips forward a little bit and tugged at his hair. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

Y/N had a kink for giving but it seemed Harry did as well. She expected a needy hook up, rough touches, quickness, pure lust. It’s exactly what she needed. It’s been a while since she’d hooked up with anyone and she was desperate for Harry to break her dry spell.

“Ah, shit.” Harry hissed. The tug at his hair sent a shock of hot arousal down his spine. That got him going so quickly. She wanted to fuck? Right now? He would be a fool to say no, and he wasn’t raised a fool. “Yeah? Y’want to ride my cock?” He asked lowly. “Fucks sake... I didn’t know you were so dirty.” He never would have guessed it from her either but... they were here. And he was snapped out of his shock by the tug, and now he was ready to do whatever the fuck she let him. “What did y’want the most, love? Tell me.” He had taken into account that she wanted to be choked, raising a hand to gently cuff her throat, bringing her close to his face. The confidence was soaring now, and all because she was leaking it. She wanted it, desperately. “I said, tell me.” He gave a quick squeeze to her throat. “Want to know what you need.”

“Need your cock, daddy.” Y/N moaned out, eyes blown and glazed over with desire. Y/N could feel the tension in her bones, cunt throbbing and aching to be touched. “Need you so bad, please— wanted you for so long, please make me cum, please!” She pleaded, fully giving into the fantasy. Y/N was never one to hold back and from what she had read, he certainly didn’t want her to. Her body felt like it was on fire, hands grabbing fist fulls of his sweater in hopes that he’d just take it off. Y/N wasn’t sure what type of body would be beneath it, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel his warm skin, lick and kiss all that she could while she worked her magic. Y/N waited for his directions, falling into the submissive role easily despite her initial approach. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna have to re-write that scene.”

Harry was going to give this girl any fucking thing she wanted. He let her guide his sweater off, the cool air hitting his skin not even getting a chance because her hands and mouth were all over him. It was like she had fallen into a heat, and Harry.... he loved it. He placed his hands under her sweater, feeling her hands smooth over his chest as she kissed at his neck and over his jaw. Her skin was hot under the sweater, his hands gripping her waist and smoothing over her hips, going up and sip to her ribs where he realized— fuck. 

“Not wearing a fucking bra?” He hissed. “Jesus... you’re a little minx, aren’t you? Off with this.” He spoke lowly, grabbing the ends of it but barely had a shot before Y/N ripped it off of her body. Fucks sake. She was sexier than he had ever imagined. “My god... you’re so sexy, baby.” He whispered, sitting up and burying his face between her breasts. Kissing the hot skin between them, working his way up with the wet, open mouthed kisses to her throat.

“Oh Daddy...” Y/N’s body shuddered at the feeling of his mouth on her, head falling back as she let out a happy sigh. He seemed to like her hand in his hair so she happily gripped at his locks as he scattered kisses over her skin. “Come ‘ere...” She whined, guiding him up to her lips. “Wanna taste your mouth.” Making eye contact with him in this moment felt intimate. All those quick glances in classes and at the coffee shop, all the day dreaming, it all built up to this moment where she fully felt she could let herself let go. The both of them wanted this, it was so reassuring, this was a safe space and they could do whatever they wanted. Y/N’s body rolled forward, pushing him further back onto the couch and angling her hips so she could tease the both of them before she let herself have it. Fuck was he hard... and full. Another moan left her lips, sounding more like a plea and cry for more.

“Fuck me... you’re needy. I love it.” Harry hissed, pulling her mouth to his. It wasn’t soft. No, this kiss... it was hot. Heavy. Her mouth opened and immediately he dragged his tongue inside, meeting hers. She tasted like the apple juice and a bit of mint, and he could groan just from how good it was. Sweet little Y/N wasn’t too innocent at all. “Fuck— keep teasing me like that. S’like you want to end up crying.” He had a feeling now that she did. She wanted his cock inside of her pussy, thrusting in and out and letting herself soak him. Yeah... he wanted it too. “Keep calling me daddy. You’re so dirty. Who would have fucking... known.” He spoke between the kisses, hands going for her jeans. He wanted them off, like hours ago. He was finally going to get her. “M’gonna lay you out in my bed after... first m’gonna fuck you, but M’gonna clean out your cunt with my tongue. And then M’gonna take you again. Yeah?” She has come for studying but was staying for hot sex and he hoped to turn it into a nice marathon. He had all weekend and he was hoping she wouldn’t have to go. He had too many idea for her. “Gonna let daddy lick it up?”

