#This is only the second (i think) writing piece I’ve ever written | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minhosbitterriver · 5 months ago

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🖤 JEALOUS TIDES ( enhypen )

❛ These stories explore the subtle interplay of love, jealousy, and intimacy, capturing moments of tender connection and emotional depth between partners.

𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was so much fun to write, I don’t think I’ve ever really written jealousy so I hope this was okay! This piece was requested by a lovely Anon! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! Please enjoy! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 ��𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: All of the members get jealous, mentions of ex boyfriends, suspicions of infidelity (that aren’t true), Y/N is drunk in Sunghoon’s piece, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

All of the members are found below the cut!

이희승 ── LEE HEESEUNG.

It has become a cherished ritual for you and Heeseung, this daily stop at the coffee shop on your way to work. The comforting routine of warm brews and shared smiles, the gentle exchange of who would pay each time. This morning, however, the delicate balance shifted, with Heeseung weighed down by the fatigue of a sleepless night. His best friend, caught in the throes of heartbreak after discovering his girlfriend’s infidelity, had needed Heeseung's support through the dark hours, stealing away precious moments of rest. Though he was grateful to be there for his friend, the toll was evident in the heavy lids that barely managed to stay open.

As you stepped into the familiar warmth of the coffee shop, the scent of freshly ground beans filling the air, you noticed the weariness etched into his handsome features. With a soft smile, you nudged him toward one of the small, wooden tables nestled by the window, urging him to catch up on sleep while you took care of the order. Heeseung, too tired to protest, surrendered to your suggestion, his long frame slumping into the chair as his eyelids fluttered shut.

Yet, the bustling clatter of the morning rush proved too persistent, the cacophony of conversation and clinking cups refusing to let him drift away. Resigned, Heeseung allowed his gaze to follow you instead, taking in the way you absentmindedly played with your phone while waiting in line. Even through his exhaustion, a warmth spread through him, a tender affection that softened the edges of his fatigue. You were his comfort, his constant, the one who made even the most mundane moments feel special.

But then, a shift in the atmosphere caught his attention. He noticed the slight hesitation in your step, the subtle change in your demeanor as you approached the counter. His gaze sharpened, following the line of your sight until it landed on the new cashier—a man Heeseung hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t until you threw a nervous glance in his direction that recognition dawned on him, realizing this was someone from your past, a man you had once been close to before Heeseung had come into your life.

Heeseung tensed, his posture straightening as he tried to convince himself that you could handle the situation. After all, you had always been clear about your distaste for unnecessary interference, especially when you were more than capable of managing on your own. But as he watched the cashier’s smirk stretch across his face, the arrogant tilt of his head as he spoke to you, Heeseung felt a flicker of something darker ignite within him. His blood began to simmer, each second stretching longer as the interaction dragged on. The sound of your ex’s laughter, though distant, seemed to grate against his nerves, the sight of him chuckling at something you said only fanning the flames of jealousy.

Finally, when you moved off to the side to wait for the drinks, Heeseung couldn’t remain seated any longer. With a deliberate, casual stride, he made his way over to you, sliding an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. His lips found your cheek, lingering there in a kiss that was firmer than usual, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. It was a claim, a subtle declaration that needed no words.

You tilted your head to look at him, amusement dancing in your eyes as you chuckled softly, understanding the silent message. Heeseung didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was feeling, the familiar pulse of his jealousy a comfort rather than a concern. You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the way his presence enveloped you, a silent promise that no matter who came into your life, Heeseung was the one who would stay.

박종성 ── PARK JONGSEONG.

Jay had spent the evening crafting a perfect dinner, each detail a testament to his love for you. The table was adorned with your favorite flowers, their petals a soft blush against the polished wood. Candlelight flickered gently, casting a warm glow over the dishes he had carefully prepared—your favorite meal, made with precision and affection. He had envisioned this moment, the two of you sharing a quiet evening, the stresses of the day melting away with each bite and every shared glance.

But as the minutes ticked by, anticipation gave way to disappointment. The hands of the clock moved steadily past the agreed-upon time, and with each passing second, Jay’s heart grew heavier. This wasn’t the first time you had been late, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of foolishness for having hoped that tonight might be different. He had allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that you might arrive on time, that the evening he had so carefully planned would unfold as he had imagined.

