#Serenity yet Anxious Within||Ran

[8um8le]

May I please learn about Wise Koi!!!! I would love to learn about their backstory!!!

Wise Koi was one the many experiments in this secret facility, but the thing that separates him from the others was he wasn’t hostile. He was used for research to find a way humans can regenerate limbs.

Sun and Moon ran into him during one of their hunts, and decided to save him from his imprisonment, and koi even helped navigate through the place.

Although he is stubby and small, he has witnessed a lot and been through a lot, (seeing what people will do behind closed doors if it’s for “science”)yet he stays open minded and serene.

He lives in the main washroom of Su and Moon’s place (since they already have their own washrooms connected to their room) they even replaced the shower area with a giant glass tank for koi to chill and sleep in, koi likes to keep the house clean, and watch over plants, and eat vegetables, listens to classical music and lofi, he meditates and likes to go out in the rainy weather since it’s humid.

Sun finds it inspiring how he can go through so much yet still find balance within himself to stay sane, even if he is just some vulnerable fish without muscle that can regenerate like a starfish. Contrary to Sun, someone who has perks in getting away with murder, who has the latest tech customized to thrive in the violent city, someone who can easily defend himself, yet he’s still skittish, insecure, and overthinks everything. So when he gets super anxious he usually turns to koi for comfort like koi is his grandpa <:-))

[chipstertool]

Gaian Story: Initial Published Chapter One (Archive)

Old Title: Leaving the Willow's Nest -> New Title: Out of the Willow's Nest

Author's Notes: As you may know, this is the second time I'm doing this since I'm revising the first chapter. There are some aspects that I want to expand upon, especially the Willowvale and Sunn Valley part due to wanting having more interaction and breathing room on how Sonia takes part in each location.

With Willowvale, though small in detail, was her hometown and I want to emphasize on her thoughts and feelings about leaving a place you're comfortable from birth.

Sunn Valley is supposed to bring out a slow start when venturing out to the rest of the Innova continent through Sonia's POV as we see Aiyanna, a calm yet warm individual to give Sonia that slow ease.

As for the Steamridge, I want to apply more of a "gigantic" feeling with having it split into two sides: one with a residential/small-town atmosphere and one with a big city atmosphere.

[Spoilers Below]

   Willowvale, the hometown Sonia was raised throughout her life. The town that'll make a regular feel out of place from its frightful atmosphere filled with. The howls and hoots can make anyone unfamiliar with the town fill themselves with anxiety and fear as if a werewolf would appear out of nowhere. The town can also be a glimmer of serenity when the silver moon shines down on the area, making two sides of a coin. It was truly place that Sonia called home and all of her life, she felt comfortable with the things she grew up. 

        The world beyond the tight-knit nest was a mystery to her that she couldn't fathom what to expect on those uncharted lands. Sonia felt confident going beyond the horizons yet was often anxious about individuals who were unlike the people she already knew within Willowvale and the customs she may come across. Her thoughts ran through her head as she kept thinking to herself about the uncertainty on people's faces and minds if she were to talk about her origin home since it's not a place many people would name home. Even with her ability, it could put off some people since she could see things where the rest could not and this would raise some tension between her and them. The way of living she's used between experiencing the rest of the Innova region is a frightening thought as she could potentially find other people on her way to the Academy but the familiarity of her home brings her comfort. 

        The reoccurring thoughts brought her into a headache, it was too much for her to bear it any longer. She headed outside of the house to cool her mind with her cat Artemis following her and the drizzling rain were beginning to soothe her as she walked along the concrete. The sight of Willowvale comforted her wavering heart as she observed her surroundings from the dim streetlights to the gray clouds covering the blue sky, she and Artemis sits down on a dry bench, uncovered from the rain. 

"Artemis, why do choices have to so hard?" questioned Sonia. "I want see everything beyond this town but it's honestly scary. I feel like a bird being pushed out by a Cuckoo."

        Artemis could only rubbed his head onto her hand and Sonia would pet him in return. Moving away from a town she grew up in was difficult, the memories of her childhood were pleasant as she played with the other children and her sister-like friend, the feeling of those memories felt precious to her and it would be good to stretch her wings but her hands cling on to a strict thread she places on herself. While in deep thought, footsteps become louder with each splash and a shadow begins to loom over the girl, Sonia's head slowly moves upward to find Misty. 

"Hey Sonia, mind if I sit down with you?

"Ah. I don't mind." Through Sonia's accepting invitation, Misty sits next to her, taking in the atmosphere herself.

 "Having a hard time on leaving Willowvale?"

"Yes and no. I do want to go to the academy but everything else is just...a blur to me."

"How so?"

"Ever since I got excited about being accepted into the academy, I thought about exploring the many aspects of the Innova region but...the more I think about it, the more I have to think about leaving home." While lamenting, Misty wraps her arms around Sonia.

"I know it's frightening to think about leaving home but there will be people who will stick with you thick and thin. Who knows, there might be a warm smile when you go to Steamridge." Misty calmly reassures her. 

        Being wrapped around her arms made her feel safe with a sense of security, her words eased her lingering anxiety and embraced her with her own arms. The encounter was short yet tender, Misty decides to take Sonia home by piggyback due to her "sister's" petite stature and Artemis follows the both of them while sky begins to turn into dusk. 

[Night - Blakemore Residence]

        Misty begins to head upstairs into the Sonia's bedroom where she lays her on her bed and turns to her desk. There were papers and papers on the city and affiliated academy, she peeks at first but slowly begins to invest herself on what Sonia has been reading. The many articles and pamphlets of Steamridge along with some notes on how to navigate the city was something Sonia would do and she chuckles. Though, there was a notebook lying near the edge of the desk with stuff written on them, some of them were titled 'How to be confident' or 'Directions to Gearlock Academy'. She smiles and placed them back on the desk, leaving Sonia and Artemis alone for the night. As she steps down, her view focuses on Blair looking into something.

"Do you need some help?" questioned Misty. 

"Ah! N-no thank you but I appreciate the consideration." Blair was surprised and hides the object back in a vacant space.

"I apologize for asking but what were you looking at?"

"It's just family stuff or something."

        It was a first for Misty to hear about Blair's origins, she knew Nox's origins of being the son of a family who are usually hunters but with Blair, there was nothing to know. No records or photos in sight. Misty has a feeling on what Blair's ties to her family are but never seem to put it into words. 

"So~ What was your family like? Did you have a good relationship with them?" Misty questioned gleefully, hoping for a answer to finally come.

"I- Well...I had a musician and witch for parents. And I did have a good relationship with them. There. That's it." Blair jokingly answered. 

"Is there any more? Like, anything related to before before?"

"Oh...that...you may wanna leave that one out. Don't want you to make feel uncomfortable about my ancestry." 

"You don't like your ancestry?"

"Oh no! I don't dislike my ancestor at all!" Blaire surprised as the thought. "It's just that everything from before is honestly depressing and I don't think my daughter would like it that much." 

"I see....Well, it's a start on getting to know you after all these years!" 

        Both of them began to smile to each other and attempted to laugh it off. Misty decides it was enough questioning for today and prepares herself for the night. She reminds Blair to also rest up since it's an important day for Sonia. "I'm sure, when the time is right, you'll be comfortable enough to tell her about your side of the family." She spoke softly. With that, she headed upstairs to finally sleep.

"Yeah. When the time is right. When everything is finally safe." Blair quietly muttered, expressing a cheerless look on her face.

[Sunrise - Blakemore Residence] 

        The sun begin to rose from its slumber, blanketing the natural foliage and man-made structures with its light, the witch's room was hit by its rays among the windows. Sonia rose from the bed with a half-tired look on her face and observed her surroundings. Upon viewing the clock, marking 6:30 AM, she began to get up from the mattress and walked downstairs to the kitchen. All she could consume was toast and scrambled eggs, though should've been ruined with her yet were made by Misty. 

"Still tired?"

"I wish I had at least 15 more minutes of sleep."

"But it was 9:30 when you passed out. I think that was about 13 hours, so it was enough."

"I know..."

"You know, you're a bit early. You sure you want to head out into the city after this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Like what my dad said, it's better to get something done early rather than late."

        The mention of her father brought a smile to Misty's face yet deep down she was saddened at the thought. He has been gone for sometime, that at least someone would know his whereabouts but she would know that he not let Sonia's emotions get the best of her and reassure her that he'll be alright. Her cheery exterior brought Misty at ease and wished that her father could see her like this.

"I see, I see. (It's honestly a sight to see her like but I think it's for the best.)"

"Anyways, it'll be time for my enrollment in the academy and I don't want to miss an opportunity of seeing other people. (Even though I'm not that good with people interaction.)" 

        While both girls were finishing eating, Blair came downstairs with a set of clothes in her arms and her hair untied, still feeling a bit tired but was rearing to go for work in the pharmacy. Her eyes spotted Misty and Sonia getting ready for their start of the day and began to speak her greetings before they depart from the town, "It's a lovely morning we're having! Perfect day to get out there and explore something!"

"I-It sure is, mom." she stuttered.

        Sonia was smiling cheerfully at her comment but from the back of her mind, was sweating. She was ready and had Misty to accompany her but it becomes overwhelming from the amount of people she'll encounter or even interact with. She gotten used to the people of Willowvale but from outside that place, was unknown to her, despite living in the same region as the others. She has thoughts about what people might think of her, internally and externally, and these thoughts keep piling on and on until it overloaded her brain.

"Are you feeling alright?" Misty questioned as she saw Sonia's face going blank. She jumped back into reality from Misty's echoing words and replied, "Ah! Yes, yes, I'm fine, I'm fine!" Misty, hearing her response, decides to go out to fetch her Vespa. 

        Sonia thinks about what's to come when she arrives to the city as the future years of her life will probably be nerve-wracking but nevertheless engaging for better or worse. First impressions are what she considered the most important since people can view others in a different light by how they appear, say, or act and she might find someone similar to her or at the very least friendly through appearance and personality. Although, all of that can be dealt with later since it was time to depart and head towards Steamridge. Though a train would be nice, it was Misty's suggestion to take the hitch a ride on her vehicle for a enhanced experience as she would like to call it. Either way it allowed her to grasp an observation of the region before reaching her destination. Both were on the revving vehicle and exchanged their departing words with Blair.

"We're heading out now! I'll be back in about a day or two!"

"Bye mom! I'll miss you!"

        Blair waved as both girls drove off from the building and onto the road where it leads to the rest of the Innova region. As the duo began to moved further from Willowvale, the land ahead became more expansive than ever and this will mark a new mark on Sonia's life. 

        The wind from the ride was pleasant as its breeze brushed crossed her face as she saw a neighboring city by the seashore. The city had an area where boats, ships, and ferries were present as some were arriving and others departing, everything felt so aquatic about that area. Sonia's eyes caught on to a particular structure that was taller than the rest, a lighthouse; the sheer size of the building was enough to make her eyes widened. The area began to shrink more and more as she and Misty kept moving on the road with more foliage appearing, unmarked by man themselves. 

        After the long trail filled with nature, the duo make their way to a nearby area, split into two: one filled with farmland and the other near a deep ravine. The two make a stop towards the rural land by parking next to a building with a garage, Misty hopped off of the vehicle and knocked on the door. *knock* *knock* *knock* The door creeped open, showing a individual with perked ears above her head.

"Why hello Misty the ol' soul bringer of death, what brings you here?" questioned the bunny-eared girl as she steps out of the door with a exaggerated tone.

"I'm just letting an academy newcomer to take in the sights outside of Willowvale, although, ol' soul bringer of death sounds a bit...over the top, don't you think?" Misty answered with some underneath embarrassment on her face.

"Ah nonsense. I say it fits you just well, I mean, you have Soulbringer blood in ya' and have the ability related to souls or something." She proclaimed.

Misty muttered, "Hmm. You do have a point, Tessa. Though, the name is still over the top." 

        Both girls continued their conversation while Sonia begins to take a stroll along the path. The scenery was more lax and laidback than ever as it's more spacious than ever: houses were a bit homely by their exterior and the inhabitants were easygoing by a glance. The area had a warm atmosphere, enough for someone visiting to bask in its smell and view. Sonia gazed upon its sights until someone approached her and said, "Welcome to Sunn Valley, I reckon this is your first time being 'round here." The greeting caught her by surprise as she turned around to a girl with a friendly smile on her face. 

        Though the low-ponytailed girl was waiting for a response, Sonia smiled and became tense without a response. The atmosphere was becoming silent between the two girls as one was dazed while the other was confused; in the mist of the awkwardness, Sonia mustered up the ability to respond, "N-no, I haven't. It's my first time being around here." The meek response she provided gave the other girl an indication of what to say or do afterwards thus lowering her approach. "I see. Well then, welcome to the countryside of the Innova region...err...umm...what's ya' name?" she questioned Sonia. She responded in a less meek tone, "My name is Sonia, Sonia Blakemore. But, I didn't catch your name, miss...". The low-ponytailed girl quickly responded, "Aiyanna, Aiyanna Galihai." Their hands grasped one another, creating simple handshake. 

        Both girls began to become comfortable with each other after the silence and the two resumed their stroll along the dirt path within the sun-basked countryside; it was quiet, although, it was also nice to just walk with someone. Aiyanna provided Sonia with the tour of Sunn Valley in its entirety as she explains about her hometown: "So, right up north is Stonehinge, a small mining town with the huge ravine. By east is a smaller section of Sunnvale where it basically consists housing along with some farmland since we gotta have room for our animals here and let me say, it is a lot of work to manage." Aiyanna's ramblings on her insight on the area hooked Sonia's ears, she listened throughout the one-sided conversation as everything within this valley was quite relaxing to say the least. Sonia felt like she could bask in the scenery all time until there was a distant shout behind the both of them.

"Oi! Sonia! We're going to leaving Sunnvale!" Misty shouted with the Vespa by her side.

"Huh, I guess it's time for you to head on out. If I may ask, where are you two going?" Aiyanna asked.

"We're going to Steamridge, I have somewhere to be for tomorrow so we're going to find a place to sleep in." Sonia answered confidently.

"If you're going to rest somewhere then I suggest the Cozy Sheep. I heard their beds are extra comfortable, feels like you're sleep on a large sheep than a bed honestly." She suggests.

        As Misty and Tessa make their towards the entrance of Stonehinge, the traveling duo begin to prepare themselves on heading towards their destination as Misty and Sonia hop aboard while Tessa and Aiyanna stand side by side. Before they can leave to resume their trip, Tessa adds on another suggestion, "The road ahead goes through a small section of the taiga, just follow straight ahead and you'll get there!" Both girls heed to her advice as the engine begins to rev itself and the two make their way to their destination.

        After taking the suggested road through the taiga woods, Misty and Sonia finally make their way into the innovative city of Steamridge. Sonia was bewildered by the contrast between her hometown, Sunnvale, and the city; almost everything felt study filled with stones and bricks along with the amount of people coming in and out of each building. Misty and Sonia make their decision to mark the suggested motel, Cozy Sheep, as their designated destination. The route to this location was a bit overwhelming to Sonia since this was her first time experiencing everything about Steamridge as everything looked crowded but even then, they managed to reach to the Cozy Sheep.

"We're here!" exclaimed Misty while setting and locking her Vespa next to a stationed pole.

"That's good, I was starting to worry about going in circles." Sonia commented as she sighs in relive.

        The two make their way into the motel as everything in its interior felt comfortable and cozy even, maybe that's why this place get's its name. The owner was quite friendly as she welcomed Misty and Sonia into her place, in return, Misty asked for a room with two beds and the owner happily takes the offer, showing them their designated room. The room itself was surprisingly pleasant as the air smelled like fresh linen that was crisp and clean, the dreamy blue, silvers, and yellows that make up the night sky, and its beds were soft as a sheep's wool. 

"Ah~ This feels so wonderful!" expressed Sonia in a delightful manner as she slumps onto one of the beds.

"I have to say, they weren't kidding about the state of this motel. Well, let's rest up and call it a day, tomorrow's the big day." Misty announced.

        The duo began to hop into their beds and turn off the lights in the process. The room was illuminated with stars as Sonia begins to think to herself about what will happen tomorrow: Am I going to be alright? Will I be able to fit with the others? How will I adjust for the next couple of years? All these internal questions made her brain awake yet she reassures herself that everything would be alright and slowly sets herself asleep, concluding her trip from Willowvale to Steamridge. 

 [Steamridge Train Station]   

    By the time they head for the train station, Sonia began to feel shaken from top to bottom. Everything seemed fine from last night as she told herself that it'll go smoothly, although, that lingering anxiety caught up to her when the morning sun rose from Gaia's edges. Just even thinking about arriving made Sonia have second thoughts about going into the academy and wanted to go back to Willowvale.

"M-Maybe I should take next year." Sonia stammered. 

"Huh? Why?" questioned Misty.

"I...I may not excel and probably fail first thing when I get there. So..." She continued.

"Sonia, it's about the academy isn't it? I know it's scary from your point of view since you're leaving home to another place. So, it's okay to feel that way." remarked Misty.

        When Sonia hears about Misty's acknowledgement, she observes the other possible students huddled in one area. All the people there seemed different where some of them have unusual features that it secretly intimated her, even frightened her to the point she doesn't want to approach them. She views the other individuals as some of them have clothing that felt friendly enough, although, she couldn't be too sure as she thought to herself that never see someone in her attire. Sonia looks back at her background along with all the aspects that come along with it, by her conclusion, she would possibly stand out among the rest and that didn't set well with her.

"But Misty...what if people find me weird in some way? I mean, I was born and raised within a town that'll scare outsiders just by how we embrace certain things in Willowvale!" commented Sonia.

"Listen, the academy will have people from the Innova region AND other regions in the world. I'm sure there'll be people in Gearlock that'll accept you despite your origins. Plus, you might even find one friendly face around there!" Misty reminded.

"Oh...I'm sure that'll be the case." She sighed.

        When Misty assured her anxiety and worries about it, Sonia felt a bit more at ease by her words. Even though she's still uneasy about the ordeal, she attempt to prepare herself for the rest of the day. The railway train sets itself among the tracks, exiting people out and waiting for new ones to climb in for their next stop; Sonia stands in front of the train with a tensed look on her face and slowly turns to Misty's direction, seeing her smile at her. Upon seeing this, she waved at Misty while Misty said her best wishes towards her as the doors began to close, concluding her time within Steamridge and her time with Misty. The train slowly begins to adjust itself to depart from the station and onto Gearlock Academy.

[itsraiyninmeteors]

I found my boy again

still blaming @ask-thecopycat​ for this

[zephyrcove]

Summer Thing by @zephyrcove

Well, I didn’t think I had time to write today but I came across @the-dream-team ‘s TPT for today, read the first few lines and RAN to see what the prompt was and write it myself. SO here’s the accidental 3 pages of summer Jily that I wrote for @petalstosarah training prompt tuesday :)

It was a pleasant sort of hot as they lay there, basking in the summer heat but protected by a gentle breeze. If he tilted his head ever so slightly he saw the curve of her face tucked into his side, a pointless attempt to shield her pale Irish skin from the beaming English sun. James held up a hand to cast a shadow on her features, admiring how his own tan skin soaked in the warmth unfazed by the pinkish burn that had begun to spread across her cheeks. They were silent, listening only to the sounds of nature around them, the whispering breeze rustling through the grass and the chirping of birds as they flitted through the trees behind his house. Their secluded spot in his expansive backyard afforded them privacy, tucked behind a mossy knoll in the lawn and far enough away from the house to not be seen by the prying eyes of his mother and brother. Not that those two didn’t know something was going on anyways; they always saw through his halfhearted excuses, his doting smile giving him away when he went off to meet her even as he said he was headed to Scrivenshaft’s for new ink. 

Her breathing evened out and he listened to her above the natural underscoring of the grounds, the rise and fall of her chest beside him lulling him further into the happiness of the summer heat. His hazel eyes flitted left again, taking in the golden glow of her auburn hair in the afternoon sun, framing her rosy, freckled cheeks perfectly as she dozed off contentedly beside him. He was happy to stay there for the rest of his life, frozen in this sliver of time where everything was perfectly, incandescently happy. 

But even as he lay basking in the August sun, he knew that this sliver of time could not last. It was August after all, and despite the joy of its sunny days, August alway brought September. And with September came the wake up call of normality, of school and Scotland and the marching on of time. September brought the end of their days in the sun, stifled by those chilled winds of their separate lives. So while he tried desperately to stay present in August, to get lost in the rays beaming on their faces and the bubble that they’ve formed in that golden hour, he could not help but frown at the prospect of September, the prospect of the end.

Hours passed like seconds as James pushed back the thoughts of September for one more day, focusing instead on the girl beside him. It’s as if August had two suns for him, her bright light compelling him to stay and bask just a moment longer in his happiness, in their bubble, in her. The real sun had begun to shift now towards evening and he knew that he needed to get the other home in from the night air. 

Moving for the first time in hours, he shifted towards her, pressing a warm kiss to her hair. The soft sound she made as she woke from her sunkissed nap tugged at his heart and he added that moment to the long list of memories he was keeping of the summer, of her. Lily’s eyes fluttered open and he watched in macro as her lashes gave way to emerald flashing in the setting sunlight. The corner of her pink lips tilted upwards as she smiled serenely at him, her mouth forming a breathy “‘lo”. 