“Fuck— yes, gonna let daddy have his way with me...” She kept her hips rolling against his slowly, keeping the rhythm in check with the passionate kiss they were sharing. Y/N already knew this was going to be the best sex of her life, the kiss alone let her know that. His tongue would work wonders on her cunt and she’d be more than happy to return the favor. Hesitantly, Y/N began to stand to get her jeans off, one of her hands staying put on the back of his neck so the kiss didn’t break. She let him fiddle with the zipper, feeling his fingers hook both her jeans and underwear before yanking them down to which Y/N let out a little squeal. 

Y/N knew she had to pull away from the kiss for air but she didn’t want to, waiting till the very last minute until she couldn’t anymore and went to get his jeans off.

“Come on. Be good.” He murmured against her lips, brushing his hips up so she could get his pants off. She tugged and easily they came down, Harry kicking them off as he pulled her back in his lap. His hands gripped her bare ass and groaned when she pushed into them, not thinking twice before pulling his hand back and smacking it the sound rang in the room and she let out the most sexy noise against his mouth, making him hiss. Fuck. He wanted her so fucking badly. This girl... she was everything. One hand went to feel and fuck. Fuck shit, motherfuck, it was wet. She was so, wet. “Jesus— you’re so wet. Baby— holy shit, you’re soaked.” He whispered. “S’cause of me? You wanted daddy’s cock this bad?” He pulled his fingers off slightly, the arousal still stringing to his fingers. He placed them at her mouth and pushed them in. “That’s it. Clean them up, sweet girl. You’re so filthy, y’know that? Precious little thing. So slick and hot, want cock so fucking bad don’t you?” He cooed, feeling her suck on the digits. “Now.... rub it against your pussy. Don’t put it in yet. get it wet.”

Y/N sucked at his fingers as if it were her job, making sure to treat it like she would his cock which included eye contact. She loved looking at him, seeing his hungry expression and his eyes that seemed to say so much more than he did. Even the feeling of her cunt sliding over his cock sent tingles up her spine. It had never affected her this much with other guys, but she assumed it was different with Harry because she had wanted him for so long. Y/N let out a whimper, feeling a gush of wetness accumulate when he pushed his fingers in farther. Harry was hot in ways she couldn’t explain, there were little things he did that just hit the spot and made her want to fuck him even harder. Y/N was practically bouncing on his cock, aching for him to let her have it inside.

“You’re such a good girl. Listening so fucking well.” Harry took his fingers from her mouth, smirking at the whine and slight chasing of his fingers when he placed it on her breast. She gave it all to him and honestly, he was ready to just... lose it. “Go ahead. Take what you want.” It was not even a moment later that he felt her begin to sink down. She was tight— so damn tight, and he choked slightly at just how good the squeeze was. He let out a hiss, head thrown back in the couch as the slick, hit cunt sucked over him, squeezing hard as she stretched open slowly. “Holy fuck.” He growled, gripping both hips now and looking at her with a darkness in his eyes. “You’re so bloody tight— Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so good.” He whispered.

“Daddy!” She whimpered as she slid farther down on his cock until she couldn’t fit anymore of him in. “I’m so full— feels so good.” Her eyes rolled back a bit as she began to bounce at a slowed rhythm. Small moans and little huffs came from her throat with every stroke of her hips, it wasn’t until she felt warmed up that she actually went for it. Y/N shifted so that she had better balance, keeping her hands on his shoulders before dropping back down on his cock. “Fuck!” She squeaked, making sure to clench one her way back up before repeating the action at a quicker pace. It felt incredible. He was touching every little part of her, feeling small waves of pleasure spread throughout her body. “Daddy! Fuck— feels so good ahhh!” Her moans were pornographic, whiny, desperate and needy. She didn’t even know she could sound like that, but apparently it was possible when she was as thirsty for cock as she was.