You had been spending more and more time away from home since starting at the new location, your dedication to your work both admirable and disheartening. Jay understood the pressures you faced, the need to prove yourself in this new role, especially after your previous boss had spoken so highly of you. Yet, understanding didn’t ease the loneliness that had crept into the corners of your shared home, filling the space where your presence used to be. And then there was the matter of the coworker you often mentioned—a man Jay had never met, yet one who seemed to occupy your thoughts even during the rare moments you spent together.

Jay knew he should trust you, that there was no reason to doubt your loyalty. But the emptiness of the house, the silence that had settled between you, made it difficult to quell the flickers of jealousy that sparked in his chest. The knowledge that this man saw you daily, worked alongside you, shared moments that Jay could no longer claim, gnawed at him, feeding the insecurities he had tried so hard to suppress.

By the time you finally walked through the door, the meal Jay had prepared was cold, the remnants of his own portion long since cleared away. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight before you—the table set so beautifully, the candles now dimmed, the flowers beginning to wilt. The realization of what you had missed, of what Jay had been hoping for, hit you all at once, and guilt washed over you in waves. You hadn’t known why Jay had confirmed the time earlier, hadn’t understood the importance he had placed on it. But now, seeing the effort he had put into making the evening special, it was clear why he would be so hurt.

Jay, despite the disappointment that still lingered, found it impossible to remain angry with you. He knew your intentions hadn’t been to neglect him, that your absence wasn’t meant to hurt. With a soft sigh, he pushed aside his feelings, choosing instead to sit with you as you ate. He asked you about your day, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but when you mentioned your male coworker again, the one who seemed to occupy more of your time than Jay did, he couldn’t hide the way his expression twisted into a sulk.

You didn’t miss the change in his demeanor, the way his eyes darkened slightly, his voice losing its warmth. The realization dawned slowly, the pieces falling into place as you finally understood the depth of Jay’s feelings. He wasn’t just disappointed in your lateness—he felt neglected, pushed aside by the demands of your work and the presence of this man who had become a fixture in your life.

Without hesitation, you reached across the table, taking Jay’s hand in yours. You offered him a sincere apology, your voice soft and full of regret. You explained that the coworker you had been spending so much time with was an older man, closer to your father’s age, with a family of his own—a man who was set to retire soon, planning to spend his remaining years traveling with his wife. There had never been anything to worry about, nothing that should have made Jay feel threatened or overlooked.

Hearing your words, Jay felt a wave of relief wash over him, followed by a sense of foolishness for having allowed his jealousy to fester. He looked at you, really looked at you, and saw the love and sincerity in your eyes, the way your hand held his so tightly, as if grounding him in the truth of your relationship. Without another word, he leaned across the table, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, a silent promise to do better by you as you had promised to do better by him.

심재윤 ── SIM JAEYUN.

You and Jake found yourselves navigating the crowded aisles of a bustling toy store, the colorful shelves lined with endless possibilities for your niece’s birthday gift. The weekend rush was in full swing, the noise and chaos of excited children and stressed parents a bit overwhelming for you. But Jake, ever attuned to your feelings, stayed close by your side, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of commotion. His gentle touches and reassuring words kept you grounded as the two of you deliberated over the perfect present.

After what felt like an eternity of sifting through options, you finally settled on a toy that you knew your niece would love—a bright, cheerful dollhouse complete with tiny, intricate furniture. A sense of relief washed over you as you turned to share your choice with Jake, only to find yourself face-to-face with a familiar figure from your past.

There, standing just a few feet away, was your old high school crush, the one who had once been the center of your daydreams and whispered confessions. Memories flooded back—the shy smiles, the secret glances, the promises of a future that never materialized. Jake knew all about him, of course. You’d told him about the mutual crush that had fizzled out before it had the chance to truly begin.

As you greeted your former crush and introduced him to Jake, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in Jake’s demeanor. Though his smile remained polite, there was an unmistakable tension in his posture, a quiet but palpable possessiveness that hadn’t been there moments before. Jake’s hand found its place on your waist, his fingers gently but firmly gripping you, as if to silently stake his claim. Even as he exchanged pleasantries with your old friend, there was a steely coolness in his gaze, a protective edge that made his thoughts as clear as day.