“Hi there,” he smiled back at her, his eyes dancing across her features, aching to take in every second with her, building a composite memory of all that he could see and hear and feel so he would never be made to forget this summer. 

“Is it horrible?” she questioned, pulling his focus back to her eyes. “The sunburn, I mean, I think by now I know that you don’t find the whole of me repulsive.”

The smirk lit his face, as it was wont to do, and her teasing smile matched its energy. “Well not the whole of you I s’pose… your tits are pretty bangin.” Her eyes flamed as if you could floo through them and she slapped his cheek playfully, feigning offense.

“Damn right they are, you cheeky boy.” The hand she had swatted him with came to rest on his muscled chest and her eyelids fluttered lower, sultry as she leaned up to press her lips to his. The arm he wasn’t propped up on wrapped instinctively behind her, his strong, worn hand gripping her ribcage through the floral linen of her sundress, holding her tight to him. Her delicate fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt she smiled into the kiss as his tongue probed at her lower lip. When her lips parted, James deepened the kiss and rolled so he was atop her, gently lowering her back to the grass and holding himself up with his forearms framing her face. He brushed back a strand of hair as he pulled back for air and she bit her lip lightly, even as their noses were still touching, breath ragged from desire. Lily reached up and wound her hand into his curls, pulling him back down to her. His body was thrumming with feeling and with want as they continued, but her moan brought him back to August, the precursor to September,  and he pressed a final kiss to her rosy lips before he pulled back enough to look at her.

James shifted onto his hips beside her, his palms pressing into the sides of his head as he exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair. He felt Lily move beside him as well, knowing that the preemptive stop was out of character for him and that she would want to know why. He felt the weight of her hand lightly on his shoulder and he looked up at her, his eyes glowing in the sunset with a painful passion. Lily’s brow was furrowed slightly, and he resisted the urge to lift his hand and smooth that wrinkle with his thumb, not wanting his feelings to mar her pretty face.

“James…”

“Lil I-” he stopped to take a breath and she watched him carefully as he shook his fingers through his hair again. “I just- I don’t want this to end.” Her eyes glistened as she let out a small sigh through her nose, her expression one that he couldn’t quite place. Not able to bear the words that he knew were to come, he spoke again quickly.

“I know this is just a summer thing, but I want you to know that when I’m with you, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. These summer months that we’ve been together have been the best I’ve ever felt.” He shifted towards her again, nearly facing her but not yet ready to look into her eyes, afraid of the roadblock he might find there. “It’s like I was in this dark room, content and cared for, but not knowing what living with the lights on was like, and then this summer you kissed me for the first time and it’s like you turned on the light. You were the light, the sun, and now I can see… everything... and I feel so much. I can’t imagine a life where I don’t get to lay here in the sun with you where I don’t get to kiss you. I can’t imagine a September where I have to pretend like this August never happened.”

Lily’s emerald eyes shone back at him as he finally met her stare, and he only hoped that the passion he’d expressed hadn’t ruined everything. Resolute to conclude his speech, he put a calloused hand on her arm, holding her attention and conveying the magnitude of his feelings as he finished. “I know what we said, about the summer, about keeping this thing between us… contained. But I am happier than I’ve ever been. I’m in love with you. And I’m not willing to just let that go without fighting for it.”

In the moment of silence, besides James’ slightly ragged breathing, anxious from the declaration, the air around them was quiet. Even the birds paused as if they too were waiting to hear her answer. The soft wind blew by for a moment, darting in between them, as they sat in the orange glow of the setting sun, so much riding on this very moment in time. 

Within seconds the fear in his chest was cast aside as Lily surged forward and kissed him passionately, her hands clutching onto his shirt, pulling her as close to him she could get. Her hair curtained around them keeping them in their bubble as he broke from the shock and met her passion enthusiastically. His hand snaked behind her neck and held her there as she confirmed all he had ever wanted. 

Having properly kissed him, she pulled back ever so slightly, her warm breath still feathering his cheeks as she whispered to him. “The only Septembers I want are with you by my side and I never August to end. If we’re just a summer thing then summer is all year long baby, because I couldn’t handle not being yours. I’ve spent years of my life trying not to fall and two months of you in the sunshine has thrown all that out the window. I love you James. I am happiest when I am with you.”

As the sun set behind them James didn’t know what he could possibly say to top the feeling of hearing Lily Evans say that, so he did all he could think of and kissed her again. The warmth of the summer night air reminded him that the sun was still there, she was right in front of him and she was blinding, and he was happy.

[futurewriter2000]

The One

A/N: I think this is the perfect time for me to write this request. 

REQUEST:Hi! Are your requests open? If they are can i request a james potter imagine where reader is very stressed over exams because she failed the last time so he gets worried over her etc. ? Thank you!

XX

James hadn’t seen you this pale in his whole life knowing you. He knew you were stressed, you get easily anxious because of your extensive over-thinking, over-analyzing and over-worrying. 

You told him two weeks before that you will be swamped with work. You told him to not be offended if you were not that around him. He understood, so seeing you a few times a week didn’t make him upset. He missed you but he knew you needed to concentrate on your exams, so he popped in ocassionally to check up on you. 

He gently knocked on the door and opened them slowly. He peeked and saw you already looking at him with confused, red eyes. “James?” you asked, grabbing your glasses from the bed and putting them on. 

You looked worse than he had thought. Your eyes sunk into the dark shadows around the, thin red veins in the white of them, reaching into the coloured iris. Your skin was pale and red, meaning you definetly scratched some of it subconsciously from the anxiety and stress. Your skin was pale. There was no colour on it, no shine, no smoothness. Your body was covered in oversized, comfortable clothing, your hair a definite mess. 

Yet you smiled to his appearance with serenity and joy. Somehow, despite all the heaviness your eyes had hold, they still twinkled a bit at the sight of him, which made his stomach do all sorts of things. 

He walked in with a tray and his imfamous cocky grin. “Evening my Love.” he closed the door behind with his foot. “I brought you some food.” 

You felt something churn in your stomach but it sickened you at the sight. Your stomach was delicate when it came to a big amount of stress. You couldn’t control it. As much as you tried to avoid stress, it was always there and your stomach made sure that you know it.

You pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and simpered. “Uh- thanks but I’m really not that hungry.” you moved the books from one part of the bed to another, making some space for your boyfriend. “Sorry for the mess.” you appologised, your voice a bit raspy and weak. 

James couldn’t bring himself to smile at this scene. He put the tray down in front of you; mashed potatoes, fried fish, greens and juice. There were pancakes with strawberries on the side. He looked at you worriedly. “You haven’t had a proper meal in days.” he glanced at your night stand, filled with water bottles, some empty, some half full. There were some half eaten cookies and a lot of wrapping papers. 

You brought your knees to your chins, deciding to ignore what he had said and just look at him and smile. He was so handsome. He had a nice dark tone to his skin, dakr hair and his eyes beautifully outmatched his other features. His hair was always spiked up after a few days but when he washed them, they fell flat on his forehead. He always smelled so nicely, a cologne you had bought him for his birthday last year. He used it constantly but never ran out of it. 

He knew what you were doing. You were adoring him with your eyes and he would just melt, as he did now. He felt a blush creep on his cheeks as your eyes kept wandering on his face, observing every cell of his body. He stood up and walked on the other side of the bed, scooting behind you and taking you into his arms. 

You leaned back, feeling such comfort and safety as warmth washed over you. Your eyes closed at the wonderful feeling, tears unwillingly falling down your cheeks. “I’m so tired, James.”

He kissed the side of your head, eyes squeezing shut at the way you called his name. It wasn’t just a call, it was a plea and he felt like you were telling him to save you. He squeezed you tightly and burried his nose into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, causing goosebumps to appear all over. You smelled just the same as you always did, after coconut.  “I love you, (y/n).” he said softly, almost sorrowly. “But please eat something.” he continued but stopped as he had felt you breathe heavier in his arms. 

He looked at you and found you sleeping in his embrace. Your eyes were shut, some traces of tender tears from the corner of your eyes to the corner of your lips. You inhaled strongly but exhaled slowly. It was as if you were suffocating on air. 

He smiled as he saw you cling onto his left arm like a monkey, nuzzling your head into his shoulder and starting to pull light snores. Luckily, he could pull his wand with his dominant hand and remove all the books and the tray from your bed. He uncovered the sheets and covered both of you in it, scooting himself away and carefully tucking you, later himself as well, into the sheets. He scooped you into his embrace and pulled you close, his lips giving you gentle kisses on the back of your neck, your shoulder and your earlobe. 

He saw a pleased little smile on your lips as he did but you were already fast asleep. He let his hands reach to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he kept tabs on your pulse. 

He could feel it beating nicely but the pace was off. There would be a few fast heartbeats for five minutes or so, then a few slow ones for a longer period. 

He knew how important this was to you. Everybody had final exams but you had a bit more since you had failed two important exams before. The professors decided to split those two exams into three parts each with addition of a few more works. It was unfair but it was how the system worked. You didn’t complain, only grabbed your books and disappeared among them. 

In two weeks, you had changed completely. He didn’t see you in the mornings but when he did, you were too exhausted to see him. At first you put effort into your appearance but through every exam, you would just walk straight out of bed, take an exam, go back to your dorm, sleep a bit, study. 

He hadn’t seen you do anything you love. He hadn’t seen you go out for a walk, hang out with your friends, go to Hogsmeade with him or anything that would take you away from these exams for just a moment, letting your brains relax. You speech had gotten confusing as well. You kept talking but lost concentration quickly. Your tongue would twist and the wrong words came out or no words at all. 

You would drift away just as you did now. You withdrawn yourself into your den, surrounded by books, trying so hard to pass these exams but after each exam, he would see you grow weaker. 

He hasn’t seen you during breakfast, lunch or supper for a week and a half. Your friends told him that you had changed. You became grumpy, snappy and even moody. Sometimes they would just see you stare somewhere else, dazing out for a second or so but quickly coming back and grabbing the books in front of you. 

James was only worried. He just wanted these exams to be over so you would finally rest and come back to them.... to him. 

He kissed the back of your head and felt his hand squeeze as he did. He wanted to smile but he could feel you tense up. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your fingers squashing his inbetween he let out a small wail of pain. 

“(y/n).” he said softly, trying to remove his hand out of your grip. 

He felt you breathe quicker and heavier, the movement of your eyes going left and right under your eyelids. 

His heart sunk.

Panic overtook his senses. For a moment he just sat there, frozen and stoic, watching you shake and tense under his arms. When he gathered back his thoughts, he took you back into his arms, pulled you closer to him, took a hold of your hands, no matter how much you hurt him, he grit his teeth and suffered through the pain. He locked your moving legs with his, having you in a still position. You breathing was still the same as before, so he only put his chin on your shoulder and whispered. “Shh.... it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” he spoke tenderly, kissing your jaw. “You’re safe, just calm down.” he kept soothing you with his voice. 

You woke up, shaking in his arms and feeling your heart pump in your chest. “Ja-ames.” you stuttered. “What’s happening to me?” you said, scared to death. 

“It’s just an anxiety attack-” he felt your breathing enlarge but he quickly continued. “We had all had them. Just breathe through your nose and breathe out through your mouth. Calm down.” 

“I- I don’t know if I-”

“I’m here. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay?” he kissed your shoulder and pulled you in. 

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. You had never felt like this. You had never felt like fear was over-rulling your life. You had never felt your body go so numb or your heart go so fast. Every breath you took wasn’t enough to fill your lungs. 

He started to hum into your shoulder, diverting your attention from your paranoid thoughts. You looved over your shoulder, finding him smiiling at you. “You know what song this is?” 

You shook your head. 

“ Our love is alive and so we begin...” he started to sing in a whisper at first, his voice only growing. “ Foolishly layin' our hearts on the table- stumblin in.”

You let out a laugh, hearing his gentle, deep voice continue. 

“ Our love is a flame burnin' within Now and then fire light will catch us, Stumblin' in “ he paused, rocking you a bit in his arms and nuzzling into you, chuckling. “Prepare yourself for this:  Wherever you go, whatever you do You know these reckless thoughts of mine Are followin' you “

“ I've fallen for you, whatever you do 'Cause baby you've shown me so many things That I never knew Whatever it takes, baby, I'll do it for you.” you continued, your voice a bit more softer and raspier. 

“You know the song?” he gasped in surprise and you giggled.

“You always sing it to me. Of course, I know the song.”

“Oh.” 

You turned around to face him, your hand reaching up to his cheek as you looked into his eyes, unaware how much your adoring gaze melted him away. You let the tip of your finger wander his chin and cheek, just watching him in adoration. “Thank you.” 

He simpered, kissing your forehead and bringing you in again. “I love you.” he said, feeling tears spike his eyes. “But I also find you very stupid when you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Your hands wrapped themselves around him and you replied. “I know. I’m sorry.” you mumbled. “That’s why I have you; to sober me up.”

He pulled away, cupping your face with his large hands and watching your with all his seriousness. “I’ll always have your back, you hear me? But if you scare me to death like this again, I’ll kill you.” he pulled you back into his embrace. 

You let out a soft giggle, throwing your leg around his torso, which you know he hated but secretly adored. “You just might be the one, James Potter.” you said and he let out a chuckle.

“I am the one. No doubt I’m marrying you one day.”

[hellotherekenobi]

─── blood on the floor.

summary: an injured master obi-wan kenobi stumbles into your quarters late one night and you find yourself assigned the role of nurse to patch him up.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 2,128 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You feel serene as the world around you goes quiet; barely a hum left as you focus on your breathing, your heartbeat, your mind. The silence feels like water rising around your body and settling at your chest– soft, lapping waves as it moves around you; ripples outlining your body.

The water feels… warm– not too warm to the point where it feels as if you’re the main ingredient in a soup, no, warm like the ocean is at midday, where nothing else matters but the sound of the stream, the surface where the sun kisses it, the mild breeze. It’s peaceful. And then someone steps into your moment of peace– into the water you’re envisioning with a splash that jolts you from where you sit. As you turn around– your Padawan braid flicking the other half of your neck– you see a figure stumbling into the wall.

“Master?” You ask tentatively, watching his arm wrapped around his waist.

“Ah, (Y/N).” He breathes out, “I hadn’t realized you were meditating. I’ll come back later.”

“What are you–?” his hand slaps the wall to catch himself from slipping and a red imprint taints the area, causing you to jump up– “You’re bleeding!”

Rushing over to him, your arms immediately hold him up right and seek the attention his abdomen is practically screaming; fingers getting covered in red. He groans as you hold him, carrying him over to your bed to sit him down. He winces immediately at the position and you push back on his shoulders; having him drop onto his back straight away. Looking back down at his wound– a nasty, long gash just below his belly button (which you can see as his robes are ripped from the attack), looking very much like a saber slash to you– your eyebrows furrow as you eye your master.

“Come back later, hmm?” It’s on the verge of a scolding tone, “This doesn’t seem important to you?”

“I’ve had worse.” He speaks through clenched teeth with a hand still pressed onto half of the wound to stop the bleeding as best he can.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but keep your face furrowed in irritation– he has the nerve to say that when he’s currently bleeding all over your bed! Your hands are practically slick with it as you do a much better job of holding pressure to the wound than he is, but you know it’s due to his progressing weakness.

You’re beginning to have a hard time focusing on one thing; there’s the blood, his shallow breaths, the internal voice screaming at you– telling you that you have no idea what to do right now. Then your focus draws to Obi-Wan’s hand resting on top of your two over the wound; his thumb brushing lightly over your skin for a moment before even that becomes too hard a task.

Your eyes meet his, feeling hopeless and all too worried to react to his touch right now, “I don’t know what to do,”

He smiles, only softly, “I’ll live.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“Sorry–” his hand over yours holds you tighter; his other hand placing itself on the top to apply more pressure– “just need… to stop the bleeding.”

“I can’t. I- I–”

“(Y/N), you can. I trust you.”

“Why?”

The reply rolls off of your tongue before you can even understand that you said it, now already too late. It hangs in the air like a blinding sensor light; flashing over your eyes to seek you out. It’s too late now to take it back– to grab it and shush it quiet, slipping it back behind your teeth– Obi-Wan is already looking at you with a questioning brow.

“Do you really need to ask that?” He speaks.

You panic; shaking your head and avoiding his gaze, instead focusing back on his wound, “I think I have some bandages–” your hands holds his down on his abdomen– “Don’t move.”

He chuckles, whispering out some sarcastic remark most likely, but you barely hear it as you stand up and rush to the other side of your room to frantically look for the said bandages– you’re not even sure if you do have any, it was more so a way to escape his question but why oh why would that be more jarring than him bleeding out? You have to thank the Jedi Masters, however, when your fingertips touch the top of a wrapped bandage in the midst of your second robes stored in a chest; huffing in excitement as you pull them out to rush back over to your master.

Kneeling down beside him on the bed, you begin to unwrap the bandages before his hand takes hold of your wrist and you’re gulping under his eyes, “You need to clean the wound first.”

“Right,” you breathe, feeling embarrassed as you place the bandages down and jump up to collect water from the jug you had placed on the table earlier in the night.

You haven’t been all that acquainted with battle wounds yet– yes, some scratches and definitely the sight of blood on the occasional mission but nothing like this. It almost feels like a test to patch up your master with what supplies you have in your quarters– a test you’re failing. Obi-Wan can feel your worry, not just by the Force but by your face and how it scrunches up any time you look back down at his wound. He almost feels… flattered that you care so much but he also feels guilty; you were perfectly fine before he stumbled in here without so much as a warning, but he hadn’t gotten much on his end either. When he sees you peering over him– one hand holding the jug, the other holding the bandages– and trembling, he almost whines.

“(Y/N)…” he speaks, hoping that even just the mention of your name will get you back into action.

It doesn’t, “What if I slip up? What if I can’t… and then…”

“I’m not dying, (Y/N).” He means it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but instead he feels the room darken as you sulk; eyebrows furrowing even worse than before.

He reaches out to you but doesn’t get even close to reaching you before your hand slaps down on his; bandages dropped on the bed and the action sends droplets of water from the jug spilling over.

“Don’t!” You shout, something weak and pathetic but urgent, “Don’t even say that!”

Obi-Wan can’t speak out a reply even if he wants to; you’re already wiping away a tear that rolls down your cheek with the back of your wrist, leaving a streak of his blood on your cheekbone from what was on his hand when he had grabbed you earlier. And then you’re set straight to work; cleaning the wound and shooting anxious glares his way whenever he makes a noise of pain. He talks you through what he can at most, which is a big help considering you’ve never patched or cleaned a wound before, let alone a wound on your master– the same master you’ve cared deeply for since you can remember stepping into his life. He might as well have ran into yours.

But then thankfully, before long, the wound is cleaned and bandaged to the best of your ability– that is, until you realize the bandages won’t hold unless they’re wrapped around him. It’s a soft, cautious voice that speaks from your lips to ask if he’s able enough to stand on his feet so that you can wrap the bandages around his abdomen. He nods his head without speaking; groaning, though, when he sits up with his hand holding onto what you placed of the bandages thus far over his wound. Your arms float about him as he stands; ready to catch him just in case he tips backward.

You look up at him to ask your next question but all too quickly it becomes too embarrassing to say whilst focused on his eyes, so you bow your head, “I need you to take your tunic off, please.”

You’re expecting silence as an answer from him but instead he huffs, “I suppose I will be needing a new one.”

He rolls his shoulders back as he unwraps the fabric; fingers drawing down the edges to open them and flick one side off of him. The other side poses difficult with the wound and his hand on it so, very bashfully, you take the one side of the tunic and help him slide it off of his shoulder and down his arm, slipping it past his wrist and letting it fall onto the floor– you could care less right now if his blood from the tunic dirties the floor; he has, after all, already dirtied your bed.

Then, it becomes progressively warm inside as you look at your master bare-chested in front of you; all the sudden feeling too close. You can feel your cheeks heating up when he leans his arm back and the outline of his stomach tightens– noticing the hair littering down a line under his belly button. With your eyes following the line down, down, you realize how inappropriate it is to be looking at your master like this and you quickly look up, only to notice the dusting of hair that’s on his chest. 

When your eyes meet his, you find him already looking at you and you squeak, “I- I’ll get the bandages.”

It’s a horrific, embarrassing moment for you as you scramble to grab the bandages you had placed on your bed; taking one moment while your back is turned from him to simply breathe. When you feel collected enough– as you’re definitely not recovering from that any time soon– you walk back over to him and begin to unspool the bandages; placing the end on top of what’s on his wound already and beginning to walk around him to wrap what’s remaining. When that’s over– thank goodness, as you don’t think you could handle watching his back muscles twitch any longer– you tie the end off and take a step back.

“Is that tight enough?” You ask.

“Yes,” he nods, brushing his hand across the bandages, “thank you.”

Smiling, you nod at him but still cannot find it within you to look him in the eyes. For a moment, the two of you simply stand there in the silence and you almost wish for the water you imagined before to fill up the room and drown you. Yet again, however, Obi-Wan splashes into the thought as he steps toward you.