Never would he have guessed that this would be the outcome of their hang out. He had hoped, sure. Dreamed? Absolutely. But the reality was so much better. He had the hot, wet and extremely tight pussy gliding up and down his cock. She was moaning, tits bouncing in his face, and she was vocal. More than he could have asked for. The infatuation he had with her was only growing. 

“Fuck, you’re a good girl. Such a perfect little cunt. Like bouncing on my cock, hm? Knew you’d be the perfect girl for me. Keep going.” His hand squeezed her ass, encouraging her to work herself on him. “Feels so full, yeah? Such a big cock filling such a little pussy. A nice stretch for you hm? So eager to be filled up...” her face was of pure bliss and Harry couldn’t help but take a mental photo. He hoped this could happen more than this once. “Knew you’d be good for me. Throwin’ yourself in my lap and begging to be fucked. Never guessed you’d be such a little slut, but I love it.” He took his hand, bringing it down sharply on her ass.

“Fuck!” Y/N gasped, her own hand moving to cuff his neck. It wasn’t as effective as him doing it to her, but it got the point across. The both of them grabbing at each other roughly, him thrusting up into her each time she slammed down. It could only be described as pure ecstasy, surely the hottest sex she had ever had. She needed him, she needed him to cum. Y/N couldn’t stop herself from leaning down to kiss his mouth again, making a mess of the two of them. “You’re so fucking good— love your cock, daddy... fucking love it!” She moaned between kisses, increasing her pace just enough so she could fuck him hard and steady. “I want you to cum for me daddy, wanna feel it nice and deep.” Thank fuck for IUDs. “Want you to fill me up while I cum all over your cock, can you do that for me? Can you cum with me?”

He was panting, lowering himself so he could properly thrust into her sopping cunt. He hadn’t gotten any in so long but this blew any and everyone out of the water. No one could ever understand how good this was. All the pining and imagining had come to an even better conclusion. 

“I’ll do it... but you... gotta promise me.” He growled, giving a particularly sharp thrust inside of her, making her wail. “Promise me I can do it again. Let me have this pussy more.” He didn’t want it to end if it was the only time he could get it. It was too good to let go of. Drooling all over his cock and her soft whimpers and dirty words had him more worked up than anything else. “Promise, baby, and I’ll let you have my cum.”

“Promise— I promise— fuck!” She felt her breath get caught in her throat at the particularly hard thrusts Harry was giving her. “Please Daddy, please give it to me.” Y/N whimpered, moving her hands so they cupped his cheeks, keeping eye contact with him as they continued to relentlessly thrust into each other. There was nothing more satisfying, nothing that managed to hit every part of her both physically and spiritually and made her feel so alive. When you’ve wanted something for so long it makes getting it that much better and she knew that she’d always be chasing this high that only he could give her. “I’m so close, fuck, daddy—“ She mumbled between kisses, squeezing around him and continuing at her pace to bring herself to the perfect high. “Cum with me daddy, please— ah!”

Harry would work on his stamina next round. But after the whole thing, he was close to losing his mind. She was giving him the most tempting offer and he wasn’t going to give it up. 

“Oh— fuck me.” He thrusted in again and again before he let himself go. Feeling her clench up around him and sob against his mouth, he let out a deep growl as he buried himself deep. Hot cum shooting inside of her cunt, rocking his hips in to get it all in there. There was no doubt that this was some of the most intense sex of his life but he was almost ready to go again, as soon as it ended. Holding her shivering form, her orgasm was tapering, he could feel her clenching still. “That’s it. Take all of it inside of you. Good girl.”

Y/N gripped Harry’s shoulders, loud screams of pleasure coming straight from her throat. There were no words to describe the high, she almost felt out of her own body as he showered her with praise. With her body shaking and face contorting with a silent scream, she found it in her to come back down letting out a pathetic whimper.

“Daddy—” She swallowed thickly, mouth finding his messily, pressing kisses to his lips and his face. The two of them were both lightly covered in sweat, breathing heavily and enjoying each other’s company. Y/N was far too blissed out to think about what just happened, but blissed out enough to know there would be many more rounds of this tonight. Y/N smiled as she nuzzled against his neck, still sponging kissing to his dampened skin. “Better?” She mumbled, smirking against his skin a bit.