The conversation, though brief, carried a weight that wasn’t lost on you. You could feel Jake’s gaze on you, the way his hold tightened just slightly whenever your former crush smiled at you or mentioned something from the past. There was no mistaking the jealousy simmering beneath Jake’s calm exterior, a jealousy that spoke not of insecurity, but of his deep, unwavering affection for you.

Eventually, the interaction came to an end, and you and Jake made your way toward the checkout, the toy now safely in hand. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air between you, a quiet, unspoken thing that seemed to cling to Jake like a shadow. As you waited in line, you couldn’t resist teasing him, your fingers playfully poking his cheek.

“You’re so jealous,” you murmured, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you watched Jake’s expression shift into a pout. His lower lip jutted out slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a way that was both endearing and unmistakably pouty.

Jake’s eyes met yours, and despite his best efforts to maintain his sulk, you could see the flicker of warmth there, the way his love for you melted away any remnants of his earlier possessiveness. He huffed softly, his pout deepening as if to insist on his innocence, but you both knew the truth.

With a tender smile, you leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek—a silent reassurance that you were his, and always would be. Jake’s pout softened, his lips curving into a small, reluctant smile as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a brief but comforting embrace. The momentary jealousy faded away, leaving behind only the warmth of your shared connection, stronger and more secure than ever.

박성훈 ── PARK SUNGHOON.

The bar was alive with a pulse of its own, the thumping bass reverberating through the packed space, and the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, alcohol, and excitement. Sunghoon’s gaze never strayed far from you, his eyes following your every move as you danced with unbridled joy among your friends. Your laughter rang out above the music, and the way you swayed to the rhythm, lost in the moment, brought a soft smile to his lips. He had promised to keep an eye on you tonight, and even as he stepped away to fetch another drink at your request, his thoughts remained with you, ensuring your safety while you enjoyed yourself.

As Sunghoon waited at the bar, watching the bartender craft your drink, a flicker of unease settled in his chest. His attention was drawn to a man who had sidled up to you on the dance floor, his eyes filled with an intention that Sunghoon didn’t like one bit. At first, the conversation between you and this stranger seemed harmless, but it quickly became apparent that you were far too intoxicated to notice the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he inched closer and closer until he was practically invading your personal space.

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed as he observed the man, his protective instincts flaring to life. The crowd pressed in around you, making it hard to discern where the dance ended, and where the unwelcome intrusion began. The man’s body language grew bolder, his movements suggestive as he began to grind against you, all while you remained blissfully unaware, your laughter bubbling over as you continued to chat, oblivious to the stranger’s intentions.

Without a second thought, Sunghoon abandoned his place at the bar, anger surging through him as he pushed his way through the throng of people. His only focus was on reaching you, each step fueled by the urgency to protect you from the man who had crossed an unspoken line. He shoved past countless bodies, ignoring the irritated glances and muttered complaints, until he finally wedged himself between you and the stranger, his tall frame casting a shadow over the man.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sunghoon’s voice was cold, his words laced with a dangerous edge as he fixed the man with a glare that could cut through steel. The stranger raised his hands in a gesture of mock innocence, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips that only served to further ignite Sunghoon’s anger.

“Relax, man, we were just talking,” the man slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. The scent hit Sunghoon like a wall, and he recoiled inwardly, a look of disgust crossing his features.

Behind him, you seemed to finally catch on to the tension, peeking around Sunghoon’s broad shoulders to see what was going on. Your fingers clutched at the hem of his shirt, seeking balance in your unsteady state, and the moment your eyes met his, Sunghoon felt a rush of protectiveness overwhelm him. The stranger’s gaze flicked between you and Sunghoon, and for a brief moment, a silent battle played out between the two men, communicated through nothing but a clash of determined stares. Eventually, the stranger relented, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd with a dismissive shrug.

As Sunghoon turned back to you, he was met with your drunken giggles, a sound that, despite the situation, brought a smile to his face. You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, and though your words were playful, there was a glimmer of awareness behind them. “He was such a nice guy!” you exclaimed, though your tone betrayed that you knew better, that you were fully aware the man was anything but.