“I want to apologize for intruding,” he says, not even looking you in the eyes, “it was wrong of me to do so.”

“No–” you shake your head, taking one step toward him– “I’m… I’m glad you came. Even though it’s only because you’re injured.”

Finally, his eyes meet yours and you’re almost toppling over from the strength of his gaze. That’s when you realize that you’re back to standing close to one another again and it sinks in that he’s still shirtless. If he were to touch your right now, you think you would combust.

“I’m glad too,” he smiles, hand placed onto your shoulder.

You’ve combust. You swear that you have because now you’re holding your breath while he still looks you in the eye. Not trusting your voice to say anything to him right now, especially as you don’t want another squeaking moment, you just smile at him and nod all too frantically to look as if you’re at all normal. His thumb brushes against your shoulder before he pulls back, still smiling at you.

“If I ever need a wound patched up, I know who to come to.”

“Oh, please don’t.” You shake your head, the mood instantly lightening as you chuckle, “I don’t want you getting blood everywhere again.”

He looks almost confused for a moment that it’s cute, until you point at your bed and floor and wall. He looks at each spot in the order you pointed and his face scrunches up.

“I’m sorry about that, I um–” he winces when he looks at the hand-print he’s left on your wall– “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle, noticing now that he’s blushing.

“I’ll clean this all myself, and I’‘ll get you new bed sheets, I promise.”

“Thank you, master.”

He nods hurriedly, accepting that response from you– although he would have accepted any response with how guilty he feels at dirtying your room.

“Do me a favor?” You ask and he nods immediately, “Try not to get injured on your next mission.”

He smiles widely, looking even more handsome if it were possible, “That I cannot promise.”

[cognacdelights]

steamboat springs

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summary: after coming into a large sum of money, two teens in the midst of riding the wave of young love decide to blow their fortune on a once in a lifetime trip to the mountain winter resort of steamboat springs, colorado. 

warnings: swearing. angst. fluff. slight indication of sexual content. 

The tips of her scarlet-painted toes skimmed the lukewarm bubbles of the hot tub as her petite, bikini-clad frame perched on the varnished, wooden edge. Her rose gold, star charm anklet glistened under the dimmed, romantic fairy lights that encompassed the tall, pine wood canopy as her contemplating, chartreuse eyes observed the picturesque scenery before her; the towering, snow-topped peaks that entrapped the quaint, expensive mountain resort were breath-taking. Lined with an army of ancient, snow-sprinkled evergreens and littered with miles of meandering, frozen streams, the Colorado Mountains were truly a sight to behold. Yet, there was a relentless, incessant niggle that plagued her pensive mind - refusing to allow her peace and tranquility in possibly the most calming and serene of locations.

“What you thinking ‘bout, pretty girl?” the low, husky voice of her sandy-locked, indigo-eyed boyfriend drew her out of her pondering, wistful daze. His toned, half-naked body waded through the tepid, jet-powered waves as he demanded the attention of his long-term girlfriend. His warm, paw-like palms settled on the tops of her droplet-covered thighs - his slightly calloused thumbs tracing delicate, tender circles against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs - as he came to rest between her parted legs. He left a gentle, adoration-filled kiss against the hickey-marked skin of her inner thigh, ensuring that he had captured her whole, undivided attention.

“Maybe you should have paid off your restitution with that money, instead of blowing it all on this,” a heavily weighted exhale escaped her plump, rose-tinted lips - her glimmering, beryl eyes concentrating on his concern-laced features. Instinctively, she ran her dainty fingers through the damp, tousled tangles of his blonde, straw-like locks, pushing the unkempt waves from obstructing his chiselled face.

“What?” his anxious, sapphire orbs peered upwards through his fair, sparse eyelashes - his apprehensive heart anticipating the sickening plunge of disappointment into the deep, dark caverns of his stomach as he urged her to elaborate, “you don’t like it here?” All the fair-haired, cobalt-eyed boy yearned for was to see the beautiful, content smile - which he so very much adored - plastered across her sun-kissed features; everything he did was for the sake of her happiness - in all it’s purity, so the thought of her holding regrets towards their once-in-a-lifetime, never-be-able-to-afford-again trip pained him dearly.

“No, I do. I love it. It’s beautiful and I would give anything to leave the Outer Banks behind and stay here, forever, with you,” her voice softened at the heart-wrenching sight of anguish laced within the pearly, silver speckles of his eyes, “but I want you to be a free man more.” There was a negligible, minuscule sliver of her that resented him for taking the blame for the sinking of Topper’s boat; it had changed the course of their relationship entirely, and not particularly for the better. Not only had her strict, over-bearing parents proclaimed their disapproval of their relationship upon hearing tattling whispers of his arrest, but his selfless, fictitious confession meant that he would more than likely be sentenced to a stay in a juvenile corrections facility.

“It’s just a bit of debt, it doesn’t matter in the long run,” he half-heartedly attempted to dismiss her concerns - nonchalantly shrugging his broad, muscular shoulders as a disheartened breath escaped his nicotine-laced lungs.

“It’s a permanent charge on your record, JJ, and you could still face time in juvy for this,” she responded solemnly, “what am I supposed to do if you get locked up? Juvenile’s don’t get conjugal visits, you know?” The shaggy-haired blonde had neglected to think of the consequences of his actions upon declaring that he was the individual responsible for the Thornton’s boat shenanigans. However, the reality was, JJ Maybank had just checked off his third strike on his long, delinquency-filled wrap sheet - and the metaphorical book of justice was poised and ready to be launched in his direction as they spoke.

“And you’d rather that have been on Pope’s record, huh?” he countered opposingly - his usually loving, tender voice raised several decibels as he defended himself against his girlfriend’s disapproving tone, “it would ruin his life. Not to mention, we all know he would never survive inside. They’d fucking eat him alive.” The pleasant, endearing warmth she once felt where his wandering hands caressed the cellulite-plagued plains of her thighs dissipated into the brisk nipping of the bitter, wintry mountain breeze as he retreated from their intimate embrace.

“Pope’s the one who did it,” she mumbled in response, uncomfortable with the tone of their heated conversation. Unfortunately, this was just going to be one of those things that they would never agree on. She platonically adored Pope - truly, she did - but, of course, she loved her boyfriend more. It was inevitable that the selfish, pining sliver of her that believed Pope should take responsibility for his actions would rear it’s ill-timed head eventually. JJ didn’t deserve to be punished for a crime he, for once, had not committed - and neither did their already suffering relationship.

“Pope’s the one with the future. He’s got his scholarship, he’s got his whole life planned out, he has dreams that are actually within his reach. I couldn’t let that be taken away from him because of something I pushed him to do,” he continued to argue, his tone defensive and abrupt. As her crestfallen, veridian eyes attempted to meet with his, she recognised an unfamiliar emotion that had etched itself into the foundations of his chiselled, stubble-lined features: guilt. A conscience-eating tidal wave of remorse had overwhelmed his entire being, convincing his impressionable mind that the entirety of the situation was down to the shaggy-haired blonde. Perhaps he was right; perhaps Pope wouldn’t have acted so wildly out of character and pulled the plug from the extravagant 2019 Malibu without the misguided encouragement of his trouble-making best friend - but, simultaneously, she was right. At the end of the day, Pope was the one who ultimately committed the delinquent act, and Pope did that off his own culpable accord.

“What about your future?” she challenged him, the desperation evident within the subtle inflections of her almost pleading tone. Her tanned, petite shoulders slouched from their structured, upright position - as her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, her malachite doe eyes searching for his torment-filled pools of teal. Despite her best, relenting efforts, he refused the intimacy of eye contact.

“I don’t have a future,” his voice was quiet - almost weak - and barely audible above the ceaseless, mechanical humming of the hot tub jets, “not one like that.”

“Yes you do,” she told him tenaciously - adamant in her words as her tender, dainty palms embraced the defined contours of his pronounced cheek bones, her gentle thumbs affectionately grazing over the brittle stubble, “you have a future with me. I don’t know what that entails; whether it’s opening our own surf shop down in Yucatán, or having a log cabin in the Colorado Mountains, or living on a freaking boat in the harbour back in Kildare. Whatever it is, I don’t care as long as it’s me and you. It’s me and you, forever, J. It always has been and it always will be.”

“I’m gonna pay it all off, I promise, even if I have to get a third job,” his calloused, bear-like hands encaptured hers, giving her petite fingers a gentle, adoring squeeze, “then I’m gonna give you the life you fucking deserve. A ring, a big ass wedding at one of those fancy, country estates, a whole bunch of kids, even that damned pink Volkswagen Beetle with the flowers painted on the doors - whatever you want, I’m gonna make sure that you get it all.”

“To me and you,” he toasted meaningfully - his words exuding promise and assurance as his meaty, ring-clad fingers grasped the condensation-laced neck of the lavish, half-empty champagne bottle. Expectantly, he tilted the punt of the onyx-tinted, glass bottle towards the breath-taking, brunette beauty before him.

“To me and you,” she recited his endearing words fondly, an enamored, cordial smile curving the corners of her full, luscious lips upwards. She too grasped the neck of a chilled, vintage bottle of champagne - hers significantly fuller than his - before clinking the two aged bottled together in celebration of their future together. The two, slightly tipsy, teens each took a generous swig of the fruit-fragranced beverage, concluding the ritual.

A giddy, infatuated squeal surpassed her plump, champagne-drenched lips as his soaked, paw-like palms gripped her dainty ankles, proceeding to gently tug her scantily-clad silhouette into the depths of the heated, bubbling water. His brawny, exposed back pressed against the varnished pine wood of the hot tub bench - her already bruised knees falling either side of his swimsuit-clad lower half, straddling his tamed, semi-erect length. His loving, yet ravenous, lips found hers, molding together in a beautiful, melodic synchrony as his audacious, meandering fingers fumbled to untie the loose strings of her Aztec-printed bikini bottoms.

[dwellordream]

“Even beyond the age when girls might be encouraged to play in the city streets, their presence was sanctioned by another activity: the healthful walking between home and school, and the long constitutionals judged critical to a maturing girl’s health. If the lives of Victorian girls were defined by disciplines, one of those disciplines was daily exercise, most commonly long walks, sometimes of several hours’ duration, from one side of town to the other.

Good daughters embraced a walking regimen as religiously as they did a regimen of diary keeping. Like writing, though, walking suggested form rather than content. In their long rambles from one side of town to the other or into the country, or their promenades back and forth along Main Street, girls achieved a level of social freedom which ran against the grain of chaperoned domestic propriety. 

Most physicians and advisers agreed about the benefits of walking. Writing in the 1890s, the Ladies’ Home Journal quoted ‘‘a celebrated physician’’ when it endorsed walking as the preferred form of exercise. ‘‘Tennis, he believes, is too violent; cycling renders women awkward in their walk; cricket is also an uneven exercise; at golfing the strokes made are not conducive to the cultivation of physical beauty.... Riding is one-sided, and croquet is not exercise at all. Walking, however, may be fast or slow, according to the desire or health of the individual. Walking is probably the only exercise which calls every part of the body into active and healthy motion.’’ 

Earlier, a writer for the same magazine instructed American girls how to walk: ‘‘Let the arms swing free; throw the shoulders back, the chest forward and the head high.’’ Another columnist recommended other sports for girls, including tennis, bicycling, rowing, and any men’s sport ‘‘with but one exception, foot-ball.’’ But she fell back on walking as both the simplest and ‘‘perhaps the best,’’ suggesting that girls build up to six miles per day. Walking was an approved form of exercise for a range of Victorians, but it was clearly girls who had both the most time and the most need for its healthful effects. G. Stanley Hall, in his opus Adolescence, suggested the special role which walking filled in the lives of unmarried women, who ‘‘are, and ought to be, great walkers.’’ Walking, Hall implied, might tap energies otherwise likely to go to unhealthy activities, such as ‘‘estheticism’’ or the solitary vice of ‘‘self-abuse.’’ 

He explained, ‘‘Dr. Taylor thinks . . . that the difference between boys and girls in learning self-abuse on account of the more obvious anatomy of the former is overestimated, and that the latter, more commonly than is thought, not only find their organs and use them improperly, but are more difficult to cure of this vice.’’ A healthy alternative for unmarried women was to spend that excess energy in walking which married women and mothers might spend ‘‘normally in other ways—’’ an allusion both to the demands of raising children and to coitus itself. Walking was exercise, therapy, and ideology all in one. Sarah Browne, a married woman writing at midcentury, explained her walking in language appropriate to her region and class: ‘‘I walk again this forenoon in search of health—my walk is a principle, a religious duty, so the time is not lost.’’ 

Time spent walking was time invested rather than squandered. Less intense than modern jogging, aerobics, or weight regimens, the walking of nineteenth century girls nonetheless could compete in seriousness; what it lacked in strenuousness was compensated for in its duration, sometimes occupying two or three hours of the day. Margaret Tileston’s sister Mary was afflicted with health problems throughout her adolescence in the 1880s.

Undoubtedly Margaret’s regular walking, on the streets of Salem, Massachusetts, at first in her sister’s company, was in part a response to Mary’s ‘‘search for health.’’ Beginning at the age of thirteen, Margaret worked up to two hours per day as the time she was expected to walk. Even when it was bitterly cold outside, Margaret walked. Even when she had no company, she walked, ‘‘simply for the sake of taking a walk.’’ 

Some of her walking took place at school recess, but that still left an hour and a half of walking to do either before or after school. When she missed an hour of exercise, she recorded it in her diary. She sometimes walked early in the morning before the sun came up. (One May morning she got up at 4:20 and walked an hour before breakfast.) She often did not return home until after dark, one winter night not making it back until 7:00 p.m.

After one day of walking, during which she had ‘‘thought a good deal,’’ she still found herself short of the required two hours, so she and her sister walked up and down in front of the house before going to bed. Only once did she confess to her diary that walking two hours was ‘‘a tiresome thing to do daily.’’ As befit her self-improving temperament, she instead used this bodily discipline as the occasion for a mental one, explaining that during one long walk she had ‘‘got some more ideas about walking.’’ 

Seldom do we have witnesses—or walkers—quite as disciplined as Margaret Tileston, but documents of other teenage girls suggest that walking was considered both a preventative and a palliative. When Alice Stone Blackwell’s head ‘‘felt as though I had been hung up by the heels and all the blood had run into it, filling it almost to bursting,’’ her cousin Emma ‘‘prescribed a walk, and we found our way to the chocolate factory.’’ When she took a long circle route home from school—‘‘about 7 miles I should think’’—she relayed her sense of accomplishment: ‘‘Am at present in serene enjoyment of a good conscience and blistered feet.’’ 

…In addition to being a discipline, however, walking was a necessity for most maturing girls. Going to school in the nineteenth century usually meant walking to school, often in company with friends and classmates. Between discipline and necessity, there were enough agemates walking in the streets that urban girls rarely needed to walk alone.

Indeed, the hours spent walking became opportunities for sociability, for making and broadening acquaintances, for flirtation. The walking that began as a discipline or an expedient eventually turned into an occupation in its own right, which gained its meaning from the opportunities it offered for peer relations beyond adult authority. Walking to school in itself could become a highly choreographed peer ritual. 

Jessie Wendover attended public high school in Newark, New Jersey, in the 1880s and 1890s, and in her diary she enumerated her walking companions. When she was fifteen, Wendover often collected friends as she went so that ‘‘we eight went down together.’’ Sometimes, however, they would break into pairs or regroup, as when one friend ‘‘got one of her amusing cranky spells on and tried to make herself believe she was mad at me, and said she would not walk with me.’’ The foursome broke into pairs then, with one pair removing their hats as they puffed up the hill, and the other sitting on the stoop and laughing at them. For Wendover the significance was that ‘‘we four have gay times going to and from school now-a-days.’’ 

…For the more reserved Margaret Tileston, walking in the Salem streets only gradually expanded her social world and encouraged her to take initiatives within it. After a slow beginning in coeducational Salem High School, Tileston gradually discovered connections to her community. ‘‘I can scarcely take a walk without meeting one of my school-mates or at least some one that I know,’’ she observed in the spring, after beginning classes the previous December. She soon began to walk with some of these schoolmates, noting the next fall, ‘‘I begin to feel better acquainted with the girls in my class.’’ 

The next winter she noted the company of a boy: ‘‘Dick Manning walked along with me for a part of the way.’’ By the following month, she confessed in the spine of her diary, she felt bold enough to initiate relations: ‘‘I bowed to Master Smith on my way to school.’’ The next week, the group of girls she was walking with actually invited some boys to ‘‘turn round with us, but they could not.’’ The confidence Tileston was gradually accruing allowed her on her own to overtake a boy that month and accompany him to school. Margaret Tileston did not record the ensuing conversation, but she did note some of the subjects she touched on in her long walks with other friends. 

On one three-hour walk, she and her companions talked of friends, boys, teachers, and dancing. In different walks that summer of her sixteenth year, Tileston mentioned conversations ‘‘about calling boys by their first names.’’ Margaret Tileston was a purposeful young woman, as her extraordinary diaries make clear. Yet even for Tileston, the meaning of walking gradually incorporated its sociability.

For many girls less focused than she, walking up and down city streets—or ‘‘promenading’’ as detractors would describe it—nearly lost its function as exercise in its fostering of peer intimacies. Ruth Ashmore, the Ladies’ Home Journal columnist championing restrictive morality, cautioned that if there was a possibility that a girl might be joined by boyfriends on a walk, she should be accompanied by a chaperon. (And in any case, a girl of eighteen should not go out without a chaperon.) 

This was only one of a long collection of warnings—observed mostly in the breach—offered by advisers anxious about the freedoms of girls in the city. Ruth Ashmore’s advice ran at cross purposes with other, older codes of courtliness which made men responsible for the safe passage of women through city streets. In reflection of this chivalric remnant, it was customary for boys to escort girls during and after evening events, dances, or parties. Often these escorts seem to have been assigned by the hostess. In a later interview, Etta Crawford recalled her life as a girl in frontier Portland, Oregon, in the 1860s and 1870s. Customarily, she would receive written invitations to dancing parties in homes, which specified the name of the escort who would be responsible for getting her to and from the event and for seeing ‘‘that you were properly escorted all evening.’’

She was careful to distinguish this constant attendance from the practice of ‘‘dating’’ popular in the 1930s at the time of her interview: ‘‘We really didn’t have dates. Mother considered we were too young. . . . I don’t approve of this present-day manner of traipsing around half the night. None of the boys that attended me to the dances were on calling acquaintance.’’ This imposed arrangement was reflected in other girls’ accounts of such evenings.

At the age of twelve in Milwaukee in the 1860s, Cassie Upson wore her white dress and pink sash to a ‘‘sociable,’’ returning home at 11:30. She declared that she had enjoyed herself ‘‘only pretty well,’’ perhaps because of her partner: ‘‘I think my escort’s name was Clark. Oh! he was a gawky.’’ When Jessie Wendover attended a boy’s birthday party in 1885 at the age of thirteen,  she noted that there were about a dozen ‘‘couples there.’’ She arrived at about 8:00 p.m., she said, and returned home at the extraordinary hour of 3:00 a.m., noting that ‘‘Harry Mccarthy saw me down to supper and home.’’

Wendover led a protected life and was most often accompanied by her parents to and from social affairs and when she went downtown in the evening. It appears, though, that her parents on the Atlantic seaboard shared with Etta Crawford’s on the Pacific Coast a parental protocol which sanctioned the assignment of ‘‘escorts’’ for girls as young as twelve and thirteen.

Whether assigned or not, though, it was incumbent on boys or men not to leave girls unescorted in the evenings—especially as those girls became young ladies. (This chivalric convention put a strain on outnumbered high school boys, who nonetheless remained responsible for their female classmates after evening events.) 

While a student at the Harvard Annex, Annie Winsor recorded an embarrassment in the diary written for her parents. She had attended an evening party in Cambridge which her attractive Latin instructor was also attending. She and a fellow female student had agreed to go home together. (She reported that her friend ‘‘trots to and fro from Miss Smith’s at all hours and did not a bit mind going from here alone.’’) The two young women timed their departure carefully: ‘‘We waited till Mr. Preble [their teacher] and two girls had got safely out the door and away, and then started downstairs, and with averted eyes ‘thro’ the entry, opened the front door, and there stood Mr. Preble leisurely fixing his neck handkerchief—evidently waiting for some one.’’ 

The friends ‘‘felt like two children caught at the jam-pot and no way of escape.’’ The consequences were preordained. Mr. Preble would be obliged to walk everyone home, which was indeed what happened. In a letter to her brother, Ellen Emerson, daughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson, described her discomfort with such genteel expectations when she returned from a party.

Her escort, she explained, was a Mr. Soule, ‘‘who— I can imagine your exultation—made me take his arm. But the experiment confirmed me in my old opinion. It is easier and pleasanter to walk alone and be able to keep one’s dress out of the dust. There!’’ Like other chivalric practices, being escorted was a ritual meant to convey obligation as well as protection. Girls’ presumed need of escorts provided access to welcome and unwelcome suitors alike. 