“Mm.” He hummed, hands holding her hips still. Holy hell. This was the beginning of an amazing weekend- because he didn’t plan on letting her out at all, if he could help it’ he wanted her to stay, to let him indulge in her. “So fucking good.” He muttered lowly, rubbing his hand up her back and smoothing over her skin. Fucks sake. This was paradise. Nothing could pop him out of this. 

At least, that was until the doorbell rang. 

“Ah, fuck. The pizza.”

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

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[willwriteforhugs]

the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known- jung hoseok

boyfriend! hobi x chubby! reader- one shot !

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst

synopsis: you’ve always struggled with confidence- it’s simply part of who you are. always the chubby student in the class, always the one wearing pants instead of a mini skirt. as an adult, you tried to make peace with it, but after a horrible run in with your coworker, you feel like you just can’t do it anymore- at least, until your boyfriend takes things into his own hands. hoseok’s determined to get you to realize your own beauty, and he’ll do anything for that to happen.

warnings: body-shaming, work harassment, swearing, minor arguing

a/n: wow, first bts fic, here we go...

this fic was requested by a sweet anon- and if they’re reading this, i hope i did the request justice! i think i did well, though i tried to treat the topic with love and respect.

i hope everyone enjoys <333

- - - 

your apartment building’s elevator makes a polite dinging noise as the doors slide smoothly shut- and for the second time since they opened, you thank god the small space is empty. 

elevators are generally silent places, but now the box is filled with the sound of your rushed, uneven breathing. you rotate so your back is pressed into the corner of the moving elevator, pressing a hand to your face. hot, silent tears stream down your cheeks. your thoughts are a jumbled mess: 

god, how embarrassing. crying in a public elevator. anyone could walk in right now. 

you try to take a stabilizing breath- but you quickly realize the attempt was in vain. your inhale causes you to hiccup and choke, making you cry even harder. you bury your face in your hands, wondering what you’d done to deserve this. 

‘why this body? why?’ you think to yourself. it was a thought that came all too quickly, and one you were familiar with.

you don’t think you were ugly, not necessarily- but you certainly don’t think you were desirable, either. being overweight had always had that effect- not complete hopelessness, but a serious lack of overall confidence. and it’s not like you can help it- you try your best to stay healthy, but genetics do what genetics do. so you are overweight. some days, that fact it didn’t bug you- but today was not one of those days.

in the moment, you feel yourself reach up down and clutch at your own arms, squeezing the soft flesh. you groan quietly, unwillingly reliving what had caused this spiral in the first place.

one hour ago:

you had begun the day in a positive mood, really- but that had all gone to shit once the work day began. 

you had a new coworker- mr. lee. he wasn’t your superior, but he liked to be called by his surname, apparently. he’d been hired on a whim two weeks ago, when the company lost the long time employee that previously held mr. lee’s position. 

the man, though being probably a decade your senior, had a childlike way of going about the work day. he laughed at things that weren’t funny, and tried to make conversation even when you had your earbuds in.

you hated him, naturally. 

he was just too much. over-caffeinated, controlling, and immature- basically everything you despised in a peer.

however- or up until today, at least- you’d been able to tolerate him. but while you were on lunch break, mr. lee drew the last straw with you.

he’d walked into the breakroom, already making too much noise. he was humming, and tapping his foot, and running the microwave, all at the same time. and, unfortunately, you were the only other person in the room- so he made a beeline straight for you. 

“afternoon, peach!” he’d said. you hated the nickname, and had no idea of its origins.

“hi,” you grumbled, staring down at your food.

“i didn’t see you come in this morning.”

you made a noncommittal noise. “got here early.”

“right.” the man replied. 

a beat passed, and the two of you settled into a stiff silence, only disrupted by the sound of your eating.

and finally, the vulture had a point of interest.

“you really gonna eat all that?” he’d said, looking pointedly down at your meal.

you’d frowned at the comment, and dodged the question. “why do you ask?” you’d replied.