Sunghoon couldn’t help the soft scoff that escaped him, rolling his eyes in amusement at your feigned innocence. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, his hands finding their place on your hips, a protective gesture as he pulled you closer, grounding you in his presence.

You pouted up at him, poking his chest with your index finger as if trying to make a point. “You,” you accused, your voice light with teasing, “were just being jealous.”

A chuckle rumbled low in Sunghoon’s throat, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. “Yes, I was,” he admitted without hesitation, a small, tender smile playing on his lips. “I don’t like these men anywhere near my pretty baby.”

The possessiveness in his voice was tempered by the warmth of his affection, and as he held you close, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world. With Sunghoon by your side, the night felt safer, more secure, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were cherished beyond measure.

김선우 ── KIM SEONWOO.

The restaurant was winding down, the chatter of other patrons fading as the hour grew late, yet the table filled with Seonwoo's friends remained vibrant with laughter and easy conversation. It was your first time meeting them, and the warmth of their welcome had eased the tension that had been bubbling within you all evening. As the night unfolded, you felt yourself seamlessly slipping into their tight-knit circle, a sense of belonging washing over you with every shared joke and smile. Seonwoo, ever attuned to your emotions, seemed just as pleased with how the night had turned out. He glanced at you often, his eyes brimming with affection, his hand a comforting presence on your knee beneath the table.

But there was one among them who didn’t quite fit. A newcomer, recently integrated into the group through his relationship with one of Seonwoo’s close friends, who had an air of arrogance that Seonwoo had warned you about on the way to the restaurant. Seonwoo had expressed his reservations about this guy, mentioning how he found him to be a bit too self-assured, as if he didn’t truly appreciate the incredible person he was dating. After spending most of the evening sitting directly across from him, you began to understand the source of Seonwoo’s disdain. The guy’s jokes were dull, lacking in humor, and yet, in an effort to make a good impression, you forced out a laugh, pretending to be more entertained than you actually were.

Each time you laughed, you caught Seonwoo’s reaction out of the corner of your eye. His smile would falter, his gaze sliding toward you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that nearly made you laugh for real. The subtle squeeze of his hand on your knee, followed by a quick glance of distaste directed at the guy, only added to your amusement. Seonwoo’s unspoken commentary was as clear as day to you, and you found it difficult to suppress your growing desire to tease him just a little more.

However, your amusement quickly turned to surprise when, after you let out another forced chuckle at one of the guy’s uninspired jokes, Seonwoo suddenly turned to you, his expression now serious, his eyes narrowed with a hint of jealousy. “It wasn’t that funny,” he remarked, his tone laced with a quiet intensity that made you pause. The seriousness in his gaze deepened as he added, almost in a pout, “Please don’t feed his ego. If you want to laugh that bad, then I’ll make you laugh.”

The sudden shift in Seonwoo’s demeanor caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped you, your amusement bubbling over at the sight of your normally composed boyfriend acting so possessive. Realizing that Seonwoo wasn’t joking, you felt a surge of affection for him, and you couldn’t resist the urge to close the distance between you. Pressing your hand to his cheek, you gently turned his face toward you and planted a playful, lingering kiss on his other cheek, your lips brushing against his skin with deliberate tenderness.

“You’re my only funny guy, don’t worry,” you whispered reassuringly, your voice light and teasing, as if to soothe the jealousy simmering beneath Seonwoo’s exterior. You could feel the eyes of the group on you, and though you knew the guy across the table was likely feeling flustered, you didn’t care. Your focus was solely on Seonwoo, the warmth of your kiss lingering on his cheek, a silent promise that no one could ever take his place in your heart.

양정원 ── YANG JUNGWON.

With your car out of commission for the past few days, Jungwon had eagerly taken on the role of your chauffeur, driving you to work in the mornings and picking you up in the evenings while your car was being repaired. It was a small favor that he was more than happy to do, especially since it meant a few extra moments spent in your company, moments he cherished more than he let on.

Today, however, was different. Jungwon had taken extra care with his appearance, freshly showered and dressed in his best, because today was your birthday, and he had meticulously planned an evening filled with fun activities to celebrate you. Instead of taking you straight to your apartment, he had something special in mind—his place, where he had a dress waiting for you, one he had carefully chosen for the surprise party he had arranged at your apartment. The thought of the surprise sent a thrill through him, anticipation bubbling beneath his calm exterior.