Cassie Upson noted in 1866 that ‘‘that abominable little nip of a Perkins’’ had walked her home from church and had discerned only that ‘‘I wasn’t quite as talkative as usual.’’ A reprinted item from a student newspaper in Kingston, New York, in the 1880s suggested that girls reject the terms, replying, ‘‘‘I would rather be excused,’ when asked by young gentlemen for the privilege of escorting them home from church at night. The practice may be hard on the ‘boys,’ but it is one which every self-respecting girl will adopt and adhere to. For a young lady to be asked on coming out of church, . . . to surrender herself to the society of some young hoodlum who has been waiting outside while she was decorously attending divine worship, is an insult which would justify a kick from father or big brother.’’ 

Rather than seeking contact in ‘‘this sneaking, unmanly, vagabondish way,’’ an interested suitor should ‘‘call upon her at home, and take pains to ascertain whether his society is agreeable to her parents as well as herself.’’ This item suggested the dilemma embedded in the system of boys escorting girls: sometimes the solution was worse than the problem it was meant to address.

The practice of escorting equally opened possibilities for flirtation, of course. The Milford student newspaper slyly noted that the ‘‘girls of ’88 all believe in ‘protection’—after class parties.’’ Lily Dana noted one such arrangement: ‘‘Of course Brinckerhoff went with Edith Barry and I saw them turning up one of those lonely streets by the Catholic church, in just the opposite direction from her house. Mother says she does not think it was proper.’’ 

Whether proper or not, it was clear that intimacies contracted within approved contexts of school or church would have ample room to flourish even within genteel practices coming and going in the city streets. The historian Beth Bailey has found radical changes in courting practices in the 1920s resulting from the movement from the maternally supervised ‘‘front porch’’ of home to the ‘‘back seat’’ of male-owned cars.

The fact was, though, that many middle-class girls in the nineteenth century were not at home but at church or at school, and in the evening they were presumed to need male escort well beyond the surveillance of their mothers. During the day, girls had more freedom to walk on their own. These less formal walking arrangements—ostensibly undertaken to run errands, to get to or from school, or for exercise—provided ample opportunity, too, for flirtation. 

Alice Blackwell and Lizzie Morrissey, both writing in Boston in the 1870s, though from different class perspectives—found themselves unwitting walking partners in such scenarios. When Alice Blackwell, nearly phobic about encounters with boys, went to meet two schoolmates, the pair was otherwise occupied, talking loudly and waving handkerchiefs to attract the attention of two boys. Alice was so mortified that she hid behind a hedge and finally strode home by herself, ‘‘descended to the cellar, groped my way to the milkroom, and soothed my irritated feelings by drinking an enormous quantity of milk.’’ 

When Lizzie Morrissey walked to a nearby square to hear a public band concert with two friends, she reported that the walk down was nice, ‘‘but when we got there Ida soon left me for Art Woodride and didn’t come back again; I felt provoked. Then Hattie left me for two fellows, but she came back and introduced them.’’ After this bad experience, Morrissey concluded that she would ‘‘never go to the square again when anything is up with either of them.’’ Part of her subsequent isolation within her house might have been a response to discovering herself abandoned by her best friends in favor of flirtatious promenading. 

A more willing participant was Mabel Lancraft, a high school student and spirited daughter of a Fair Haven, Connecticut, oyster grower, whose 1880s diaries cover her fourteenth through seventeenth years. Lancraft spent much of her time in her early teens promenading and flirting outdoors. One summer day of her fourteenth year, for instance, after a trip to the ocean, she and her friends were playing house—‘‘I was the mamma and they were the children’’—when a neighborhood boy came along and suggested they go to the park. ‘‘So we went and we met Mr. Hovey down there though he didn’t approve of us going.’’

The group of friends continued to play, though, picking up others. ‘‘Sadie and I had our arms around each other and Sadie was my beau.’’ The boys accompanied the girls nearly home and exchanged compliments. ‘‘Sadie said I was awfully pretty and if she was a boy she would be in love with me. And he [Ed Dupee] said what pretty eyes that Miss Lancraft has got and he agreed with Sadie.’’ 

Mabel Lancraft later drew a line through the above, an early—and ineffective—moment of reserve; Lancraft grew more daring as time went on. By the end of the summer, she announced boldly that she and a friend met two boys of their acquaintance ‘‘and we raised and we promenaded up and down with them in front of Mr. H. Olds.’’ At the beginning of the summer, Lancraft simply disregarded the advice of a neighboring adult; by the end of the summer, the opportunity to flout respectable opinion was part of her pleasure.

Mabel Lancraft’s early teenage flirtations were generally confined to friends and schoolmates, whom she met and bowed to in their mutual walks around her Fair Haven neighborhood, to the station, and also sometimes through downtown New Haven. When she was seventeen, though, Mabel Lancraft confessed a modest initiative with a stranger. ‘‘Coming out in the car a young fellow stood up in front of me and I am afraid I flirted a little.’’”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Friendship, Fun, and the City Streets.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[satingrove]

petrichor {padawan!obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: obi-wan navigates his strong feelings for a girl with the help of his master, leaving to seek her in the night.

warnings: none! please note that female pronouns and descriptions are used in this fic.

wc: 1.372k

Concentration. It was a fickle thing for Obi-Wan as his Master urged him to concentrate, his mind flickering through images of a girl and fighting dreadfully hard to keep them to himself. His mouth opened a crack as he remembered the way her lips seemed to drip honey in her words, and the way she walked the earth with intangible elegance. Her grace consumed him as he sat before his Master, Qui-Gon, who watched his Padawan with abnormal patience.

“You think of her, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes abashedly, their bright blue colour looking downcast, worse for wear. He did not want to answer. He knew it was not considered right, yet was entirely incapable of keeping her shut out. Keeping her far away, where she might have lived in a field of the most beautiful flowers, or a palace fit for her looks of royalty.

“I do, Master. I am very sorry.” Obi-Wan’s voice came soft and shy, that boyish grin threatening to shine through. Qui-Gon was not surprised, for even though his Padawan was masterful at hiding, the pink that dusted his cheeks and the enchanted glint in his eyes could not conceal the truth.

“You will not apologize to me,” Qui-Gon began sympathetically, “pour your thoughts to me instead.” He was earnest, no hint of sneaky judgment, nor flash of a simper.

Where to begin? Obi-Wan pondered with deliberation, brows furrowing delicately. He slipped into hot and scorching water when his brain decided to think of her, utterly inappropriately; what her skin might feel like under his anxious touch, how her voice would sound had it been poisoned with rapture by the sinful acts of his own self.

His heart was sinking through his torso, pleading with himself to just stop and remember it was not merely infatuation, but an innocent, all-encompassing love in which he hoped to kiss her sweetly in the mornings and softly in the night.

“I see her, Master, and she is heavenly. She has a power to make me feel things, things I have never experienced. But she never leaves...” His tone teetered on the dreamy side, earning a knowing chuckle from Qui-Gon.

“They are natural feelings indeed, my young Padawan, but you cannot let them overtake you.” His words ended gravely, eyeing his apprentice with a certain severity that was reserved for important moments.

Obi-Wan knew of the Jedi Code, and what a wretched thing it was to him. To be deprived of a sweet creature such as her?

“What shall I do?” Obi-Wan questioned his Master, aching for his guidance and hoping it would include a sliver of his beloved in it.

“Search your feelings, young one.” Qui-Gon obliged him, feeling pride tickle his shoulders as he watched his Padawan at work.

Feelings, what extravagant feelings they were. Obi-Wan’s heart took a tender form, picturing his dearest. She was good-natured, a clement soul with a proclivity to be forbearing. He was bewitched, enthralled, deliciously in love.

The very idea of her could turn Obi-Wan into a well-respected poet, an architect of words of which he could never run out. They could run smoothly, flow freely, even burst from his lips and they would sound just as ethereal as she.

Obi-Wan stared, a vacant stare, unreadable to the Master before him. There was an early end to their meeting full of Obi-Wan’s fanciful thoughts. Qui-Gon dismissed his learner with words of trust and faith in him.

Upon the same day, as the sun set in its orange-to-purple glory, Obi-Wan walked briskly with a buzzing mind. His feet carried him gaily across stones where the grass poked through the gaps with weeds he considered not be weeds, but dainty flowers.

He inhaled, catching the fresh air in his lungs, then sighed weakly. It began to sprinkle lightly, clouds obscuring the burning stars of the night, tiny droplets soothing the heat of Obi-Wan’s skin. He stood in it, serenity fulfilling him, the rain not soaking him but leaving freckles of water on his robes. It was weightless.

His feet had led him to her door that held quaint and homely quarters behind it, almost too welcoming for his own good. Obi-Wan bounced on the balls of his sore feet, grinning his devastatingly handsome grin when she opened the door with excitement to match his own.

How good it was to see her, breathe her in, to be loving her even without her knowing. Her beaming smile could have broken his heart in its simple beauty, but all she seemed capable of doing was mending every hole that had been left in it. 

“I hope I’m not a bother,” Obi-Wan said sheepishly, positively rupturing inside when her fingers found his braid and tugged on it gently.

“Not at all,” She spoke candidly, turning on her heels. “You’ll find I’m always prepared for your company, just in case.”

Obi-Wan was touched and melting quickly, consistently on the brink of spilling too many feelings at once. She reminded him of what he thought home would feel like, had he been able to remember it.

She led him to sit down in a snug spot, humming a tune he didn’t know, but he didn’t care for what it was; it was beguiling. He watched her move about, tidying things she didn’t have to tidy, only because he was visiting.

Obi-Wan sat politely, admiring all there was to see, but nothing more than her. He had denied her offer for something to eat. They chattered comfortably, sharing little pieces of their lives to one another, the pieces that fit between the last time they met not so long ago. Obi-Wan studied her words carefully along with her face, blooming with eloquent poise.

“I’m very glad to see you.” She admitted. Obi-Wan felt her honeyed tone within him, dripping over his senses with its golden colour. He thought he could taste it.

He gazed at her in that lovesick way of his that left her breathless as she inched closer, daring to place a hand on his thigh. His senses went on raging, but quietly, enjoyably at that. It felt firm in her palm, tensing intermittently.

Despite Qui-Gon’s serious warnings, Obi-Wan’s feelings had overtaken him, leading a fantasy to flash before his eyes, where she was writhing, delighted from underneath him.

Obi-Wan blinked, knowing in that moment, his true desire was to kiss her with all his ardent affection; to let her know he loved her. His hand drifted to hers, encompassing it with all the caution he could muster and squeezed it.

“I’m very glad to see you, too.” He whispered.

The dusting of rain on Obi-Wan’s clothing had long since dried by the warmth of his body, rendering his scent fresh and lively like the petrichor rising from the earth outside. Their breath fanned across each other’s faces, looking fair and shining in the aureate light. A line of tension was tightening, waiting to be cut, or rather, lacerated.

“I don’t believe we’ve... ever been so close.” She remarked, weakening under his spell.

“Then you must know how greatly I enjoy it.” His eyes were set ablaze. Their lips could nearly brush, ready to paint an extravagant picture of pent up emotions set free. A painting full of lush and colourful detail that would be revered by anyone fortunate enough to see it.

His lips covered hers gingerly yet firmly, full of passion yet wholly innocent. It was as he had dreamt; cathartic and feeling so full of her that his soul could feel the very essence of their lips connected, pulled together by shared love. They melded together in clear perfection, silently, basking in it.

Obi-Wan’s thumb ran itself over her hand, back and forth to the rhythm of a ticking clock as their kiss had lasted for countless seconds. Seconds that were unquantifiable. He knew that he was undeniably hers, whether together or apart, tallying the days until he would see her again. 

They released with a shared gasp, tenderhearted and young and so beautiful as one. Foreheads touched, their eyelashes swept across each other’s, feathery and guiltless. She wrapped his braid around her finger, further sealing the name that was written all over his heart.

[iamnightduchess]

As You Are - Special Chapter (R18) : Perfect Storm

Chapter summary:

The ethereal vision that greeted his eyes upon entry should be that of one of the forbidden sins in the history of humankind. She was even more breathtakingly beautiful in her purest form - scars and marks, imperfections and all.

Like the cracks on an unbreakable golden chalice.

He was the luckiest son of a gun to be the first to drink from said chalice and it made the wine tasted even sweeter. He could get drunk or get high on this woman for all eternity.

Reiner realizes he might have just unleashed an unstoppable storm when he drank from her chalice. He’d known she'd become an inescapable addiction upon first taste, the way he would be hers. He’ll get her so high, she’ll never come back down anymore. It’s a perfect extrication.

Well, you’ll never get to heaven if you’re scared of getting high.

Pure smut. A 10k special Thank You insert. Available on AO3.

A/N: This chapter is a special insert as an appreciation to my beautiful readers for their amazing support in helping me achieve my second personal writing milestone - 10k hits! It’s beyond my wildest dreams ever. Thank you so much, guys! This is also my personal belated birthday present for Mikasa on 10 February (and Reiner’s VA ;D) and an early Valentine’s gift to my beloved OTP and to you guys. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Content note: Pure smut in its truest explicit nature. No plot advancement. Just a good ol’ short chapter of ReiKasa dicking it out in the showers, discovering more of each other and a post-coital small talk on Reiner’s personal choice of drawers. Or lack of it. Who says Reiner is not taking their baby making efforts seriously? Takes place in ch.12 of As You Are.

Rhythmic muse: High by Alina Baraz.

----

Take me deep into your mind...we can get away…

As You Are

Special Chapter

Perfect Storm

Reiner closed the distance that stood between the bed and the bathroom in three long, hurried strides. He couldn’t be bothered with fixing his yukata; he let the shift hang open, letting himself hang out in the open. The sounds of the morning storm and early rolling thunder in the far horizon had been almost deafening, only several knots away from being too close to their fleet. The breeze slipping through the opened windows grazed against his nude torso in a prickling coldness. The second he stopped short in front of the steel arc of the bathroom door, he remained still.

His eyes glazed over the statuesque figure standing underneath the pouring shower, covered by only skin - porcelain, smooth, inviting. Sounds of the raging storm outside only emphasized more of this mystifying woman's beauty in its natural state, no different than a tantalizing spell cast by nature itself. The steam evaporating from the showerhead formed a curious, enticing silhouette around her body. His eyes lingered fondly at the way she closed her eyes in bliss under the long steady streams of hot water flowing down those supple skin, tinting her lusciousness raw with a delectable blush. Serene, lost in her own tranquil space.

Apart from bearing the reddening imprints that he’d left on her long slender neck from their lovemaking much earlier, between the enticing lines of her svelte curves and enticing edges, her creamy skin wore numerous dark marks and scars with their respective stories - ones that he was very aware of mostly. Long-term ODM usage would be responsible for most of them.

Others?

They were beckoning him to seek out the answers.

Just half an hour earlier, his body took hers for the first time. Reiner tasted heaven when she reeled him in to the deepest, most sacred part of her. With every pull and every push, he could feel himself unburdened everytime their hips met.

Lighter and unshackled.

Liberated and wanted.

Desired and needed.

The water flowed down her face and he found himself becoming envious of the way the warm liquid gets to lave at those long lashes, the sharp outline of her nose and her lips in a soft translucent caress.

He had all of her and he was left wanting more.

Reiner shrugged the night shift off his shoulders without any hesitation and stepped into the bathroom. A small marble tub, almost full to the brim, sat at the farthest corner of the room just next to an old gold-framed wall mirror which appeared to be more relic than vanity. In the dim lighting of the clouded sun peeking through the windows, the steaming water looked absolutely inviting.

A sigh escaped his lips. He could really use a good, long soak right now.

A low, guarded moan pulled his attention back to the now flushing body underneath the flowing water. He ran his tongue against his thin lips impulsively at the visual stimulation; she was as vivid, tempting, no different than a marble carved into perfection. All hard and muscled exterior, safeguarding the soft centre within. Painted with dark marks of bruises and battle scars of untold histories - a privilege he no longer had since the moment he inherited his Titan powers at the age of eleven. But she wore them naturally with effortless pride. Priceless yet they're worth more than some steel medal of honors he’d seen the men in Marley’s military fought to the death for.

Reiner closed the distance between them, stopping just in front of her with their bodies almost grazing. She opened her eyes, those anxious gunmetal irises in between the flowing water somehow confided that just like him, she’d never been this exposed; naked and vulnerable in front of another person in her whole entire life before. He saw the way she crossed her arms against her chest and the juncture of her thighs in uncertainty, conscious and suddenly feeling the need to cover herself even when he’d seen almost all of her much earlier.

He lifted her chin with a delicate touch. The pad of his thumb began to caress the outline of her lush pursed lips before tugging her lower lip gently, savoring the sensuous way her breath felt against his skin and the feral manner she bit at his fingertip.

His member twitched in reflex upon the sudden stimulation, threatening to break his own self restraint.

He grinned regardless. Apparently, he’s not the only biter in this marriage and that realization only got him being turned on more than ever before. Eager to find out just how much more wicked she could be. Just how much more of him she’d bite.

Reiner nudged her arms away from her chest gently, marveling as the perky globes bounced softly from the slight movement and finding himself staring far too long in amazement at the tempting blush on her face leading all the way down her drenched neck and to her chest. His hands began to knead the sculpted packs on her abdomen instead, touching a much larger discolored mark encircling her under chest, that resembled the shape of a large incomplete strap that was far too large to be from the ODM gear.

He couldn't help but wonder. "How did you get this?" His hands continued rubbing against the mark that stood out so painfully amongst her pale, milky complexion.

She swallowed bitterly, her expression darkened as a wave of recollection began to resurface. "The day you and Bertholdt tried to take Eren, I had been reckless. I was too focused on saving Eren from your titan's clutch that I was grabbed by a pure titan from behind. It broke my ribs immediately and I might have died that day if it wasn't for Jean's help." From the way she winced, it made him understand that the mark remained capable of inciting an unpleasant phantom pain upon reminiscence even years after it happened. She conceded to her own insecurity, reaffirming his perception. "It's ugly. I hated seeing it every time I looked at the mirror."

It was him, his ignorance and his selfishness who had indirectly caused that mark and left her with a painful reminder that she could never get rid of from her body.

His first mark on her body ever.

Reiner gritted his teeth in tremendous guilt and frustration. God, he didn’t know. It must have been extremely excruciating for her. He immediately lowered himself downwards with his knees rooted onto the cold bathroom floor, causing her to gasp and eyes to widen in surprise. Grabbing her on the curves of her waist, he looked up and sent her a grave look of regret. “I’m so sorry for all that I’ve done to you. All the pain that I’ve caused….” His apology manifested itself through a morose whisper. The warm of his breath, the tantalizing graze of his coarse facial hair and the light brushing of his lips against her taut skin sent the rippling muscles of her abdomen jumping in an enticing jolt. He could feel her hands grabbing the back of his head gingerly, fingers gripping his now wet tresses, her calm breaths getting heavier yet he didn't do anything further than burying his face against her torso even when his lips were already close to her mound. “Don’t hate the mark. Hate me. I did that to you.”

“No. I won’t.” Mikasa shook her head, dismissing the absurdity in his plea.

She thinks the mark is hideous yet not even once, ever held him accountable for it. 

It only made her even more exquisite in his eyes. He implored, “Anything on you or what you are would never not be beautiful to me.” 

They both remained still in that quiet moment, losing themselves in their own intimate sanctuary. Only the sound of running water and the steady storm outside accompanied their mutual embrace of the other's past sins, repercussions and acceptance of each other's flaws and imperfections.

----

Mikasa pushed Reiner’s rock hard body against the cold bathroom wall using her own as their lips once again tried to wrestle each other out of an imbalance between air, warmth and rapture using their tongues and teeth. Torsos and limbs brushing up against each other, his larger hands grabbed the supple exterior of her derriere, cupping and squeezing them raw with his palms - he could even write his name on the supple skin using his finger nails. He pressed inwards so that their hips grinded tantalizingly against each other in a torturous friction. His member then jerked upwards into a semi-hardening state from feeling her on him alone. He breathed her in; her signature scent was already bathing his skin and his body already stained by her warmth.

Mikasa pulled away from the kiss and gazed deep into his eyes. While he took advantage of the immediate breather to touch the tip of his nose against her own, causing the corners of her lips to curve upwards into a tiny, shy smile.

He'd only ever dreamed of being in heaven but if this feels like being in one, then he’d rather stay like this with her forever. His hands fiddled around the curves of her waist, squeezing the willowy contour passionately, loving the feel of her soft wet skin in his hands.

Her fingertips kept on trailing along the column of his neck, grabbing gently at his nape before settling on his shoulders, gripping carefully at the juncture of his limbs to soothe the strained muscle knots she’d discovered there. Her dominant hand later began trailing along his sternum, a finger drawing a straight, tantalizing line down his chest. Through every inch of skin that she touched, he could sense a tiny spark pulsing through his veins, reawakening the already satiated lust within.

A small hiss escaped through his gritted teeth the second her roughened palms caressed his chest with languid but precise circular motions. He observed the way her thumbs traced unhurried circles against the second most sensitive spots on his body and the way the muscles of his own pectorals and abs jumped in reflex from her touch.

Reiner let out a long languid whimper upon the sudden exhilaration. Mirroring her actions, a hand moved upwards from the rounded mound of her ass along her spine teasingly before curving sideways. His large palm seized one of her porcelain globes in his hold and he pressed on the dusky nub using his thumb, rubbing the hardened tip with the cautious of touch. Nibbling tenderly on her cheek, his question came out in a low, shaky drawling against her ears. “Mikasa...how do you want me to touch you...fast or slow….?”