“well, you know. didn’t think a girl like you would need all of that, right?”

you set your fork down, trying to keep your breathing even. before you had been able to come up with an answer, though, he’d continued:

“i mean, you should be trying to lose weight.” he leaned into the word ‘lose’, as if speaking to a child. 

you remember your anger had begun to dissipate, quickly replaced by offence and sadness. you’d stood up quickly, grabbing at your things so you could leave. 

mr. lee had frowned at your reaction. “come on now,” he’d said. “there’s no need to feel upset, i’m only being honest with you. you don’t want me to lie, do you? you’re fat, you may as well know.”

you spun on him. “and what’s so wrong with being fat?”

before he could supply you with an answer (which he surely thought he had) you’d stormed out of the room and requested the afternoon off.

and now here you are. 

you stumble a bit on your way out of the elevator, cursing as you nearly drop your bag. when you finally make it to your door, it takes three tries to get the code correct.

you sigh heavily as the door to your apartment swings open. to your surprise, you find the lights still on, and it takes you a moment to realize why. 

it’s friday.

hoseok had the day off. 

shit.

you kick off your shoes and shut the door quickly, abandoning any efforts to be quiet. your own sniffles seem loud as you scramble to shut yourself in the hallway bathroom. you don’t want him to see you like this- crying, puffy, and chubby as usual.

right as you slam the bathroom door shut, you hear his voice.

“y/n?”

you grimace, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your crying. 

“y/n-ah, is that you?”

you hear your boyfriend pad into the hallway, and his steps falter when he discovers your belongings strewn about by the front door. there’s a pause, then the footsteps continue to the bathroom door- where, on the other side, you’re slumped against the cabinets. 

hoseok knocks gently. “y/n? love, are you alright? i thought you worked until five today...” 

when you don’t answer, he continues. “are you sick?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, and a small sob tears its way out of your mouth.

you can tell your boyfriend heard it, because his voice becomes even more frantic. “y/n?” he says, leaning against the door.

oh, hoseok. sweet, innocent hoseok. he was always so kind to you. you remember the day when he first asked you out- you’d been convinced it was a prank at first, but when you realized he was being genuine, you’d fallen for him instantly. now, you know that genuine was all hobi ever was.

he’d never called you fat. it had crossed your mind, of course- whether or not your size bugged him, or if he had to defend you to his friends- but whenever you’d been brave enough to ask about it, hoseok would always respond with: “of course not, my love, you’re beautiful.”

you’d never pushed it, though now you realize you always wanted to. 

now you remove your hand from your mouth, taking a shaky breath. your voice trembles as you finally respond: ‘”i’m okay, i’m- i’m not sick or anything.”

you hear your boyfriend’s body slide down the length of the door, ultimately settling on the ground in front of it. you lean forward so your head is pressed against the wood- the two of you are sitting face to face, with only the closed door keeping you apart.

“y/n-ah, talk to me.” hoseok says.��“please.”

your shoulders shake as another wave of tears crashes over you. “i’m sorry,” you manage. “i’m just- i’m not feeling very good right now.”

you can tell hobi’s face is pressed into the door from how close his voice sounds. his words are tinged with distress. “what happened?”

you sigh, overwhelmed with shame and anger. you don’t want to tell him- but of course, you know you have to anyways. if for anything, just to wipe the sad curiosity out of his voice.

“you remember- do you remember how i have that awful new coworker?” you croak.

there was a pause, then: “the older one?” 

“yeah. he’s annoying. and rude.” 

“okay, yeah. i remember.” hoseok says quietly, urging you to continue.

you inhale slowly. “he just- he said some things to me today, and i-”

hobi interrupts you suddenly, his tone having gone sharp. “what kind of things?”

you pause. “he said... things about my body. he said i needed to lose weight.”

hoseok says nothing, which is always worrisome. you can practically feel his emotions through the solid wooden door- a chaotic mix of distress, concern, and red-hot fury.

after a moment, your boyfriend speaks up. “y/n-ah.”

you hum dully in response.