As he pulled up in front of your office building, Jungwon was surprised to see you already waiting for him, though what truly caught his attention was the oversized basket you were struggling to hold. It was overflowing with flowers, stuffed animals, balloons, and smaller gifts, a colorful and slightly ridiculous assortment that looked more cumbersome than anything. Despite the awkward load, you managed a bright smile and a small wave before making your way over to the car.

Jungwon wasted no time, quickly getting out to help you. He gently took the basket from your arms, his lips brushing against your cheek in a quick kiss before he shoved the basket into the backseat. He then opened the passenger door for you, waiting until you were safely seated before closing it and returning to his own side.

As he drove off, the curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at you, his voice carrying a hint of suspicion as he asked, "Who gave you that?" Even before you answered, he had a sinking feeling he knew the source of the grand gesture. There was a particular coworker of yours who had been blatantly infatuated with you for ages. No matter how often Jungwon made his presence known at your work events, clearly marking his territory as your boyfriend, this guy remained undeterred in his pursuit.

When you pursed your lips, a telltale sign that you were confirming his suspicions, Jungwon sighed, a wave of irritation washing over him. For a moment, he considered turning the car around and confronting the guy, but he held back, knowing it wouldn’t help matters and would only upset you. The gift was extravagant, an obvious attempt to outshine him, and all Jungwon wanted to do was toss the whole basket out the window. But he refrained, biting back his frustration.

“It’s lovely,” Jungwon said, though his voice betrayed the irritation he was trying to mask. You, ever perceptive, couldn’t resist mimicking his deeper tone, lowering your voice to mock his words. Your playful humor elicited a laugh from him, though the jealousy still simmered beneath the surface, not easily quelled.

Sensing his lingering unease, you reached over, threading your fingers through his hair in a gesture of affection. “You look so handsome today,” you complimented him, your voice warm and genuine, “and you smell amazing.”

The corners of Jungwon’s lips lifted into a genuine smile, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “You’re my beautiful, handsome lover,” you continued, your tone softening as you leaned closer, “the only one I think of returning to throughout my long days at work. I promise.”

Your words worked like a balm, soothing the last remnants of his jealousy. Jungwon glanced at you, his eyes softening as the truth of your affection settled in his heart. The grand gestures of others paled in comparison to the connection you shared, a bond that was far deeper and more meaningful than any extravagant gift.

西村力 ── NISHIMURA RIKI.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated your bedroom, casting gentle shadows as the faint dialogues of a clichéd rom-com filled the air. You and Riki, however, were far too engrossed in your own little world, huddled together with his arms wrapped snugly around you as you scrolled through TikToks on your phone. His head rested comfortably atop yours, your back pressed firmly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Riki's thumbs traced idle patterns on your stomach, a subtle gesture that made you feel impossibly close to him. Every time a funny video popped up, his laughter rumbled through his chest, sending soft vibrations through you that were too contagious to resist. You found yourself smiling and chuckling along, not just at the videos but at the simple joy of being wrapped up in his warmth.

After a while, though, a notification from Instagram broke through your shared bubble of contentment — a message request from someone you didn’t know. At first, you intended to ignore it, dismissing it as just another random message. But Riki, ever the curious one, leaned over and tapped on the notification to open the chat.

The message was as tacky as they come: 'Hey beautiful, I see you’ve got a boyfriend but I promise you that I can take you places he couldn’t even dream of.' You snorted at the sheer audacity of it all, finding the entire situation laughable. But Riki wasn’t as amused. His disbelief was palpable as he scoffed, his arms tightening slightly around you.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Riki muttered, more to himself than to you, his eyes narrowing at the bold words on the screen.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to downplay the situation, though you couldn’t help but be a little entertained by his reaction. “He must’ve followed me at some point.”

Riki scoffed again, clearly unimpressed, as he began to scroll through the guy’s profile with an intensity that made you stifle a laugh. His fingers moved with a purpose, inspecting every detail as if he could somehow glean the stranger’s intentions from the curated images on his feed.