Her answer came in the lowest, deepest whimper from her chest. “Either...Just keep going...” Eyes tightly shut, his younger bride threw her head back in an increasing rapture and a low, unguarded groan escaped her gasping lips upon the intensity of his touch. He watched in wonder, tinged with a tiny pride upon the new discovery - she’s extremely sensitive there it seems.

This exotic beauty's body is a dynamite yet at the same time, an undiscovered wonderland, primed for his lifelong conquest - one he'll never want to stop worshipping.

Through every breath and every inch.

Through every touch and through every kiss.

The tip of his nose ventured from her temple down her slender neck before halting right above the swelling of those appetizing twin mounds of her chest. Kiss her he did, at the same spot he just savored. He drew the outline of the weighty globe with his tongue, suckling hard and absolutely losing himself to the bliss of her skin’s sweetness to the way her soft cries sounded to his ears - muffled by his messy wet tresses, ensnared by her own open mouth kisses. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his scalp as her heaving became more urgent. His plastering bangs grazed her chest until they turned into a flushing mess.

His other hand had already made its own bold move by slipping in between the juncture of her thighs and running the pads of his digits across her wet slit. She immediately gritted her teeth upon the sudden invasion, probably due to the soreness from his earlier thrusting, but he’d sooner turned her hissing to another wave of moans when he caressed her lower mound with a wickedly soothing rhythm. 

Too lost he was in the beguiling pleasure that would sooner overtake all sense of inhibition that he’d missed the way her nimble hand had already wrapped itself around his member, already stretched out to its peaked state. The coolness of her palm burned the most sensitive part of his body as the skillful hand of a competent blade wielder projected her prowess through the way she handled his length -- with thorough, natural precision.

He just kept on growing stronger in her hands.

No one has ever made him feel like this before.

No one.

He could feel as if his soul was leaving the confinements of his physical form the moment he saw her dropping down to her knees, just like he did with her earlier. However this time, when she gazed at him with those tempestuous eyes and burning cheeks, he’d know he’ll never be able to resist her newly-unearthed desirous appetite.

It was quite contradictory that even when he’s the one who’s looking down at her right now, she’d always have the power to make him yield to her silent commandeering force.

Despite the flowing water washing away at their skins, he’s still stained by her; her essences seeping through his pores in unwavering waves no different than a perfect raging storm piercing through a man’s perseverance.

Oh God, she’s just naturally good at blowing him... and his mind.

----

He ran his lips against the irezumi on her back, drawing a cross with his tongue like a sacred offering, lapping up the water drizzling down her skin like the nectar of an exotic flower. Right before he filled the impure void within through one messy yet solid thrust into her, clinging to her lithe body from behind as they fell into a familiar, acquired rhythm not too long after.

He pulled her in for another searing kiss from behind. His other hand underneath one of her knees, his larger build pressed her slightly smaller frame hard against the wall through every onslaught of his hips against hers. Both of them were getting off of the high from the other.

Mikasa’s relentless moans soon turned into a long, dragged out, almost incoherent chanting of his name; urging him, needing him with every part of her being, that she’d broke the skin on his forearm when she became undone on his third deep thrust.

Reiner observed the way Mikasa tried to wash away the bleeding from the bite-shaped bruise on his arm with the water from inside the tub itself. He dismissed her attempt by pulling her body snug against his chest, staring at the mark in awe and reassuring her with nothing less than pride in his tone. “Hey, that’s my first mark from you.” He still remembered how she managed to cut off the same hand clean from his wrist on top of Wall Rose years ago.

“It’ll be a scar.” She persisted, still trying to argue with his insistence.

She gave him his first mark and without his regenerative powers, that mark will remain on his body forever until he’s buried six feet under.

He buried his nose into her drenched hair, taking in the scent from the glycerine soap he used on her earlier. “All the better because it’s from you.”

They stayed for a while inside the ceramic tub, with her head resting against his shoulder and his arms around her, listening to the sounds of rolling thunder and turbulent sea waves coming through the opened windows of the bathroom.

After a good while, it was her who suggested that they step out and step back into the awaiting demands of the day. “We should really get going before Gabi storms in for another ‘rescue’ attempt.”

Snickering, he released her reluctantly and sent an admiring stare at her retreating figure, still dripping with bath water until she disappeared behind the door to their shared chamber.

By the time he followed suit into the conjoined bedroom, she had pulled her skirt over her hips. She stared in disbelief the moment she saw him discarding the towel around his waist and had his legs through his breeches immediately.

Her inquisitive gaze did not go unnoticed. “What? I travelled light and I wasn’t expecting the detour to the Island.” Everything he had was on his body.

“All this time, you’re…” Her words trailed off suspiciously.

A thin eyebrow raised snarkily to emphasize his answer. “Yeah. I’d prefer not wearing one either way. It’s breezier and actually a much healthier habit too.”

“Whatever suits you.” Mikasa shook her head, feigning an impending state of disinterest while fending off an oncoming headache.

He gave her an improper wink. “You’ll thank me when I have given you healthy, kickass babies, Mikasa.”

She groaned in retaliation at his blatant lewdness. A trait of his that has always been apparent since they were younger still remained despite the years that had gone by in between. Despite all that, she couldn’t help her lips from curving into an amused smile.

Just a fleeting thought of envisioning a strong young boy or a girl with golden blonde hair, cheeky comebacks and a headstrong attitude was enough to make the fuzziness in her heart return right before the fleeting fantasy was interrupted by the same vision but with three more of the same identical boys and girls and a burning house of chaos behind them.

“....four be a lot?”

“Huh?” She blinked back at his question.

“I was asking, would four babies be a lot for you?”

She’d known it was an intended humor. They both knew that he couldn’t possibly have enough time for such an unattainable dream. She wasn’t oblivious to the dismal glint in his eyes.

“Perfect.” Her heart suddenly felt a lot heavier.

---

A/N : After what went down in the previous chapter, I am willing to be virtually sucker-punched by you guys because of this chapter. I am hurting my emotional well-being with this chapter, and I said to myself, why should I be suffering alone? Haha Kidding, guys. Thank you so much for your time & till the next update! Take care & stay safe. xoxo

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 31) Favorite pet

.-.-.

Things changed again in Castle de Haar; this time in the crippled slave’s favor. For this morning, it was not the Giant stomping into the shed, no, it was Duna the Brunette who was holding up Ivar’s keys. 

Ivar’s duties held more of a feminine touch, as yesterday he was brought up one hundred and twenty-four steps into the linen room, where a large collection of tangled bowls of wool awaited him. 

His large, calloused hands were not made for the finer arts. That, and being subjected to the gaze of three young women, was a form of torture Ivar had not lived through before. 

This mischievous sisterhood of three giggling, eyelash batting women made Ivar nearly wish the Giant would throw him out of the nearest tower. Was it possible to catch a fever from blushing alone? Because his face was on fire from the moment he crawled back onto the pile of blankets. 

Being their timid, awkward lapdog did have its perks, however. The food was undoubtedly the best he’d received since his arrival in castle de Haar. Although he did his best to contain himself, he wolfed down the entire content of his plate and finished before either of the three women started. His face must have looked like a stuffed chicken, cheeks still full, while trying to swallow.

The two linen maiden cackled at the way Ivar had to punch himself on the chest to prevent himself from choking on a chunk of bread. The fair-maiden, Mabelia, threw a well-meaning glare at the pair and held out a silver cup of wine for Ivar. 

Gulping down the content, Ivar could not help but to feel completely out of place. He was this dirty, vile shadow of filth in the midst of proper, serene creatures, that for reasons unknown wanted him around. 

There was something brewing between the three young women, that was evident. Ivar had a sixth sense when it came to others talking about him. After lunch the blonde, Badelog, disappeared and returned with a bowl of hot water and a small, sharp knife. 

As Badelog strode up to Ivar, turning the smooth handle in her hands, his face fell and he wondered if she was going to stab it into his back literally, as the three had already done so figuratively.

Luckily for Ivar, his mind still held some control over his body. Instead of slitting his throat, the blonde dabbed his chin and jawline with a cloth drenched with hot water. 

Ivar lost all forms of masculinity and embraced the warm touch of Badelog’s hands. Tilting his head upwards like a good little lap dog he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly as the cold touch of her blade pressed against the skin of his cheek. Receiving the first proper shave within a year, Ivar’s shoulders slumped back against the wall and he submitted to the tender care of Badelog.  

The three young women narrowly inspected every inch of Ivar’s chin, jawline and lips before fully approving Badelog’s work. With arms crossed, they nodded in agreement and spoke in delighted, fluttery cheers. 

Ivar still contemplated jumping from the castle, and he blessed the Gods for the fact that his older brothers were far, far away from de Haar. 

The clean shave did feel incredible though; it gave him a feeling of clarity he hadn’t felt for a very long time. 

The pampering wasn’t over yet. Duna took hold of a lock of his greasy hair and held it up between her thumb and index finger. She muttered something and both of the other woman nodded in agreement. 

A pair of scissors appeared in view and Ivar was just in time to pull his hair from Duna’s fingers. 

“No!” He spoke resolutely, “no”, and he tugged his long hair behind his ears. 

For some reason, the three young women thought his action was both funny and endearing. Their high pitched gasps made Ivar’s face sear so vibrantly it could warm up the sun. 

Focusing on the tips of his toes, Ivar wished the young women would continue their work so he would no longer be the centre of their focus. This small favour was granted, and Ivar managed to breath again. Cautious, he rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin of his jawline. He knew it brought out his boyish features, sending him back a few steps into boyhood. 

Ivar never considered himself handsome, nor beautiful. The heads he did manage to turn in Kattegat had always been because of his disability. He was a cripple and he did not expect anyone to look past that hideous default. 

So, maybe if he’d taken the trouble to learn a little bit of basic Dietsch, and would have been brave enough to peek up, Ivar would have noticed how the three young women were slightly enchanted by the presence of the cripple of de Haar. 

The extraordinary stranger, who’d stood up for the black skinned slave against Ludolf and taken a horrendous flogging for it. No, those three young women hadn’t forgotten his bravery, for all three of them were subjected to the twisted cravings of the young ruler. 

It was hard not to be drawn to this hero; with long, tousled, dark brown hair. His eyes, a mesmerizing deep blue like the ocean. With strong hands, rough from working, and with skin kissed by the spring sun. 

A handsome hero, a survivor of a death sentence; it would be hard for any woman to ignore those facts or features.  

.-.-.

Piglet did not speak a word about Ivar’s refreshed appearance. She did not speak a word at all, but her disapproval was evident. Utstott sided with her, quite literally. The slave and the puffy white raven were united in their disdain  toward Ivar siding with the Christians, forming a bond. 

Utstott sat on top of Piglet’s bandana, cawing raucously at Ivar when he tried to pet the bird. Utstott hopped from Piglet’s head to her shoulder, receiving a few pieces of veiny beef from the young woman. It was the only meat of that evening’s meal and Piglet gave it to the bird instead of sharing it with Ivar. As she fed the bird her eyes were scorching and smoldering, daring him to say something about it. 

Ivar cut his losses and ignored the flaring dark eyes and the beady blue one. He’d eaten like a King in the midst of Duna, Badelog and Mabelia. Surely he’d survive the night with this meager meal. 

“They call me teer kind, tar child”, Piglet announced as she picked up their plates, “your two new well-wishers”, she continued when Ivar raised his chin in her direction, “pulled my headscarf off and ran off laughing”, she gave half a shrug and straightened her back, “I’d rather crawl over hot coals then show any man my hair”, she paused and picked up the last plate, “and the wife of Ludolf, she’ll break soon. She won’t last long.” 

Ivar couldn’t decide if Piglet’s last words were meant as a threat or a promise. He didn’t respond to her spiteful words. His lack of reaction only flared up Piglet’s resentment and the young woman spat in his direction, positioning herself in the furthest corner of his box to spend the night. Her attitude over Ivar’s improved way of work did strike him below the belt. In her eyes he betrayed her, but in all honesty, he had no control over the orders he received. Sure, today’s labour was hardly enough to call work, but it wasn’t like he wanted to spend an whole day with the three young women. At least, that was what he was whole-heartedly telling himself. That he did not have a choice, that of course, he hated slaving for the Christians. It was easier believing that lie, instead of facing the fact that he deeply wished that tomorrow, he’d have to crawl up those endless stairs again. 

.-.-. 

Ivar’s place as favorite pet was short term. The next morning Duna did come to unshackle his chains, but instead of climbing a hundred and twenty four steps, he was sent into the kitchen. Duna’s expression had been blank as she pressed a knife and bowl into his hands. 

Anxious, Ivar started his task of peeling potatoes, occasionally glancing at the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair-maiden. 

In the evening Piglet’s resentful mood lessened for a bit, they played their game and to keep the atmosphere bearable for the rest of the night Ivar did not ask anything about the fair-maiden or the linen maidens. Utstott still bore an attitude towards Ivar, but allowed him to pet it’s growing feathers as a token of peace. The raven had found itself a place during the night on top of Ivar’s box and kept it’s one functioning eye open. For some reason it was quite reassuring to have the bird keeping watch at night, it allowed Ivar to relax and actually catch a good night sleep. 

A few days passed and Ivar dreaded the familiar boredom of mindless tasks inside the kitchen. He met the linen maidens occasionally, tried to respectfully smile at them, but didn’t dare to approach them. He wasn’t sure if that might be a sign of crossing boundaries and under the watchful eyes of Big Cunt and Little Cunt, every move was registered. He knew the linen maidens were also one of the lower residences of De Haar, yet he still remained at the bottom, last in rank. 

Both the young women seemed hesitant to even acknowledge his presence and ignored him, without the fair maiden’s protection as future ruler, they chose to linger on the safe side. Which meant far away from Ivar; the scapegoat of the Giant. 

The absence of the fair maiden made the brute crawl out of his hole, which of course meant Ivar was quickly pulled from the kitchen and placed back aside the well. Cleaning chamber pots.

“Rumor has it,” Piglet spat coldly, sitting on the stone wall of the well she’d brought Ivar a chunk of bread, “that she’s with child.” 

She did not need to be specific in her revelation, and both remained silent for a while. 

Once more, conflict began to swell inside Ivar’s ribcage. It was a fight between Viking and Slave. His pride and heritage forbid it to feel any sliver of sympathy for the young woman bound to bear a child of a monstrous husband. 

Yet the crippled slave still savoured the memory of her lips pressed against his, it didn’t matter that it had only lasted for a mere moment. Her kindness confused him, yet intrigued him immensely. She wanted something of him, hope, above anything. And although the guilt ripped him to pieces, he wanted to be near her. Even if it was as a humiliated lapdog. Because in a way, Mabelia made him feel less damaged. On the contrary, there was an odd sense of worship in her gaze, every time their eyes met. She truly believed that he was de Martelaar, favoured by her God. 

Maybe that was another thing that tore him up inside; her high expectation. She must have known why Ivar was being punished with forty lashes. He’d drawn her husband’s blood to protect Piglet and he knew she longed for him to save her virtue too. 

And he failed her, dreadfully. 

“She won’t last long,” Piglet whispered thoughtlessly, picking at the moss covered wall of the well, “she won’t last long.” 

.-.-.

A/N: So what I liked about tv Ivar is that he can be 100% ruthless, barbaric, a tyrant, the worst of the worst. Yet at the same time, place a woman in the same room and he turns into this awkward teenage boy. Humbled by the mere sight of a woman of his interest. Remember the first moment with Freydis? He just victored over York, poured boiling gold into the mouth of a priest. Worst of the worst, evil, demonic. And then watch how he sort of melts for simply being kissed. Sorta -am I worthy?- So yes, that’s a part I kind of wanted to explore a little further in Changing Course. His reaction to kindness, women of his peers, the confliction of liking them versus being a Viking. Versus being Piglet’s companion. I’d love to hear your thoughts about my A/N and about the chapter of course. 

Xoxoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys ​ @shannygoatgruff​ @pieces-by-me​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa​ @readsalot73​ @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[vipclifford]

Red is the Warmest Colour

event masterlist

soulmate au where you can’t see colours until you kiss your soulmate

Luke coated his nails in a dark grey colour, though the label claimed it to be ‘candy apple red’. Whatever that meant. He knew that red was the colour of blood and anger and love, that red was fiery and intense. He knew that red was the colour of lipsticks that stained his cheeks after his aunts kissed them when he was younger. He knew that red was the colour that made his face warm when embarrassed. He just didn’t know what it looked like.

Colours only appeared after kissing your soulmate. Not after a first look, not after a first touch, but after a first kiss. Some people went on their entire lives without ever finding them, instead settling for a dull existence with a mediocre partner, and the idea terrified Luke. He wanted nothing more than to see the blue of the sky and the sea; the greens and yellows of the leaves; the oranges and reds of a sunset. He wanted nothing more than to love and be loved like he truly deserved, to have someone made for him by his side as they explored the colours of the world. Luke felt like he was running out of time.

“We’ve got to pick up Amber in twenty minutes, so we better get going,” urged Michael as he rushed into the living room. Luke nodded, blowing on his freshly painted hand as he grabbed his phone with his dry one.

Luke remembers the day Michael found out he had met his soulmate. He remembers the excitement in his eyes as he kept looking at everything and anything, occasionally yelling ‘this is green, Luke, this is really green!’ or ‘why does everyone hate the colour orange? It's so nice!’ Luke was so happy for his friend, but he couldn’t help but wallow in envy that night as he tried hard to envision Michael’s detailed description of the colour red.

But you can’t imagine a colour you’ve never seen.

The party’s atmosphere was chill and cozy, not rowdy like the ones Michael usually brought him to. Ashton, the host, greeted him with a hug as he stepped through the door, and Luke loved how amiable he seemed. The only faces he recognised were those of Michael and Amber, and yet he felt like he belonged amongst these strangers.

“Nice nails,” commented a dark haired stranger who leaned on the railing a couple metres beside him, cigarette between his fingers. “What colour are they?”

“Red,” he told him proudly, a small smile stretching his lips. “At least that’s what the label says,” he shrugged, turning his attention back to the city lights.

The stranger hummed in response, seemingly pensive as he blew a cloud of smoke.

“Fiery and bold. I like it.”

Luke nodded as he gave him a quick glance, noticing that his nails weren’t plain either. “What colour are yours?”

“Blue.”

“Calm and serene. I like it,” Luke echoed his previous words, smiling when he heard his quiet chuckle. “I’m Luke.”

“I’m Calum. You want?” Calum offered, holding out the cigarette towards him. Luke declined with a shake to the head. “You don’t smoke?”

“I’ve, uh, I never found the appeal,” he shrugged somewhat nervously, something deep within his mind telling him that he should’ve just complied, that he should’ve tried to fit in.

“Good. Smoking is shit. By the way,” he said in a low voice, taking a few steps closer to him. Close enough that Luke could smell his cologne masked by the smell of tobacco. “Don’t look now, but the girl in the stripy top has been eyeing you for the past five minutes. Might be worth seeing whether you can finally admire your red nails by the end of the night,” Calum told him with a soft smile, giving a supportive squeeze to his shoulder.

He still couldn’t see red by the end of the night.

Luke laid in his bed, phone in hand as he scrolled mindlessly through instagram. But then he found his fingers tapping on Michael’s account, found his eyes searching for Ashton amidst his followers, found himself looking through Ashton’s followers as well until he landed on the account he pursued.

Calum Hood.

He felt his lips tug upwards as he scrolled through his feed. There were pictures of coffee cups and what he presumed was his dog; blurry pictures from nights out and shirtless pictures at the beach. He couldn’t help zooming into those. Although Luke hadn’t ever found the appeal of tattoos either, too indecisive to commit to a design for the rest of his days, he was intrigued by the patterns covering the skin of his arms and chest. Something about the way the ink clung to Calum’s bicep made him open his eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath after unconsciously double tapping the screen, accustomed to liking every picture when scrolling through his feed. Hasty fingers were quick to unlike it before throwing his phone across the bed.

Luke’s heart was racing in his chest and he could feel himself begin to sweat and his fingers were tingling and he knew that if he could see colours he would be seeing red. A panicked and anxious red. He hated himself for always getting like this over minuscule situations, though he hated himself for a lot of things. But then his phone buzzed, snapping Luke out of his thoughts. A smile returned to his face upon reading the notification and he felt the world go back to a tranquil blue.

‘@calumhood followed you’

The second time he saw Calum was at some other friend of Michael’s pool party, eyes gazing over the buffet of finger food. The place was once again packed with strange faces and Luke was glad to have found his new acquaintance amidst the crowd. He looked different in the daylight. Maybe it was the way the sunlight bounced off of his grey skin, or the way droplets of water trickled down his chest, but Calum looked as though he was glowing. Almost ethereal.

“Stick to pizza, it’s always the safest option,” Luke commented as he approached the man, Calum’s eyebrows briefly shooting up in surprise when he realised it was him.