“can you please open the door?”

you frown, but decide not to fight it. you know he’s only trying to help. so you reach up and scoot back a few feet so that the door can open inwards. hoseok, who had been so faithfully slumped on the other side, shuffles inside the small bathroom, still on his knees.

when he meets your eyes, you can see his heartbreak, and he can see yours. without any hesitation, he reaches forward and takes your face in his hands, softly caressing your tear-streaked cheeks.

you lean into his touch, allowing your body to fall forward into his. he slips an arm around your abdomen in support. 

a few minutes pass without speaking, the air filled only with the sounds of hobi’s hand running over your back, and your laboured breathing.

finally, your counterpart speaks up. “y/n- is that all he said? the one thing?”

he places his hand on your jaw to lift your face away from his chest, wanting to meet your eyes.

you sigh, pulling away. “no, he- he told me that i should eat less, and that-” your breath catches. “well, he said i was fat.”

hoseok’s jaw clenches, and you shift in his arms. “what?” you whisper.

his eyes are aflame when he responds. “why would he say those things to you? i just- why did he think he’d have any right?”

you look away. “i don’t know. male workplace entitlement.”

hobi gives a wry chuckle. “that’s no excuse.”

“i know.”

“we’ll report him, alright? i will, if you won’t. that’s no way to be speaking to coworkers.”

you nod vaguely as hobi runs his hands up and down your arms. trapped underneath you, your right foot begin to fall asleep. 

“baby?” your boyfriend asks after a minute.

“do you think he’s right?” you burst, eyes burning. “do you think i need to lose weight?”

hoseok’s face falls, and he grasps at your wrists. “y/n,” he starts.

“no,” you interrupt. “really, hoseok. i- i’m not enough for you, am i? i don’t know why you stay with me. you’re way out of my league.”

“y/n!” hobi snaps. his tone is suddenly sharp.

you shut your mouth, already regretting your words.

“my love.” hoseok whispers, his voice breaking. “how could you say that?”

you choke on a dry sob, unable to answer.

your boyfriend’s eyes search your face, desperate for an answer that isn’t there. “how could you ever think that you aren’t good enough? and- what, just because you aren’t skinny?”

you look down at the floor as he continues, blinking rapidly. the tears really won’t stop. 

“that’s a silly way to think.” hoseok says quietly. “and i know that for a fact, y/n. because you are the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known. and you always will be, no matter how big you are. you could be four sizes smaller, or four sizes larger, and i would love you all the same.”

you burrow your face further into his chest. “you mean it?” your voice comes out in a whimper.

“absolutely.” he says, not hesitating. “there is no version of events where you aren’t good enough for me. you’re too good for me, honestly. sometimes i think you deserve better.”

you pull away now, frowning. “that’s not true.”

“why not?”

“well,” you falter. “because i love you. and i chose you. i chose you because i love you, and i don’t want anybody else.”

above you, hoseok smiles gently, waiting for you to hear your own words.

the realization hits, and you understand suddenly. he wanted you to say that, to hear it from yourself.

“oh,” you whisper.

“now do you get it?”

you sniffle, grateful that your tears have mostly subsided. “yeah,” you mumble. “i get it.”

“good.” hobi pauses. “i love you, y/n. and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says about you, because you’re gorgeous, and you’re important. and you will never be defined by your body. i’ll call your office and report that awful guy, alright?”

you nod silently.

“okay.” he says, nudging your arm. “now how about you get cleaned up? since you’re home early we can spend the whole evening together if you’d like.”

you perk up at that. “oh- yes, i want to.”

hoseok smiles. “i thought so. here-” he rises to his feet, extending a hand to help you. you take it, placing your palm in his. he lifts you to standing, then smiles again.

“don’t worry, my love. i’ll fix your mood right up. i even have some sample tracks i could show you!”

you smile gently. “that sounds nice.”

as he turns to leave, you clear your throat. “hoseok.”

he turns quickly, eyebrows raised. “hmm?”

you gesture for him to come closer, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, you lean over and kiss him.

it’s a gentle kiss, really. a kiss that says i love you, and a kiss that says thank you, for everything.

hoseok hums into your mouth, hands quickly finding your waist. you lean into him, body and mind buzzing. kissing hoseok is your favorite, because each time is just a little different. 

your hands find his hair, and you smile against his mouth. you can feel him smile back.

he kisses you for just a moment longer, then pulls away. 

he rests his forehead on yours, sighing lightly.

and you know that you have never felt more loved, more beautiful, more safe, then you do in that moment, with him. 