“Do you always get messages like these?” Riki asked, incredulity lacing his voice as he zoomed in on the guy’s profile picture. “The fucking audacity of this guy.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how seriously he was taking the whole thing. “I mean, sometimes,” you admitted, a smile tugging at your lips. “They usually happen shortly after I make a post, honestly.”

Riki’s expression darkened as he navigated back to your profile, zeroing in on your most recent post — a photo dump of your summer adventures, half of which were filled with couple photos of you and him. It was clear that you were taken, yet here was this guy, brazen enough to think he could swoop in.

“Well, I don’t like that at all,” Riki huffed, his annoyance evident as he stared at the photos. “What made that guy think he can ‘take you places I could only dream of’? What the hell, honestly?”

His irritation was both endearing and amusing, and you couldn’t help but giggle again, shifting slightly so that your chin rested on his chest. You glanced up, finally catching the full extent of the jealousy etched onto his handsome features. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and there was a glint in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t taking this lightly.

Riki eventually dropped your phone onto the bed with a dismissive huff before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that was anything but casual. It was firm, almost possessive, as if he needed to remind you — and himself — that you were his and his alone.

When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the seriousness in his expression. “Please don’t forget you’re mine and only mine,” he said, his voice low and earnest.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you reached up to cup his face. “How could I ever forget?” you whispered back, sealing your words with another kiss that left no room for doubt.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @d-dilemma (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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bookfanatic06 · 1 month ago

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I haven’t written anything in over a decade, but this head canon just won’t go away. I’ve often wondered if the idea of “like calls to like” will be prevalent in Elriel’s book like in all the others. I really feel like Elain is hiding some deep shit that just can’t be ignored. This piece is really what I think could happen if Elain deep down shares Azriel’s penchant for self loathing and low self esteem. She gets so much crap from the fandom for being boring, I really see her surprising us with some darker personality traits.

Also, my favorite thing about this other than the Elriel fluff is Nesta. I wanted to see her and Elain making up after the events of ACOSF on page. I didn’t hate Nesta, just thought she treated my baby El poorly.

I’m not sure if I’ll write more to this, or if it’s going to stay a one shot. I’m also not sure if I’m ready to post to AO3. I’m a mom with 3 kids and a full time teaching gig. I’m not sure I have it in me.

So here is my first shot at writing Elriel.

Unworthy

Words: 5112

Angst/Romance

Pairings: Major: Elain Archeron/Azriel,

Minor: Feyre/Rhysand, Cassian/Nesta, Varian/Amren

———————

Remember who you are, Kingslayer.

She breathes to herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, plastering on the smile she knows her family would never second guess. Perfected so much over the years in her mother’s keep, as she was taught to never reveal her true emotions, to never let anyone see the heartbreak, the pain of unworthiness embedded in her very soul.

The dreams plaguing her at the moment, the ones that increase with the unyielding torrent of emotions swirling in her mind, are of her family having lost their use of her. That she has become a burden that they can cast aside so needlessly. So she sits at the mirror and contemplates how to be helpful. She’ll practice those new recipes that she received from that fae female at the market. She’ll make the gardens of Velaris so beautiful, people will ask for her. She’ll care for Nyx when his parents need a break.

But still, she feels the hole in her chest and wonders if it’ll be enough. Will she forever be cast aside or passed over in favor of her sisters because of their far more important accomplishments?

What exactly has she accomplished?

I killed the King of Hybern. She whispers so that only the shadows can hear. Not Nesta, as all of Prythian seemed to believe. She knows she pushed that knife into his throat, she still dreams about it; still feels the hilt of the blade in her hands. Even the shadows, the ones that she felt the comforting presence of for so long, have gone quiet since solstice.

She knows that her sisters are magnificent. That they both have earned their right to voice their opinions and be cherished in this world. Feyre, the High Lady that the Night Court deserves, and Nesta, the warrior she was always meant to be. But Elain, she carries the weight of unworthiness everywhere she goes. She wasn’t born to lead, she wasn’t born to be a warrior. She was born with a gentle heart, with a delicate resolve. But a will of iron.

You shoved that knife into his neck. You aren’t as gentle as you believe yourself to be.