“If it isn’t my instagram stalker,” Calum teased with a cheeky grin, nodding at his suggestion. Luke turned his head away as soon as he felt the red heat rise to his cheeks, beyond embarrassed by the fact Calum remembered. “Any luck with stripy top?”

“The fates didn’t seem to be on my side that night,” he replied with a shake to the head, reaching for a fresh can of beer. “Maybe I should go for a girl with a plain top next time.”

“Cheer up, mate,” Calum said with a soft chuckle, placing a comforting pat to his back. Luke chose to ignore the way it lingered for a few seconds. “Soulmates aren’t everything.”

But they were everything to Luke.

He had been dreaming about finding his soulmate since he was six. He was playing weddings with his friends during lunchtime and after the ‘groom’ kissed his ‘bride’, the pair yelled out in horror. They kept telling the group that everything around them had changed, that everything looked brighter and beautiful yet so strange, but none of the kids could understand what they meant. He remembers telling his mum about it on the walk home from school, who enlightened him about the concept of soulmates with a smile. Luke spent the rest of the day asking about the colour of the sky and the trees and his shirt, just to receive answers he couldn’t comprehend. He still couldn’t.

Luke simply hummed in response as he opened the can, trying his best to be nonchalant despite strongly disagreeing with his comment.

“Lots of people lead wonderful lives without ever finding their soulmates, you know? They just say ‘fuck you’ to the universe and live a happy life without depending on a soulmate, I think it’s amazing.”

“I guess,” Luke agreed with a shrug. “But don’t you ever picture yourself being truly happy, discovering the colours of the world with a girl that’s perfect for you in every way?”

“Sure I do,” Calum replied casually, taking a bite of his pizza slice. “Not necessarily with a girl, though.”

The speed at which Luke snapped his head to look at him in surprise was almost embarrassing. Calum’s eyebrows rose in a coquettish manner, a knowing smile on his lips as he watched Luke process his confession.

“Then, uh,” Luke muttered, returning his focus to the beer in his hand, “then you should at least try to find him. No need to rebel against the universe just yet.”

It was Calum’s turn to hum in response as he ran his fingers through his wet curls, watching his friends call for him from the pool. “Catch you later,” he said, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before walking away.

The third time he saw Calum was in his own apartment

Michael just loved having the chance to get drunk and party with his friends, and what better place to do it than from the comfort of his own home. Soon enough, Michael’s friends began to fill the space between the walls, bringing their loud voices along with beer and vodka.

Luke tried to join in. Luke tried to let loose and have fun but all he could focus on was Calum. The way the strobe lighting made him move in slow motion; the way his biceps pressed tightly against the material of his shirt; the way his hand rested on some guy’s arm. Their eyes met for a brief second before the guy placed a hand on Calum’s cheek, returning his attention back to the stranger.

Luke didn’t know why but that simple action made his heart ache. It made his throat constrict and his hands shake and Luke had to get away, he just had to pull himself away from the scene he was stuck in. He couldn’t handle the loud music or the flashing grey lights or Calum. He pushed people out of his way until he finally reached the terrace, breathing out a relieved sigh when the warm breeze brushed past his face.

No guy had ever made Luke feel as jealous as he felt now. Especially not a guy he had only spoken to twice. He felt so irrational and silly and dumb for feeling the way he did and he had to force himself to look at his bold red nails to ground himself. To remind himself of the confident man he should be.

His mother always told him such amazing things about the colour red. She told Luke red was strong like him; that red was loving like him; that red was courageous like him. He could never agree with her words, always having been too shy and insecure for that, but incorporating the concept of red into his life never failed to empower him.

So maybe he was jealous, but he was okay with that. Maybe he liked Calum, and he was okay with that too.

“There you are,” spoke a deep voice he had been longing to hear for days. “I was looking for you,” Calum told him as he rested his arms beside his, elbows touching.

“Guess you found me,” he murmured, all newly acquired confidence replaced by his usual timidity the second Calum appeared by his side.

“Why are you out here on your own? Isn’t this your party?” Luke shook his head.

“It’s Michael’s,” he clarified, “I just happen to live here too. And I’m out here because I needed a breather.”

“Too crowded?”

“Something like that.”

The atmosphere between them was somewhat awkward and uncertain, as though neither of them wanted to say the wrong thing. Luke just didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Calum pulled out a cigarette from the pack, placing it between his lips as he lit it.

“I thought about what you said the other day, you know? About trying to find my soulmate,” Luke turned with curious eyes to face him, humming to urge him to continue. Calum thought about him. “And, you’re right, I guess. Deep down, soulmates are everything to me,” Calum confessed before taking his first drag. Luke placed a comforting hand on his toned arm, softly caressing his skin. “But I fucking hate that they could be anywhere. They could be right in front of me and I would never find out because I don’t go round kissing strangers. The chances of finding them are so fucking low, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Luke murmured as he turned back to look at the city lights, letting go of his arm. “Do you believe in fate?”

“To an extent,” Calum shrugged, “I think that there are certain things that are set in stone, but how you get there is completely up to you.”

“Okay, then I think that you finding your soulmate is set in stone. You’ve just got to take the leap,” he told him. “What colour do you want to see?”

“I want nothing more than to see the peaceful blue of the sky or the powerful navy of the ocean. I love the idea of blue so fucking much that I’ll paint my nails that colour like a fool even though it just looks grey,” Calum chuckled humourlously, holding his hand out to Luke to let him see. “I don’t want to die in a world that’s still black and white.”

“You’re like me but with red,” Luke chuckled slightly in disbelief just to wince at his lack of sensitivity regarding Calum’s last sentence. “Uh, why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “guess I’m just the right amount of drunk to ramble about my feelings. Don’t get used to it.”

Luke smiled softly at his words. Getting used to him, that sounded like a nice idea. “Well, drunk or not, I think that you will find your soulmate. In no time you’ll be looking up and seeing a blue sky, trust me.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

They were both silent as they looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds. All that could be heard were the cars driving past and the music blasting through the apartment. Luke noticed just how good he looked in the dark, and just how plump and appealing his lips were. He watched Calum lean in slowly, felt his body do the same, felt the tip of their noses brush against each other until–

“Luke!”

The pair are quick to pull away from each other upon hearing Michael’s voice, leaving a foot’s distance between their chests.

“What do you want?”

“Have you seen Amber?” Luke couldn’t help but frustratedly roll his eyes at his best friend who stumbled over towards him, annoyed that he had ruined the only highlight of his night.

“No. She’s probably with her friends or something, I don’t know.”

“Can you help me? I’ve been looking for her for ages and our apartment isn’t big enough for me to have taken this long. Please,” Michael begged, occasionally slurring his words.

Luke glanced over at Calum who gave him a nod, silently excusing himself from the scene. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

Michael found her a few minutes later passed out in the bathroom. They really were soulmates.

Luke couldn’t stop thinking about their almost kiss. The way his dark eyes fluttered closed, the way his face emitted warmth, the way the soft skin of his nose brushed against his. The moment was so tender and vulnerable and perfect until his ill-timed friend decided to make a guest appearance. He should’ve expected that from Michael.

The sun shone brightly on the hot June’s day as Luke and Michael made their way into a pub, desperate for some refreshing beer. It wasn’t their usual bar, it was one in the city that Michael’s friends recommended and as usual Luke felt out of place. They sat down at a table of faces he somewhat recognised, filled himself a glass from the jug of beer and listened to their conversations, only joining in when his self esteem allowed him. He eventually got up to order the next pint, patiently waiting at the bar for the bartender to take his order.

“Fancy seeing you here,” grinned Calum as he pulled up beside him, Luke’s eyebrows lifting up in surprise when he saw him. “Come here often?”

“First time. Michael dragged me, as usual,” he replied with a soft smile.

Calum nodded, fingers rhythmically tapping on the counter. “Keep it that way, this place is shit. Wanna get out of here?”

“What?” Luke asked with a confused look in his eyes, anxiety bubbling in his chest at the spontaneity of his offer. He never just did things.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Calum enunciated louder, fingers running through his dark curls as he awaited a response from him.

“Okay,” he found himself saying and soon enough Luke was running down the streets with Calum, chest full of laughter. He didn’t know where he was and for once he didn’t even care, too engrossed in the conversation and fun he was having with his new friend.

They found a small patch of grass and Luke felt like laying in it, so that’s what he did. Calum didn’t join him, however, too busy studying whatever was behind that metal railing.

“There’s a pool there. I think it’s a primary school.”

“Okay?” Luke chuckled slightly, not knowing where Calum was going with this.

“Let’s jump in.”

“What?” he asked but was too late, for Calum was already climbing the fence. “Calum what the fuck.”

“Come on, live a little,” he grinned as he sat at the top, looking down at Luke. Luke stood up and slowly made his way over to the fence, thinking that at some point Calum would tell him that he was joking and come back down. But he didn’t. “Climb up, it’s easy.”

Luke placed his clammy hands onto the metal railing and strategically placed his foot somewhere where he could later hoist himself up. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do,” he murmured as he climbed the fence, meeting the man at the top.

“That’s what life’s all about,” Calum smiled before jumping off the other side, sprinting towards the pool.

Luke shook his head in disbelief as he watched him, a small smile on his lips, before slowly climbing down the fence. He ran behind him until he reached the swimming pool. The lights lining the edges of the pool made the water glow and seem that much more appealing. Much like Calum, who glowed with the light from the sunset as he took off his grey shirt.

“Are you gonna jump in like that?” Calum teased as he watched Luke make no move to remove his clothes. Luke rolled his eyes playfully as he kicked off his shoes, eventually stripping down to his underwear.

Calum pushed him into the water when Luke least expected it, too busy testing the temperature of the pool with his foot. He was splashed in the face as soon as he resurfaced by Calum jumping in too, emerging with a laugh.

“That wasn’t funny,” Luke complained in mock aggravation, splashing Calum with water. “I could’ve drowned.”

“Why, don’t know how to hold your breath underwater?” he taunted, mimicking his action.

“I’ll have you know I’m the best at holding my breath underwater.”

“Really?” Calum questioned with a raised brow, a look that Luke couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“A challenge you won’t disprove,” Luke said somewhat boldly.

“Alright, on the count of three we go down,” Calum explained prior to counting down, the pair taking a deep breath just before submerging themselves underwater.

They watched each other as the water made their hair flail about, determination written on their faces. But then time seemed to stop as Calum pushed himself closer, his rough hand finding its place on Luke’s cheek. He instinctively closed his eyes and suddenly Calum’s lips were pressed against the corner of his mouth and Luke felt like a fool. He still felt like a fool as he pushed himself up to the surface, vexed as he watched Calum emerge a few seconds later.

“I won,” Calum grinned mischievously.

“You fucking cheated, I demand a rematch,” Luke insisted despite Calum denying his claim, so they counted back down from three and immersed themselves in the water.

Luke felt flustered under Calum’s gaze, which kept dropping down to his touch-starved lips. Anxiety bubbled in his chest as he kept watching Calum‘s eyes linger, too scared to mirror the action. His previous tactic had left Luke dumbfounded and confused. He thought that he was going to kiss him, that he wanted to kiss him. But now he didn’t know whether Calum craved his lips as much as Luke did or whether he was trying to distract him again. Luke didn’t want to look like a fool.

But then he looked down at his plump grey lips.

Luke felt his hands jitter as Calum’s demeanour became determined. Calum’s eyes never left his as he slowly inched closer, each second that passed making Luke’s heart beat faster and faster against his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears as Calum’s nose softly grazed his own and Luke had finally had enough as he pressed his lips to Calum’s.

Luke didn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence had come from but he didn’t care as Calum kissed him eagerly, arms wrapping around Luke’s neck to pull him close. It felt as though he had been wanting this to happen for a long time. He placed his hands on Calum’s soft cheeks as they pushed themselves back up above the surface. They kissed and kissed and kissed until Luke felt his lips go numb, but he couldn’t bear to pull away from his intoxicating touch. Neither of them could. Neither of them wanted to.

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” Calum murmured against his lips once he reluctantly pulled away, smiling softly when Luke chased them to leave a quick kiss. “I’m not ready to be disappointed.”

Luke frowned at this, though he understood the meaning behind his words. “Okay,” he whispered, softly stroking his wet cheek. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

“Too long,” Calum chuckled quietly, leaning into his touch. “Probably since the first time I saw you.”

“That night at Ashton’s?”

“No, before that. I can’t remember whose party it was but you were there, happily dancing with Michael and Amber instead of looking awkward and gloomy in the corner like usual,” he teased, accepting the light slap to his shoulder. “You just looked so beautiful and carefree and I was like ‘fuck, he’s the one, I need to talk to him’. And then I didn’t,” Calum laughed.

“Shut up, that’s too cheesy to be true,” Luke complained although he couldn’t stop himself from pressing happy kisses to his lips.

“Believe what you want.”

“Do you want to look now?” Luke asked after a few seconds of silence. He could sense his reluctance, which was eventually overpowered by the acceptance of the fact that he had to open them eventually.

“Okay.”

Luke took a deep breath, anxiety bubbling in his chest in case the world was still grey. But that kiss felt right, his touch felt right, Calum felt too right for someone who wasn’t his soulmate. He had to be. He wanted him to be. He needed him to be.

His eyes opened to a bright sky filled with so many different colours he couldn’t even name. They were bright and warm and real and fuck, colours were beyond anything Luke had ever tried to imagine. His cheeks hurt from grinning as he kept looking around, looking at the green of the leaves and the blue of the pool. He looked down at his nails and he felt like crying. “That’s red,” he said excitedly, almost in disbelief. Red was so beautiful. Luke looked back at Calum just to find him already looking at him with a smile on his red lips.

“Your eyes are so blue,” Calum muttered in amazement as he pulled him in by the cheeks to kiss him tenderly. “I fucking love blue.”

“I fucking love red,” Luke chuckled with a shy smile, glancing up at the changing sky before joining their lips together again. He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him once more because although the colours were wonderful, Calum’s lips were more.

i’ve had so many technical issues but she’s finally posted! thank you @maluminspace and @h0tsos for doing this event, it was really fun and i enjoyed writing something that was somewhat out of my comfort zone because i’ve never written a slash fic. also a special thanks to @sexgodashton and @5-secondsofcolor for being the most helpful when i was stuck!!

taglist: @cashtonasfuck @maluminspace @castaway-cashton @loveroflrh @5sosnsfw @gigglyirwin @mysticalhood @punkrockpreferences @koalacal @calumsmermaid

message me or tap on the link in my masterlist to be added!!

[deceitfullyanxioussss]

Must Have Been the Wind

Hey guys! I kinda already posted this on my ao3 a few months ago and just realized I forgot to post it here as well so like, here you go I guess lmao

Summary: Remus goes back to his apartment and wants a nap after a bad day at work. Instead, he finds he is kept up by some very troubling sounds coming from the room above his.Remus decides he wants to help this stranger.

Song fic! Must Have Been the Wind - Alec Benjamin

CW: Cursing, and uh, Remus being Remus ig? Oh, and minor homophobic character (Lemme know if I need to add more)

Proof-read by @queroze, thank you again, even though this was a while ago lol

Remus let out a huff of breath, feeling his tense muscles relax as he practically melded into the couch. The plan was for him to catch a nice nap after his exhausting day at work.

   He was a barista at a coffee shop, which usually wasn’t too bad. He liked his job. Often, he even found it relaxing.

   However, there can be days that are just the exact opposite of relaxing.

   It seemed as though every customer he came across that day woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh, and don’t even get him started on the Karens. The Karens were nearly impossible to deal with.

   A frown slipped on his face, recounting the worst part of his day. There was a very verbal homophobe who came in today.

   Remus was very openly gay and always wore a pride pin on his apron next to his name. He had the unfortunate luck of having to take, and make his order. He probably had to stand there for a full 5 minutes, just listening to his lecture about how wrong gay sex is. Remus was able to shut him up by reminding him of the line behind him.

   It didn’t end there though.

   A lesbian couple walked in not long later, hand in hand. It didn’t take long for it to catch the attention of this man, who immediately jumped at the chance to pull another 500 slide PowerPoint out of his ass.

   The rest of his co-workers decided that he had to be ushered out of the shop. Nothing about getting him to leave was easy though, not in the slightest. He went out yelling and cursing the whole way.

    The two girls were very lovely though, they had a nice conversation about the upcoming pride event, and he was more than happy to give them both free refills on him.

    So he guessed the day wasn’t all bad, but it still seemed to drag him out as if he was dough under a roller, crunching off of his bones into powder and flattening all his veins against his skin.

     Yes, a nap seems like a good idea.

     Remus’s eyes fluttered closed, fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

   Just then, a sharp, yet muffled noise cut through the serenity of silence.

   Some barely-conscious part of his mind gained interest in this sound.

   What was that? It kind of sounded like glass.  It had murmured through its TV static atmosphere.

   The rest of his mind, nearly completely asleep, wordlessly communicated that it was probably nothing, and he should just focus on sleeping.

   That seemed to calm his brain enough to settle down.

There was a little sliver of his mind that wasn’t quite ready to let go of the sound yet, though. It kept listening, even if undetected by the rest of the brain. It seemed right to do so, as muffled sounds of yelling and sobbing registered through its cloudy state.

   It was then Remus blearily pried his eyelids open and sat up.

   The fuck?  Remus groaned internally, forcing his body into an acceptable sitting position. Confusion stuck onto his brain like wrinkled cling wrap as he tried to make any sense of the hazy world around him.

   A loud thud was heard from the floor above, followed by an emotionally drained cry.

   Remus grunted and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

   For maybe just a split second, his heart felt sympathy for the person, but he was just so tired. It’s not like it was his problem, right? He could just ignore it and go back to sleep.

   He flipped over on his side so his head faced the back of his sickly green couch and closed his eyes, trying his best to draw his attention away from the sounds upstairs.

   He must have laid there for a good while, trying and failing to push the sounds to the back of his head, his anxiety amping up little by little the longer the crying persisted.

   Eventually, Remus let out a loud, guttural sigh and stood up swiftly. He couldn’t just ignore them, he had to help.

   Making the decision, he walked towards his coat-rack and hastily tossed his jacket over his shoulders, bee-lining to the elevator.

   He silently curses the elevator for being so slow as he restlessly waited for the doors to push open, and when they do he wasted no time getting in and selecting floor 2.

   Remus usually enjoyed the tacky elevator music, but he found it only served to tick him off this time around. The music seemed to drag time out even slower and he was already so, so restless.

   Ding.

   With that, he stepped out and eagerly trodded down the hallways, stopping in front of the desired location. He raised a hand and knocked on the door with little hesitation, the anxious tapping of his foot echoed within the empty halls.

   Remus listened with rapt attention through the door, hearing as the person inside scrambled to make themself look even the slightest bit presentable.

   He waited impatiently, his gaze anxiously wandering around for some sort of distraction or stimulation. They landed on the grossly patterned navy blue carpet, look completed by the numerous stains that have accumulated over the years. Finding little interest there, he moved onto the walls. The dim, sparse lighting made the colour look like a shit brown. Impulsively, he reached to run his fingers along the many indents that found a home among the distasteful brown. The tactile stimulation instantly captured his focus, and he let the rough surface soothe him.

   Remus, too caught up in the stimulation, had forgotten his original purpose of being there. He startled back to reality upon hearing the soft click from the door. He immediately snapped his head back up, being met with a pair of mismatched eyes and a scarred face. This person was looking up at him with what he thought was supposed to be a confident expression. The effect was dampened by his pink-ish eyes, mussed hair, and the pastel yellow sweater he had hooked all the way up to his chin.

   Remus gave the other a small wave, just then realizing he had no game plan. Did he just… ask? Did he make small talk first? Should he invite him to his coffee shop for a drink and talk there?

   The other reciprocated the wave, smirking. “How may I help you, sir?” He asked politely

   Remus cleared his throat, deciding he should just be direct with this conversation. He was never really good at softening his approach anyway.

   “Hey, so, basically I heard something shatter and a lot of crying and yelling and I was kinda concerned about it, so I came to ask if you were ok.”

   The two men stared at each other for a few seconds before Remus spoke up again. “So, are you ok?”

   He heard the other snicker quietly, a gloved hand waving as if to dismiss the question. “Oh, my. That’s ridiculous. Your ears must be playing tricks on you, my dear.”

   Remus took notice of how he subtly buried his face deeper into the sweater.

   His attention was brought back up as the scarred man spoke again.

   “Thank you for caring, sir, it’s very kind of you, but I have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could tell you about the noise, but I'm afraid I didn’t hear a thing.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it was merely a harsh gust of wind.” He suggested.

   Remus let out a quiet sigh, but nodded and accepted the answer.

   The two waved each other farewell as Remus trudged back to the elevator.

Remus had been laying down, back pressed hard against the cold concrete of the floor. The chill from beneath seeped in through his spine and into his chest, weighing him down heavily. He just couldn’t stop thinking about his upstairs neighbor.

   It had been hours since his last visit already, and the man upstairs was still pacing across his apartment, occasionally he would stop and silence would follow. The pacing always started back up though.

   Absent-mindedly, his hands fiddled with the necklace around his neck, running his fingers across the cool, smooth metal.

   He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he wanted to help.