[skiitter]

A prompt, my dear. Hermione and Draco + “who hurt you?”

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, the majority of which were less than desirable to any sensible person, but one thing he was not was late. His punctuality was a point of pride, in a sea of arrogance no doubt, but Hermione had come to appreciate it over the course of their working relationship. It was something she could rely on, something immovable in an otherwise dangerously murky situation. He may needle her ceaselessly and leave her to do the lions share of the paperwork, but he was always there when he was expected, an effortless air of smugness clinging to him like bad cologne.

This Sunday, however; this unremarkable, overcast Sunday in late September he was late. It was the day after her 24th birthday as well as their final meeting. The report had been ostensibly completed, the field work essentially finished, and the conclusion inevitably drawn. After the better part of a year dedicating 1/3rd of every weekend to spending most of the day with Malfoy, Hermione's Sundays were about to become her own once more; a prospect she was not all that excited about.

Everytime the chirp of the bell above the door announced a new arrival, she would glance over, expecting to see a shock of platinum hair above a signature sneer and everytime, she was disappointed.

"Another tea, miss?" The waitress asked, her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and pity.

"No, no thank you." Hermione spared another look out the window, searching for him among the crowd. "Actually, I think I'm done here. Could I get the check?"

Bundled up against the autumn chill, Hermione paid and left the Cafe' and it's memories behind. It wasn't quite noon yet, and the streets were slowly filling with the townspeople emerging to go about their days. She smiled at a few passersby but was otherwise lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the Apparition point.

Maybe Malfoy had just decided their final meeting wasn't all that important. To be fair it was more of a formality than anything else. His decision to not show would have no negative consequence on anything other than her feelings. Feelings, of course, that she was deliberately not thinking about.

As she rounded the corner, absorbed in her denial, she didn't see him until it was too late. With an audible "oof" she ran straight into Malfoy, colliding chest to chest. She immediately bounced off but he caught her arm before she could hit the sidewalk.

"What--Malfoy?"

"Graceful as always, Granger." He let her go and she stared, wide eyed and confused, at the state of his face.

"Merlin! Your face it's--"

"Your manners leave so very much to be desired." He looked cross but it was hard to tell beneath the bruising. An ugly, mottled patch of purple marred the left side of his face, stark and violent against his pale skin. It was fresh, the edges red with the recent impact, and it appeared to have just narrowly missed his eye.

"Malfoy," she reached her hand out, ghosting her fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

He sneered at her and jerked away. "Keep your obligatory Gryffindor concern to yourself, Granger."

"It's not an obligation!"

"Says the war hero."

"Will you--ugh!" She huffed and dragged him back around the corner, off of the sidewalk and into an alley. "What happened?" She repeated.

"Nothing."

"Malfoy."

He looked around, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her. "I made a wrong turn at Diagon Alley, is all."

"A wrong turn?" The incredulity in her voice was palpable. "To where? A boxing ring?"

"Just drop it, Granger."

"I will not just drop it. Look--look at your face!" She closed the space between them. "Malfoy, please. What happened?"

He sighed and the rigidity of his shoulders softened. "I forgot, okay? I went to Flourish and Blotts to get you your bloody birthday gift and when I left, I ran into some adoring fans."

"What--"

"Our former school chums don't take kindly to my presence in Diagon Alley and, after our last little spat, I'd forgotten the warning they'd left me with." Malfoy's jaw tensed and he squinted up into the clouded sunlight. "They took it upon themselves to remind me."

Hermione balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger."

"Who?" She took a steadying breath. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't know. I vaguely recognized them from Hogwarts. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It was categorically not fine. Malfoy was hardly the first of their class that had been on the wrong side of the war to be attacked. Harry had spent a significant amount of time trying to dispel such violent grudges and, to the best of her knowledge, it had been handled. Clearly, she was mistaken.

"We need to report this to the Ministry. Harry needs--"

"Absolutely fucking not." Malfoy gave her an indignant look. "The last person that needs to hear about this is Saint Potter."

"Malfoy, Harry's job is dealing with--"

"No, Granger. I said no."