She’s intimately familiar with self loathing by now. It curls around her like the vines that wrap around the fortress of her mind. But that voice, the voice that is hers, but much more confidently so, tries to remind her of what she has to offer. Her heart breaks as the self loathing pushes through whispers, “He doesn’t want someone who is brittle and weak. He wants someone courageous, someone with fire in their heart, someone like…”

Mor.

Despite the months that have passed since she found herself alone in the foyer in the early morning hours of Winter Solstice, she is still tortured by the thought that even her dearest friend, or whom she believed him to be, had been repulsed by her meritless existence. The pain of that night has yet to ebb, and she wonders if, at some point in her immortal life, it ever will.

She huffs a breath and stands from her vanity, moving to open the door and walk into the hallway, that gentle but false smile she’s perfected on her face.

As she reaches the kitchen, she is surprised to find Feyre, eyes clouded with sleep, hair poking out of the halfhearted braid she probably threw together before bed the previous night, holding a bottle to Nyx’s whimpering mouth.

“I think he’s starting to teethe. He’s been like this all night.” Feyre’s eyes flicker to Elain quickly before resting on her son’s mouth as it attaches to the bottle and then detaches with a small wail. Elain opens her arms, a silent request to take over – and make herself useful.

“I’ll take him, you go get some sleep.” She says gently, taking the babe into her arms. Feyre gives her a tired smile.

“Rhys and I are so lucky to have you here with us, El.”

Elain’s false smile returns to her features, and before she can give herself away, she shoos her sister out of the kitchen to take over as Nyx’s caregiver. She cradles her nephew to her, his chest to her own, rubbing circles on his back, between his little wings as she’s watched her sister and Rhys do time and time again. For a moment, the hole in her heart fills with the love she has for the babe in her arms. It doesn’t escape her, that if her life hadn’t so explicitly changed thanks to the betrayal that left her at the mercy of The Cauldron, she would probably have a babe of her very own by now. THAT thought doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks it should.

Because a child with Grayson would have been a monumental mistake.

The thought is gone as fast as it had come. That’s one part of her life that she is resolute in. Being Grayson’s wife, the mother to his brood, would NOT have been a step up from her current existence. She’s not sure how she knows that, perhaps from watching how Feyre and Nesta are treated by their mates. The unmatched adoration, the passion between the mates that she can sense from the couples as she plays the fifth wheel.

Why don’t I feel that way towards my own?

It’s not lost on her that she covets the bond her sisters have with their mates; what it must feel like knowing that your mate would give their very lives for your happiness. Her and her mate can barely be in the same room as each other, the bond an uncomfortable tether pulling at her rib.

She had once asked how it felt for her sisters, to see if the bond was true…

“It’s a blossoming warmth in my chest. The pull to Rhys is oftentimes so strong that I can't imagine my life before him.” Feyre had told her.

Her and her mate definitely could not relate.

But that warmth, she could have sworn she felt it before. When three fae males had walked into her home in the humanlands, and she had chanced a glance into the hazel eyes of the fae male with sapphire gems on his leathers. His gaze had caused her breath to catch, and every once in a while, when the war was over and she would be in his presence again, she would find herself looking into those eyes and she could almost feel the ghost of that warmth in her chest. Her breath would catch every time.

That hole was deep and chilled now.

The circles she’s been rubbing on her nephew’s back have quieted his little whimpers and he’s quiet on her chest as she moves to the window overlooking the gardens she’s cared for all these months. The gardens bloom in the vibrant colors of late spring. In her angst, she just wishes that the loveliness of the flowers she’s cultivated filled that hole in her chest that she so achingly wants to forget. An ache that, for the moment, her nephew in her arms has dulled significantly.

“Little one, you hold my heart in your hands.” She whispers as she kisses the thick black hair on his tiny head. At two months old, Nyx is the splitting image of his father, with Feyre’s temper to boot.

She sways back and forth, Nyx a solid presence, a weight holding her down to this earth. She almost misses the sound of the front door opening, but turns just in time to see the eyes of the male who still so captivated her thoughts.

No words are exchanged but he sends her a quick nod of acknowledgement as her own eyes quickly return to her nephew’s sleeping form. Her heart thundering in her empty chest. Before she can return her gaze to where the male stood, he is gone. Leaving her alone with that chasm in-between her ribs. The feeling of unworthiness crawling back into her thoughts.

He’s too good for me anyway.