   Remus knew that he didn’t have all the facts, and he didn’t really want to intrude on the man’s life. There was a possibility that nothing was wrong, and he was  just imagining things. He didn’t want to pester his neighbor with his stupid, false worries.

   But what if something is wrong?   You saw his puffy eyes. You know you heard those sounds.  His mind kept telling him.  You can’t just leave him alone, can you?

   Remus nodded to himself and for the second time that day, stood and made his way back to the other’s door. More hesitantly this time, he knocked. His raps were slow and unsure as he swayed nervously from side-to-side.

   He heard the pacing stop, and he waited, his focus on nothing but his shoes this time around. Then he heard footsteps approach the door and he looked up just as the door swung open.

   He was met with the same mismatched eyes, messy hair, and sweater. He didn't forget to take note of the new eye bags and odor he’s sporting with him though.

   “Oh, it’s you again.” the nervousness of his neighbor's voice managed to carry through despite the fabric covering his mouth.

   Remus ran a hand through his hair and looked to the side. “Yeah.” he chuckled unsurely.

   “I just- I’m still worried,” he said, smile falling. “I know you said you were fine, but… I just felt the need to check again. It’s- those sounds- they’re not leaving me alone.” he tentatively looked up into the other’s eyes. “Are- Are you sure you’re ok?”

   Remus is pretty sure he saw the scarred side of his face twitch, probably in annoyance he’s sure. He knew it was a bad idea to come back up. He was always such a bother, even to his own family. What made him think a stranger would appreciate seeing his face twice in one day?

   “Yes.” the answer cut through Remus’s thoughts and redirected his attention. “I am absolutely positive that everything’s fine.” There was a hint of irritation that Remus desperately wished he didn’t hear.

   “Once again, thank you for caring, it’s very kind. Truly. But I really do have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could help you with the noise, but I didn’t hear a thing. In fact, I’m almost certain it was just the wind. You need to stop worrying so much over such a trivial thing.”

   Remus’s body became hot with shame as he shrunk in on himself. He nodded at the man before he sluggishly made his way back.

The following morning, he didn’t even bother with breakfast. Immediately going over to slouch on his couch, he stared back up at the ceiling. It seemed to be a new favourite hobby of his apparently.

   He had a lot of time to think about the previous night, about his last interaction with the man upstairs.

    There was no way those sounds were from his imagination. He was in a groggy state when he heard the yelling, sure, but surely the pacing wasn't something his ears made up. Surely, the messy hair and puffy eyes weren't something his eyes made up.

   His mind carefully brought up the idea of confronting him again, but he quickly winced and scrapped the idea. The irritated voice of the other causing his gut to lurch in a nauseating way.

   He was most certainly not going to be looking him in the eyes for a good while now.

   He was starting to break through the surface though, right? Maybe he should just call it quits and admit that he can't help.

   He couldn't just go back up again, he didn't think he could take the ice-cold, biting irritation again.

   Remus sat, rolling the interactions over in his head. Whoever said anything about a letter?  A lightbulb sparked, setting an explosion through his body that jolted him up from his seat with a gasp.

   "A letter! That's so simple! I don't have to face him again, and he doesn't have to feel as much pressure! I'm a fucking genius!" He yelled, pumping his fists into the air with triumphant gusto.

He rushed over to his desk, brimming with excitement as he began to write.

   In Remus's very distinct, messily scrawled printing, he began:

   Sup Mr Scarface! (I haven't even thought to ask your name yet lmao)

   Listen up nerd! I  promise  I'm not playing tricks on you when I say this

   You’re  always  welcome to come in

   You could stay here for an hour or two if you ever need a friend. We can talk about the noise when you’re ready

   But… til then I’ll say it must have been the wind.

   Yours sincerely, annoying dude from yesterday ;)

   Remus let out a long, pleased sigh as he gave it a quick once-over. He saw many mistakes, but he gave them not even a second glance before he was already out of the door.

   He was going to deliver this letter and it was going to be wonderful!

Remus shucked his jacket off and onto his coat-rack upon returning from work the following day. It had been a pretty good day today. No awful homophobes, that's for sure.

   Turning his T.V. on for background noise, he moved over to his miniature kitchen. Distantly aware of a news reporter talking about some murder, he got started on his rice and gravy.

   Perhaps 10 minutes passed by when he heard a gentle rapping on the front door.

   Remus curiously strode over and opened his door, surprised to see the man from upstairs in front of him.

   "Oh, wow. Hey there, dude! Didn't expect to actually see ya this soon!" Remus exclaims.

   "I, uh, yeah…" the scarred man shifted in place for a few moments, burying his face into his sweater. "If the, uh, offer is still open, I’d love to have someone to talk to,” he mumbled through the thick fabric.

   Remus stood and processed the words for a few seconds before grinning widely.

   "Of course! Of course! Come on in, my man! Lunch will be done in a bit if you want some!”

   The other smiled and shyly slunk into his apartment

   "I’d love that.” He said. “Thank you.”

   "Not a problem at all! My name's Remus by the way!" He excitedly extended a hand for the other to shake.

   Said man looked at his hand for a moment or two before carefully clasping his own around it.

   Even more carefully, his shy voice spilled a simple name. "...Janus."

[sit-back-and-read]

“Bracken! Spear!” Kendra yelled towards her boyfriend. Bracken tossed her the weapon in his right hand, wielding a large pearly sword in his left. Kendra caught it effortlessly, which was mostly thanks to Bracken’s amazing aim. She quickly stabbed a nasty green goblin that had been gradually progressing towards her.

Currently Kendra and Bracken were in a magical preserve that had recently fallen. The preserve was called Frozen Canyon, and it had been overrun by dark beings. She and Bracken had been given a mission by the Knights of the Dawn; to scout out and map an abandoned structure on the property. They had successfully completed the task, but on the way out they had encountered a large group of dark creatures, consisting of mostly goblins and human-sized imps.

“Kendra! Your left!” Bracken shouted. Kendra, panting, whirled around and fended off another hissing goblin. When the goblin was a safe distance away, Kendra turned around and tackled a distracted imp. After slicing a gash in the imps thigh, she jumped up and attacked a trio of goblins that had cornered her. She stumbled and fell backwards, hitting her head on a rock. Her immediate reaction was pain, but after a few seconds most of the hurt went away. Laying her head back on the rock, she got ready to stand back up, but realized something. She rapidly moved her head, looking around the clearing in a circular motion. There were no creatures in sight. How hard had she hit her head? There had been at least 15 goblins and imps in the meadow a few seconds ago. But Bracken was still there, and he seemed equally as surprised. Kendra decided she was not crazy.

“Bracken, where’d they go?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t know.” he responded. “I was fighting an imp, and all of the sudden it spun around and ran into the woods! All of them did! It was the strangest thing... ”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” Bracken said, glancing around at the surrounding foliage. “We got what we needed. Let’s head out.” Kendra nodded. He was standing still, and Kendra realized he was waiting for her.

Just as she was about to start walking she heard Bracken gasp. Her eyes darted to him. Within seconds, she felt a piercing pain in her stomach. She glanced down. There was a bloody silver spear blade jutting out of her chest. Kendra’s eyes widened in terror. Her vision was getting blurry, and with the strength she had left, she turned around to view her attacker. She was staring into the black eyes of a plump imp wearing rags. He stood confidently in front of her. Without warning, she heard Bracken yell from behind her. He shot the imp twice with a crossbow. It collapsed.

Bracken was almost instantly next to her. He slid the spear out from her chest, laid her down, and placed his hand over the wound.

“Adamant blade” the dying imp rasped, still on the floor. “Do what you will, unicorn, but your powers won’t work on that wound.”

Anger in his eyes, Bracken brought the spear blade down on the imps rib cage. Still holding the spear, his body shook with silent sobs. He returned to Kendra, whose eyes were unfocusing. A tear slid down her face.

“Am I going to die?” she whispered. Bracken shook his head rapidly, although he looked like he was trying to convince himself. Tears were steadily falling from his cheeks.

Holding Kendra in his arms, he mumbled something unintelligible. Kendra blacked out before he finished the chant.

• • •

Bracken saw no end. Kendra would be gone soon. He buried his face in his hands. He had one job, and he blew it.

He had taken Kendra to the Fairy Realm his mother, The Fairy Queen, had teleported him there when she had found out what happened. She was devastated. Bracken had only seen her so upset once before; when she had lost her husband.

Bracken had laid Kendra down to rest on a quartz slab in a makeshift emergency room. The table was now stained red. He and his parents were trying to come up with an answer.

“She’s losing too much blood! If we don’t come up with something fast, there will be no need for a solution!” Bracken’s father was getting anxious.

“But what can we do! Any normal mortal would die from that wound!” Bracken said.

“Yes. . . “ Bracken’s mother commented. “Any mortal. . .” She seemed to have realized something. “Bracken, could we make her an eternal?” The room was silent. Realization dawned in Bracken’s eyes. But he was uncertain.

“We can’t just make that decision for her.” He finally replied. “What if she wakes up and would rather have died? What if that’s not the life she would have chosen?”

”It’s either that or let the girl die!” The Fairy Queen yelled. Bracken glanced nervously over to Kendra, passed out on the large brick of quartz. Her chest was wrapped in gauze, which was already completely soaked in blood. Her face was contorted into a painful grimace.

“Okay.” Bracken whispered, looking down. “Go ahead.”

• • •

When Kendra woke, she was in the bed at her grandparents house. As she looked around, she realized that she was alone in the attic. It looked like the sun was about to set, based on the amount of light filtering through the curtains.

Kendra wondered how she had gotten here. normally she woke up at around 7:00 or 8:00, so she had no idea why she could have randomly slept until the end of the day. She tried to think back to earlier in the day, only to find that she remembered nothing. She remembered the day before, and held all of her memories up until today. Kendra scored her memory from yesterday for clues. She remembered getting a mission from the Knights of the Dawn, and Bracken, being as overprotective as he was, insisted on coming. But what had the mission been? Where had she gone? Had it been a dream?

And all of a sudden, the memories came flooding back into her mind. She knew about the preserve, and the imps, and the goblins, and the—

“Oh my god!” Kendra gasped. She jerked her nightgown off. Besides her underwear and bra, she was completely naked. She stared down expectantly at her middle. There was absolutely nothing there; no blood, no cut, not even a scar!

Not sure what else to do, Kendra threw on her clothes, tossed open the door, and started downstairs. “Hello?” she said. Hearing no answer, Kendra continued down the steps. She

walked downstairs, finding no one on the second floor. On the first floor, however, she heard voices. Following the sound of her Grandmother’s slightly muffled voice, she ended up at the door to the study. She could hear people conversing. Peering through the keyhole, she recognized Tanu, Bracken, Grandma, Grandpa, and Warren. She wondered why were they talking without her. Listening in; she was keenly aware that this was an extremely Seth-like thing to do. Just as she was considering opening the door, she heard another voice.

“But there has to be some way to reverse it!” Vanessa’s voice offered. “Any magic that can be done can also be undone, right?” Kendra had not noticed Vanessa when she had looked through the keyhole, but then again, she could only see so much through the small opening.

“Unfortunately, no.” Bracken replied sadly. “This. . . type of magic is irreversible.” Kendra was exceedingly confused. What magic? What needed to be reversed?

“This is. . . complicated, but I understand your intentions.” Grandpa said. “I probably would’ve done the same. For now, our biggest concern is how to tell her.”

Kendra began to worry. What was this conversation about? Maybe she shouldn’t have listened in. Who was the “her” they were nervous about telling? Could they possibly be talking about her?

Before she could finish her thought, the door to the office opened, and she found herself staring at Warren’s face. He turned around to look at the rest of the group.

“We might not have to worry about telling her anymore” he sighed.

Kendra narrowed her eyes. So they had been talking about her!

“Telling me what?!” she said, her voice fairly loud. “What magic is irreversible? And. . . you!” She said her eyes now on Bracken. “You were there! I remember an imp stabbing me through the chest! Am I going crazy or something?!”

“Now calm down, Kendra.” her grandma soothed. “You're not crazy. We’ll tell you soon. I’m not sure your ready.”

Kendra sighed. Looking away from her grandmother, she wondered what they thought she wasn’t ready for. It didn’t seem fair either way. She began to feel empathy for the way her brother saw things.

“What about you Bracken?” Kendra asked, shifting her gaze. ”You were there! What happened?” Despite everyone else’s opinions, Kendra knew she could trust him. He would tell her. Right?

Contrasting her assurances, Bracken stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact. He did not respond.

Tears brimmed at the corners of Kendra’s eyes. “It’s my right to know!” she shouted. Still facing a room of silence, she glared at her family.

“Never mind. Continue without me.” Kendra said, storming towards the front door. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” And with that, she slammed the door behind her.

• • •

Kendra sat on a large boulder overlooking a forest. Treetops swayed beneath her. Birds were chirping and fairies were flitting about, creating an aura of peace and serenity. And yet Kendra couldn’t feel more opposite. Tears of anger and frustration slid down her cheeks. She wished someone would follow her out here. Not just because she was stubborn, but also because she needed to know what was going on. Something had happened to her, some sort of magic or spell was at work. Something irreversible. Something they wouldn’t tell her.

Just as she had decided she should go back, she heard dead leaves crunching from the direction of the house. Hoping to see Bracken, she was half disappointed when Newel stepped into view.

“Hey Kendra. Have you seen Seth? We had a. . . ” he cleared his throat. “We had some. . . business to attend to.”

“Are you guys trading batteries for gold again?” Kendra accused. “I thought Seth didn’t do that anymore!”

“Now, hold on. Newel said with mock surprise. “I didn’t say anything about batteries.”

“Seth’s inside the house.”

“Thanks.” Newel said. “Oh, and Bracken’s looking for you.”

“Oh?” Kendra managed to keep a straight face. “Tell him I’m here,” she began. “But don’t tell him I told you to say that.”

“Alrighty.” Newel remarked sarcastically. “Girls” he muttered under his breath, disappearing into the woods.

Moments later, Bracken emerged from the trees. Kendra, currently facing the view, pretended not to notice.

“Kendra?” he said quietly.

“Hey Bracken,” Kendra said, turning around.

Bracken fidgeted with his fingers. He seemed nervous. “I wanted to apologize. For not telling you about the thing. Earlier.”

“What exactly is ‘the thing’ you were talking about?” Kendra asked. “What happened to me?”

Bracken sighed. “You should know.” he admitted. “Your grandparents will probably keep me in the dungeon for the rest of eternity for telling you this, but you should know.” Kendra nodded eagerly. Taking a deep breath, Bracken told her.

“You're an eternal.” he said, head down, but eyes locked on hers. Kendra paused. After a while, she spoke.

“Oh.” she managed. “Is that how I’m not dead? The. . . spear. It went through me.” Bracken nodded. “Okay,” Kendra sighed. “I guess that’s not too bad. At least I’m still alive. I’ll just have to live my life running away from freaks trying to open Zzyzx, and eventually say goodbye to everyone and everything I love---” Inhaling sharply, she burst into tears. “It’s fine” she assured Bracken, her voice already congested. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know.” he soothed. “Let’s go home.”

Hand in hand, Bracken led Kendra off into the distance.

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Unveiled Love

@smutember

Ao3

Chapter 30 – Free Day

Marinette brushed the wrinkles from the front of her gown while her mother and best friend fixed the veil that had been placed perfectly beneath the low bun. She looked into the mirror and eyed her hand crafted dress, ensuring that no stitch was out of place.

It was an empire waist chiffon dress with beaded lace throughout. It had thick lace straps that covered her back until it created a sweetheart neckline on her bust, plus additional lace trailing down her sides until it reached the corset strings on her back. Under her bust was a line of silver beads, separating the bust from the loose skirt that encouraged her swollen belly to protrude without being too obvious. She kept the hem low, allowing her to wear kitten pumps to give her some height without swelling up her sore feet.

It was a mix of glamor and comfort, and Marinette was excited that she was able to create this for herself.

She let out a nervous sigh and played with her necklace, before a comforting hand reached out to capture her palm and ran her small fingers across her knuckles.

“I remember how nervous I was at my wedding.” Sabine began and shot her daughter a sweet smile. Marinette sighed back and placed her free hand on her mother’s, relishing in the softness as her mother talked her down. “Your father stood at the front of the altar and fidgeted with his tie before he noticed I had already walked into the room. I was so nervous that I could feel the flowers shaking in my hands.” Marinette looked from her mother’s comforting gaze back down to her hands while she continued to speak. “The moment we gazed into each other’s eyes, the nerves left and it seemed like the clouds escaped bringing in that sunshine.”

Marinette smiled, tears ready to fall from her eyes. She placed a hand to her belly, feeling slightly stretched as she felt the flutters of her child move within her.

“That boy loves you so much. He already loves this baby so much. And we love him so… so much.” Sabine looked up at her with a sad smile, her heart breaking as she thought of Adrien. “He’s going to need all the love he can get right now.”

“Yeah…” Marinette sadly stated, thinking back to the chaos that ensued a week prior.

Hawkmoth’s takedown was completely bittersweet and unexpected. One afternoon after Marinette had left a prenatal appointment, she was on her way to see Adrien in the office when a fierce akuma had captured her and placed her in a gilded cage. When Adrien had heard the news and that Marinette was the one that was captured, he transformed into Chat Noir, but had gone completely feral at the thought of his fiance and unborn child being harmed.

Luckily, Marinette had decided to give the temporary heroes their miraculouses since she wasn’t able to fight. She would only transform to capture the akuma that Chat would bring to her in a safe area, but she would never leave Chat to fight the battles alone or without any backup.

Carapace, Rena Rouge, Queen Bee, Viperion, and Ryukko had all met up with Chat Noir on a hidden rooftop near the makeshift prison to create a plan to save her and defeat the akuma in tandem. 

Chat had walked out first, flaunting and cracking jokes at the villain while the others took their positions in hidden spots in the area surrounding them. When the villain asked where Ladybug was, repeating whatever Hawkmoth had spoken to him through their connection, Chat quickly acknowledged that she was indisposed at the moment. He then finished his sassy monologue with a ‘not to worry’ and that ‘he would defeat the villain as always’.

Hawkmoth, apparently distraught over his plan slipping through the cracks before it even began, decided to come out of his lair and face the cat alone. The thought of thinking the battle would be over before it began crossed his mind, with overtaking and capturing Chat Noir to be used as bait to lure Ladybug out winning over his thoughts.

Little did he know that the rest of the team would come out and fight against the supervillain, beating him down until Chat removed the butterfly brooch from his neck. Seeing Gabriel Agreste detransform in front of his eyes caused rage and hostility from the cat, and Carapace had to shield Gabriel with Shelter to actually keep him safe and out of harm.

Queen Bee spoke out the words that no one wanted to say, admitting that Carapace should have let Chat attack him until police arrived. Carapace had to begrudgingly disagree with her thoughts while deep down inside he would have loved to see the attack against Gabriel, especially for all the shitty things Gabriel had done to Adrien over the years. Marinette could only hold her belly as Rena Rouge wrapped her arms around her in comfort, angry tears running down her cheeks at the thought of what was to come next.

Both Gabriel and Nathalie were in prison awaiting trial, and Marinette had spent every day with Adrien to comfort him in distress since that day. She would have called off the wedding and waited until he was mentally better from the ordeal, but Adrien insisted they should go on.

“He wasn’t worth having there anyways.” He told her sadly, yet she could feel the grief coursing through him. “The only family I need is here with you and our kitten.” He finished with his palm over her bump.

A knock on the door brought Marinette to the present, her hand still running soothing circles where she felt the flutters. Sabine pressed tissues to her face to stop the unintentional tears that ran down her cheeks and Alya brought over the makeup kit to fix any splotches that had appeared.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one to cry at these things.” Tom said softly, walking up to Marinette to take her hands. 

Marinette looked up at her father and gave him a wet smile, a soft chuckle leaving her lips as she saw his sincere smile.

“Sorry, papa. Just thinking about Adrien.” 

Tom pressed a kiss to the top of her head and beamed. “I will tell you this. That boy is so nervous, yet has the happiest smile on his face. You couldn’t even tell that his world fell apart a few days ago.”

A sigh of relief came out of her as Tom explained what he was doing in the other room with Nino. Apparently, Nino had given Adrien a shot of his aunt’s famous moonshine, causing Adrien to pucker his lips in distaste, while also simultaneously tripping over his feet as he tried to get a drink to wash away the aftertaste. Tom caught him before he landed face first onto the floor, and Nino could only hysterically laugh at Adrien’s expense as he brushed himself off.

“Nino is a good boy. He really cares for Adrien.”

“Yes, he does, Mr. D.” Alya laughed out and Marinette finally felt content enough to smile a real toothy grin. 

“The ceremony is about to start. You ready?”

Marinette took one look in the mirror and let out one more anxious sigh. “Absolutely.”

----

Adrien cried the moment he noticed Marinette walk into the room. Nino had packed a plethora of tissues, just in case, and made the entire congregation laugh when he pulled one out of his pocket and caused the whole pile to fall unceremoniously onto the floor.