"So what? Those nasty little insects just get to get away with it? No. I refuse. We didn't go to bloody war--"

"I was on the wrong side of that war, remember? So, yeah, we did go to war for this exact scenario to exist." He could see the lack of effect his words were having written across her face. "Granger. Please. I don't want this to become another of your crusades."

She reeled as if she'd been slapped. "Crusades?! Malfoy, it's about the injustice of it! You don't deserve to be attacked in the streets for something you did nearly ten years ago!"

"The court of public opinion begs to differ."

"Oh they'll beg alright," she snapped. At her genuine anger, his features softened and Malfoy gave her an unreadable look before looking away.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." He said it with an air of affection, though, and it helped to ground her back in the now.

"Thank you." Once more she placed her hand upon his bruised cheek and, to her surprise, he leaned into the touch. Her breathe caught in her lungs and she swallowed. "We--we should take care of that."

"It's just a simple spell. I'll handle it."

"No," she insisted and stepped away from him. "I will. It's the least I can do."

"This is hardly your fault."

"You went to Diagon Alley for me, remember?" She looked him up and down. "Speaking of..."

"I've been attacked and you're worrying over your stupid gift?" His tone was lighter than it had been since she'd ran into him.

"Of course I am. It's not everyday the evil Draco Malfoy buys you a gift." Hermione nodded to the Apparition point behind them. "Let's go."

"What about the Cafe? You can't honestly expect me to deny our Waitress her weekly opportunity to oogle at me." He gestured to his outfit: an expensive and perfectly tailored muggle suit that Hermione had forced him to buy after he showed up to their first meeting in robes.

"I've already been. It'd been weird to go back now. Besides, I think the bruise will overshadow your fancy slacks."

"Women like a man with scars."

She snorted. "It's hardly a battle scar, you git." when he gave her a pleading look, she rolled her eyes and looked around, to make sure they were alone. Satisfied with the lack of muggles, Hermione drew her wand and tapped it gently to his cheek. The static heat of magic bloomed between them and the ugly purple faded away, leaving his pale cheek unblemished once more. "There."

In the process of her healing, Malfoy had stepped completely into her personal space and the look he was giving her was heavy, deliberate.

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out who did this, with or without your help. They don't get to just attack you and get away with it."

"I'm hardly a weakling, Granger. I fought back."

"Good. It'll make them easier to identify."

"You're not going to let this go." It was not a question.

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because." She gave him a defiant look and he tipped her chin up with his hand. "You're my--"

"What? I'm your what?"

"Friend?"

"Is that all?" He was dangerous, but in a completely different way to the bully he'd been in their youth.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what you got me for my birthday." She grinned and he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling away and offering her his arm. She looped hers around it and let him steer them back in the direction of the Cafe.

After a lunch of finger sandwiches and tea, Malfoy finally handed her a perfectly wrapped gift that she immediately tore into. It was the latest book in a series on beasts that Rolf Scamander had been releasing, and it wasn't supposed to be out for another week.

"How did you get this?"

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was the least important thing in the world. "Money is an exceptionally good incentive."

"I love it. Thank you." She beamed at him and he cleared his throat as if it would distract her from the flush creeping up his neck.

"It's no big deal, Granger."

"To you maybe. It is to me. You know how I feel about birthday gifts." They both thought back to the spectacle she'd made of his back in June.

"I did fight for my life while I was out getting it." He grinned but the smile faded at the sharp look she gave him. "I'm joking, of course. Just a little fisticuffs, nothing serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am. You didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley for this."

"Sure I did."

"Just submitting your half of the report would be gift enough."

"Lucky for you I've done both. Besides, I'm sick of using that bloody report as an excuse to be around you." Hermione blinked, unable to process the weight of what he'd said. At the shock on her face, he shrugged again. "Come on, Granger. You can't possibly think I care about work this much."

"I--you--what?"

He leaned forward and captured her chin in his hand. "My fierce, naive little lion. You're horribly dense." Malfoy gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and pulled away. "Let's go before the Waitress gets jealous."

"But. What."

"I've rendered the great Hermione Granger speechless. I am truly magnificent." His laugh brought her to her senses and she launched herself across the table to kiss him.

"Sod the waitress."

She did, in the end, figure out who hurt him and in true Hermione Granger fashion, made them rue the day they laid hands upon someone she loves.