Marinette began to cry, too, when her papa handed her off to him, finally noticing how handsome he looked in his grey tux with green features. Adrien tried to hand her a tissue to help her out, but she pursed her lips as she held in a laugh, also pulling out a plethora of tissues from a pocket she had crafted in a hidden spot of her dress.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Tom was more of a blubbering mess than Sabine, Gina and Roland also tearing up as they watched the exchange, while the Gorilla held up his camera to photograph the occasion with a handkerchief peeking from his large hand. Even Nino shed a tear or two! 

The vows were handcrafted and meaningful, each word directed to exactly what the world could see of them. The kiss was a mix of tasteful and passionate, the deep feeling of the love that they shared could be felt throughout the room.

The reception was wonderful and fun. The food was absolutely amazing and the sweets were out of this world. Adrien and Marinette danced all evening long, only taking breaks when she needed a rest or a bathroom break.

At one point while waiting for dinner to be served, Marinette jolted in her seat and pressed a hand to the side of her stomach. Adrien noticed her flinch and immediately leaned over to her, ensuring that she was okay and whether or not they needed to leave.

Marinette shot him a teary smile, then silently grasped his hand and placed it at the spot.

“What-” He tried to say, but then felt it. The baby had kicked hard enough that it could be felt from the outside world. Adrien’s breath hitched as he waited for more movement, and was pleasantly surprised when he felt the baby kick twice more before settling back down.

Marinette watched as his eyes watered, the soft expression of his eyes and smile causing the tears to flow down her cheeks.

“That’s our kitten, my love. That’s our family.”

“Today has been one of the best days I could have ever asked for.” He whispered before pressing his lips on hers in an amorous kiss.

-----

Adrien carried Marinette over the threshold of their hotel room as his lips captured hers in a frenzy. He was slightly tipsy and she was extremely horny - two extremes clashing together in a powerful way that would probably lead to getting pregnant if they weren’t already past that part.

He lowered her slowly onto the bed and sat beside her serene form, departing from her lips for a second to kiss her jaw. He trailed kisses down her neck until he reached her collarbone, eliciting a moan from her lips. Marinette tilted her head to the side, giving him free access to her exposed skin.

Adrien brought one hand up to cup her cheek, bringing his face back up to hers to place slow, pleading kisses on her kiss-swollen lips. He took his free hand and reached around her shoulder blades, searching and finding the button that would loosen the lace straps completely off her shoulders.

Never removing her lips from his, Marinette helped him remove his jacket, then slowly removed the tie that hung listlessly around his neck. When Adrien felt her hands leave his chest, he reached up to her shoulders and pulled the straps down the sides of her arms. 

They slowly parted to gaze into each other’s eyes. Her eyes fluttered with a pleading expression and he hungrily glared at her with a dark desire. She bit her lip as he ran his hand up and down the smooth skin, then closed her eyes as he leaned over and kissed her shoulders. He continued to kiss the supple skin as he ran his hand to her back, finding and loosening the corset string until it was loose. 

Marinette let out a sigh of relief as she felt her breasts become free from the confines of the dress, and placed a tender kiss to his lips as a reward. She then helped him unbutton his shirt, taking a second at each one to kiss his neck as she removed them fully.

He could feel his cock twitch in excitement, but he had planned to take this night slow with her to relish in the moment of marital bliss. Even if it was agonizingly slow, he knew he would cherish this forever.

Marinette helped slide the shirt off his shoulders, leaving his torso bare in the dimly lit room. Adrien stood and reached out to grab her hands, bringing her up to her feet and kissing her once more before sliding the dress completely off her body.

He carefully maneuvered it around her torso, then watched as her milky skin looked serene under the yellow glow. Once the dress pooled at her feet, he held onto her hands to help her walk out of it, her white lace panty the only clothing left until he could make love to her.

Marinette kissed his lips once again while her hands roamed his chest before her hands found the hem of his gray suit pants. She ran her hands across his hips until she found the button, popping it off and sliding the zipper down as slowly as she could manage. He kicked his shoes off and waited until she undressed him, the clothing pooling down revealing black boxer briefs that accentuated his ass and cock, pleasing her sultry stare.

Adrien ran his hand up and down her torso, relishing in the warmth that radiated off her body. He took in her gorgeous body, her beautiful, supple breasts, the roundness of her bottom, and the way the goosebumps revealed themselves once his touch left her skin.

He walked around her until her back was facing his chest, and he kissed her neck until he trailed down to her shoulder. Her eyes shuttered close at the touch. She held onto the feeling for stability, letting out a whimper once his fingers dipped into the band of her underwear. Sliding the fabric over the swell of her ass, he ran his palm over the skin while the panties fell to the ground. He smirked as she let out a moan when his fingers brushed over her clit, caressing the mound until his fingers found the folds.

“Already wet, my wife.”

“Adrie-” She began, but let out a breathy moan as his fingers slipped into her entrance.

“I’m going to make sweet, sweet love to you. Nice…” he started to thrust his finger in and out of her excruciatingly slow, “... and slow.”

Marinette grinded her ass against his cock as he continued to thrust in and out of her. Her head fell back as her breathing came out harsh, a need to release imminent from the tense nature of her body. Adrien nibbled on her ear and licked the shell of it, blowing cool air on the damp spot to help her further. Marinette gripped onto his forearms as he played with her nipple, and with a graze to her bundle of nerves within her core, Marinette reached her peak and came down hard, her walls clenching around his fingers until the spasms slowed down and her breathing leveled out. 

Adrien pulled his fingers from her core and inserted them into his mouth, licking the juices clean from his digits as she settled her head against his shoulder.

“You taste delicious.” He moaned into her ear, and she shivered at the sound.

Adrien turned her around and kissed her lips, wrapping his hand into her hair as he blindly guided her backwards towards the bed. When the back of her legs reached the mattress, she slowly lowered herself down until she was sitting comfortably, and Adrien laid her down onto her back slowly, never allowing his lips to leave hers. 

Their kisses were soft, yet flirty, their tongues darting into each other’s mouths for a better taste, a deeper feel, and their hands explored their bodies until it was etched into their memories.

Adrien let go of her lips enough to remove his boxers and socks off his body, then leaned back down over Marinette’s waiting form, placing his knee in between her legs. 

She scooted herself up until her head landed on the pillows, and Adrien followed her until he was hovering over her body. She opened her legs wide enough to let him into her space, and he gladly accepted by brushing the tip of his cock against her folds.

Adrien kissed her, slowly sliding his cock into her core until it filled her completely. Marinette gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck for purchase, a feeling of satisfaction as her husband took her fully.

She peered up at him and kissed his lips, before pressing sweet kisses down his jaw until she reached his clavicle. Adrien thrusted in her, holding his cock in her for a second before thrusting out. Every time he did that, Marinette’s breath would hitch and her eyes would shutter close. Her moans were soft and nearly silent, but the whimpers were sexy and vocal as his speed increased within her. She shifted her hips to give him deeper access, screaming out when he hit the spot that would eventually turn her into a puddle of goo.

He thrusted quickly before slowing down again, increasing Marinette’s mewls until she was writhing beneath him for more.

Adrien acquiesced to her silent plea, thrusting rhythmically until he could feel the coil begin the form in his core. He needed to hold out as long as he could, giving her a chance to climax once more before he let go. Adrien could feel her body tense up within his arms, her walls clenching around his cock, the rapid breathing as she clasped her eyes tightly, and he knew it would be a matter of time before she fell off the edge and into the abyss.

Marinette moaned out as she reached an intense climax, her legs squeezing Adrien’s torso as he fucked her through her high, his groans loud as he expelled himself within her. His erratic thrusting slowed until his hips stilled, and he hung his head onto her chest as they calmed down from the buzz. 

He pulled himself from her and laid beside her lithe body, careful not to place his weight on her abdomen. He wrapped his arm around her torso while his head remained in the crook of her neck, and Marinette could only kiss the top of his head with a sleepy smile on her lips.

She ran her hand up and down his back as her eyes shuttered close, the comfortable silence enveloping them as they began to fall asleep.

Adrien pressed his lips to her shoulder before looking up at his wife, and she in turn looked down at her husband. 

“I’m so happy that you’re mine.” Adrien mumbled out as he ran his hand over her belly. “And that we get to build this family together.”

Marinette smiled at his words. She ran her hand through his hair until he purred beside her, and he smirked against her skin as he savored the soothing sound.

“I love you.” He whispered out, sleepily. He was more in a state of dreamland than he was in the room.

“I love you too, chaton.” She looked down to see his eyes shuttered close. “You and me against the world.”

And with a quiet whisper, Adrien finished their phrase as he fell into a deep sleep, “Always.”

[optimizche]

Angelic: Sire and Seraphia (Park Chanyeol/Reader)

Her

“Ohh my god, Lu,” I groaned around a mouthful of blueberry pancake. “These are delicious!”

Sitting in front of me, nursing a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, Luhan beamed at me with pride. “I’m glad you liked them, princess.”

“‘Like’ is an understatement, Lu,” I said, ravenously forking some more of the syrupy, buttery pancake into my mouth. It melted on my tongue and I let out another groan, shutting my eyes in pure bliss. “These are divine.”

“Hey!” came Baekhyun’s indignant exclamation. “I made them, too, you know? I need some credit, okay?”

I smiled at my brother who was standing at the stove, flipping more pancakes on the skillet. “Of course, Baekkie. You’re a culinary genius!”

He blushed at my praise, waving his hand dramatically as if to say oh stop it.

I laughed.

Beside me, Yixing was watching us with a fond smile on his face, drinking a cup of coffee. He always took his coffee with a splash of cream and two sugars.

Underneath the table, his free hand rested upon my bare thigh. Fingers playing with the hem of my silk shorts.

His touch on my skin felt like a blanket of comfort, a direct result of his innate healing abilities.

Just being around Yixing made me feel at ease, his touches ameliorating any distress or disquetude within me. He was like a walking, talking safety net for me and in his vicinity, I felt calm.

The calm and comfort that Yixing’s presence brought me was rivalled only by the serenity and tranquility that I had always felt around Junmyeon.

I wanted to lean into Yixing, crawl into his lap and dissolve into his embrace. Maybe take a nap, even. But we had to be discreet around the rest of my brothers.

Instead, I placed my hand on top of his, threading my fingers into his. He gave my hand a squeeze.

“You’re working at Seraphia with Minseok and me today, aren’t you, love?” Luhan asked, pulling me out of the quiet moment Yixing and I were having.

I turned to him with a smile. “Yep.”

Seraphia was a cosy neighbourhood cafe that Luhan, Minseok and Baekhyun had started. And the establishment was quite popular among humans, having garnered numerous loyal patrons over the years.

Lu smiled back at me, while Baekhyun began to animatedly talk about all the pastries he was going to teach me to bake.

Just as he was explaining the intricacies of making the perfect blueberry compote, Minseok walked into the room, Jongdae on his heels, both wearing identical grins on their faces.

“What’s gotten you both so chuffed?” Lu asked, quirking a brow at them.

“Junmyeon is coming,” they both announced together.

I stayed frozen firmly in my chair, silent, while the rest of my brothers erupted into cheers. Yixing beside me remained silent as well, giving me a look.

The message in his glance was clear: we both were going to have to be deathly careful around Junmyeon.

Being the oldest among us, it wasn’t going to be easy to make him believe that everything was fine and dandy. Junmyeon could sense an impending peril within a second. He could read through us all.

And the consequences of him finding out what Yixing and I were truly up to… I didn’t even want to imagine them.

It was Minseok’s voice that drew me out of my own thoughts.

“Aren’t you happy that Jun is coming back, ___________?” he asked, regarding me with an air of expectation. And suspicion. “He said he was missing you the most.”

I felt a shard of guilt stab at my heart. Beneath the table, Yixing gave my hand another squeeze, sensing it immediately.

Mustering up the most radiant, shining smile that I could manage, I said, “Of course I’m happy, Min. I’m just… a little anxious about working Seraphia. I’m still a novice, after all!”

Minseok waved a hand dismissively in the air, shrugging off my worries with a grin of his own. “Don’t worry, princess, you’ll be great.”

“Did Junmyeon say when he was going to arrive?” Yixing asked.

“He didn’t say when,” Jongdae mused over a bite of pancake. “He just said ‘soon.’”

I gave Yixing a glance once again.

We had little time to prepare and rehearse our lies, then.

“Will you be coming to Seraphia, Yixing?” I asked, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

“I will try, love,” he replied, looking apologetic. “I have some commitments at the studio to complete.”

Yixing worked as a music composer, while Jongdae was the lead vocalist at a studio that the two of them ran nearby.

And as crestfallen as I was that I wasn’t going to be able to be around Yixing until tonight, I managed to smile at him.

God, life could be tough around here on Earth.

_________________

The sweet aroma of Luhan’s baked goods on display was making my head spin, the scent of Minseok’s strongly brewed coffee becoming the perfect accompaniment to it.

Even as I stood at one of the empty tables, scrubbing down the tabletop as best as I could, I couldn’t help but think if Luhan would allow me to sneak out one of his chocolate eclairs during lunch break.

He knew that I had an insatiable sweet tooth.

Which is why, when I caught his eye as he stood behind the counter, he gave me a wink. He knew.

If you work well, princess, I’ll let you have as many pastries as you like, was the implied bribe behind his wink.

I grinned at him, walking over to him as he beckoned me to the counter with a curve of his finger.

Tightening up my ponytail, I approached him. “Yes, Lu?”

“Princess, you’ll have to man the coffee bar, since Min has to leave early today,” he said.

“Leave early? Why?” I asked, my brow furrowing with instant anxiety.

It was only my third day of work at Seraphia and until now I had only helped with Luhan and Baekhyun with all the bakery products.

I had zero experience at brewing coffee. Especially nowhere as good as Minseok did.

“He has some official business to attend to with Baek and Jong,” he said, a significant look in his eyes.

Realization dawned on my face immediately. Father had asked them to do something for him.

“Fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll do it. But you need to teach me the basics, Lu.”

“No worries, princess,” he said, beaming, before pressing a grateful kiss to my cheek. “You’re a quick learner.”

___________________

The lunch time rush hour had passed smoothly and I had hardly any problem with fulfilling all our customers and their caffeine cravings.

Everything had been going well.

I was silently eyeing the array of chocolate eclairs on display, which were practically begging me to devour them. My stomach growled painfully.

“Ugh,” I groaned, glancing at the clock. “Where are you, Lu?” I muttered, wanting Luhan to return from his lunch break as quickly as he could, so that I could go for mine.

“Excuse me?” came an impossibly deep voice, jolting me harshly out of my eclair filled fantasies.

I looked up from the display case to the man standing on the other side of the counter.

Red.

That was the first word that came to my mind as I took in his lush, spun-crimson hair. He was practically a giant, easily a head taller than me, dressed in a pitch black suit. By his attire, I would’ve thought him to be a businessman. But for some reason, this man in front of me didn’t exactly seem to be a businessman.

Unable to help itself, my heart gave a stutter when my gaze fell from his hair to his face. High cheekbones, full lips and deep-set, dark eyes, he was the textbook definition of devilishly handsome.

“Excuse me?” he repeated, voice dropping an octave and his rosy lips turning into a smirk, now that he had noticed my blatant staring.

“Y-yes, sir?” I squeaked, inwardly cursing myself for sounding so much like a breathless schoolgirl.

“How c-can I help you?”

He grinned openly.

My heart skipped another beat.

“I’d like four shots of espresso, please,” he spoke.

I stared at him, the cogs in my brain turning. His voice sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. Something I knew, but couldn’t put my finger on, just yet.

“Of course, sir,” I said, trying to muster up my composure. Trying to hold my own in front of this obviously very intimidating man. “Anything else?”

He pointed at the display case with a long, elegant finger. “What would you recommend from these?” he asked of the baked goods.

“T-the chocolate eclairs,” I said. They were my own favourites, after all.

He smiled. “Perfect. I’ll have two of those, please.”

“Certainly,” I said, turning to the till to enter his order into the system. “Who should I make the order out to? And will you have it here, or to-go?”

“Chaniel,” he said simply. “I’ll have it to-go.”

My eyes immediately grew wide, the hair on the back of my neck prickling in a completely instinctive reaction that my mind couldn’t understand just yet. “Ch-Chaniel?”

“Yes,” he said, grin growing wider, as if he were enjoying an inside joke. “C-H-A-N-I-E-L,” he spelled it out for me, while I scrawled out his name on a styrofoam cup with a rather shaky hand.

“Please wait right here,” I said, turning away from this man who was making me suddenly feel a whole array of emotions that I couldn’t quite process just yet.

It didn’t help that I could feel the burn of his gaze upon my back, following me behind the counter as I prepared his coffee and packed up his eclairs with fumbling hands.

I had not reacted in such a way to any of the previous customers I had tended to in the past few days.

Why was I behaving in such a flustered way around him?

Discreetly, I turned around to sneak another look at him. He was looking at the pastries in the display case, hands in his pockets. A small smile playing on his lips.

God.

What was wrong with me?

Finishing up his order, I approached the counter, to hand it over to him.

He took the coffee and the bag of eclairs. But instead of leaving, like I had expected that he would, he reached into the bag and pulled out an eclair, holding it up to me.

“Is something wrong, sir?” I asked.

He smiled, almost radiantly, pressing the pastry into my hands. “I bought this one for you,” he said and promptly turned on his heel to leave.

Before I could ask him to stop, or say anything, for that matter, he was gone.

Leaving my hands searing with a pleasant heat where his skin had touched mine. And my heart buzzing wildly like a honey-bee with an inexplicable reason.

And then it happened.

The heat from where our hands had touched, for barely a moment, began to spread its way all over. I could feel it crawl up my wrists, up my arms, to my neck, down my torso and legs. And all the way up to my head.

My breaths began to come in heavier than usual and my trembling hands suddenly let go of the eclair I was holding. In slow motion, I saw the pastry fall onto the floor, and the realization came to me.

It was him.

Him.

The man who had kissed me that night.

Satan’s child.

Between heaving gasps, I leaned against the glass counter, heat flooding through my body like an inferno. So strong that I felt my knees buckle and give out from under me.

But before I fell to my knees on the floor, a pair of arms caught me.

“Princess! Are you alright?”

Luhan’s face came swimming into view through my blurring vision and I staggered, pushing him away violently.

“Y-Yixing…” I breathed out, trying my best to restrain myself, despite the excruciating heat that had now settled deep within my core. “I need Yixing…”

And with that, I turned on my heel and ran out of the cafe.

_______________

Him

The taste of the eclair remained sweet upon Chanyeol’s tongue, a smile firm upon his lips as walked back into his home.

There was a spring in his step, all from the joy to the next phase of his plan coming to fruition, as he hummed a pleasant, sprightly tune, walking through the expansive courtyard.

He could see all of his brothers’ multi-million dollar worth luxury cars parked in the driveway.

Good, they’re all home.

“Boys!” Chanyeol yelled out, as soon as he flung open the front door. “I’m home!”

Silence.

His ears were met with a deafening silence, a stark contrast to the usual ruckus his brothers created whenever they were all home, making an irate Kyungsoo the one to implore them to just keep it down.

Almost immediately, Chanyeol knew that something was up. And his suspicion came true when a very distinctly familiar voice called out to him in a musical lilt.

“In here, son!”

His stomach dropped, nerves growing tenfold at the sound of that voice. He was hoping that he was hallucinating. Or that it was one of Sehun’s playful pranks.

But all his hopes came crashing down when he turned the corner and walked into the dining room.

All of his brothers were seated along the sides of the long dining table, their backs straight, expressions tense and their hands resting clasped together upon the edge of the table.

And at the head of the table, sitting at the seat that was reserved for Chanyeol, was him.

The one man Chanyeol feared more than life itself. The one man Chanyeol had been hoping to avoid for quite a few centuries.

He hadn’t changed in the slightest, Chanyeol thought as he watched him sip a deep red wine from a crystal goblet, clutched between elegant fingers. If anything, he looked younger than before. No one could have guessed that this man, if you could only call him that, had been around since the creation of the universe itself.

He glowed, pale gold and unblemished skin, impossibly high cheekbones, rosy lips and a pointed chin. An array of earrings adorning one ear. Devastatingly handsome, what with his raven hair flopping artfully over the right side of his forehead. He was dressed in his usual, all black suit. Chanyeol had never seen him wear another colour in his life.

“Is this the way to greet your sire?” he spoke, the playfulness in his voice edged with a tinge of irritation.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Chanyeol said, hurrying over to where he sat, falling to his knees before him, bowing his head.

He chuckled quietly, setting the goblet aside to grasp Chanyeol by his shoulders, making him rise to his feet as he stood as well, before he pulled him into his arms in a hug so constricting that it made him wince.

“Do I look old enough to be called Dad?” he asked. “You know what to call me, son.”

Even though he was taller than his father, Chanyeol was nowhere even close to his level of strength. And as he hugged him, Chanyeol glanced at the tattoo etched on the nape of his father’s neck: an Angel falling from Heaven, with its wings spread wide.

The irony made Chanyeol’s stomach twist every time he saw the tattoo. An Angel etched on the back of Satan’s neck?

A sickening taunt.

And the gravity of it hit Chanyeol even more strongly now, as his thoughts went directly to his own angel.

Bile rose up his throat and dread rose in his heart.

Pulling away once his father released him from the embrace, Chanyeol looked at his smirking face.

“It is good to see you, Jiyong.”