She walks silently to the nursery, opting to place Nyx in his crib to attempt to get some breakfast prepared. She leaves the door slightly ajar, in case he awakens while she is cooking in the kitchen. Her fae hearing attuned to his little cries.

In the kitchen, she washes her hands and pulls out what is necessary for a quick meal. Bacon, eggs, some leftover scones from the pantry that she can reheat for her family to enjoy. She’s startled when Rhys and his companion walk briskly down the hall and through the foyer to the front door. Their voices quiet but unmistakable.

“All I need is 24 hours of rest and then I can head back down into the tunnels.” his deep tenor voice feels like a balm to her aching chest.

“Take the week, you look like you haven’t slept in months.” A pause and a sigh.

“I can always count on you for a confidence boost, Rhys.” She can feel the small smile gracing his lips as he speaks with his brother.

“I’m serious, Az. You’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet. Take the week. Clean yourself up, eat a few hot meals, and sleep.” She wonders if this pause after Rhys speaks is meant to last as long as it does in her mind.

“Okay.” It’s breathless, and she can feel the exhaustion behind every syllable.

“Come to the kitchen. I’m sure Elain is whipping up something for breakfast. It’ll do you well to get something into your stomach.” She bites her lip at the invitation. He hasn’t had a meal in her presence in months, since before Nyx’s arrival, possibly not since Winter Solstice, but she’s unable to remember.

Elain straightens her spine, contemplating whether she should look in the pantry for some potatoes to add to her small spread. Her thoughts are interrupted by his forlorn response.

“I should really get back to the House of Wind, Nesta and Cassian are waiting for me.” An obvious lie and she feels like the remnants of her heart have turned liquid and puddled on the floor.

“Ask the House to make you something nice.” Rhys’ voice takes on a worried tone.

“I will.”

She holds back the tears threatening to spill as she hears his boots take him to the door and then outside. The heartbreak is still as tangible as it was months ago.

If Rhys notices the silver in her eyes when he strides into the kitchen, he doesn’t mention it. Just kisses her sweetly on the cheek and smiles,

“Good morning, Dear Sister.”

—————-

It’s a few nights later, while her family, sans Mor and Amren, sits at the dinner table eating the roast and potatoes she and the twins had been slow cooking over the course of the day, that Nesta looks at the empty chair across the table and says with worry gracing her normally icy gaze, “when are you going to start ordering Azriel to attend family dinners?”

Cassian places a hand on her knee as if to say NOT NOW.

She shrugs him off. Giving him that icy stare that’s become her calling card, “He’s a shell of himself. Even more closed off and broody than ever. He crawls around those tunnels and pokes his head out for a day or two and then heads right back in. The bags under his eyes are darker than yours” she points at Rhys. “And he doesn’t have a newborn to account for it.”

Elain sits up at that, heart sputtering as if she can feel him. As if she can feel the darkness pulling him under.

Maybe she can.

“I’m worried. Cassian is too; he’s just too stubborn to admit it. Az is working himself to death.” Elain puts a hand to her chest, as if that hand could hold her heart into place.

“Az is working very hard to get the answers we need about the Daglan and protect all of us, Nesta.” Feyre states gently, holding Nesta’s gaze as they narrow.

“But he shouldn’t HAVE to. We could rotate duties. We can go down there for a few days and let him rest.”

“This is what he wants, Nesta. He’s volunteered.” Rhys’ response is like an ash arrow to her gut.

“And why would he volunteer to do this assignment and be away from his family for so long if he was genuinely happy, Rhysand?” The room falls silent and the remnants of the meal she’s so thoughtfully made is ash on her tongue.

He’s not happy. That word, once vocalized, is hard for her to break from her thoughts. Azriel is unhappy.

It's her fault.

She grips the fork in her hand so tight the metal bends. It’s her fault because she read his intentions wrong on solstice. He is avoiding their family because she made things so awkward between them that he can’t bear to be in the same room as her. Nesta glances at her direction as if she can sense that feeling of worthlessness creeping into Elain’s body. Before Nesta can say anything, Cassian places his hand in hers.

“You’re right, Nes. We need to find out what’s going on with Az. I’ll ask Mor to visit him and get him to work through it. If anyone can get through to him, it’s Mor.”

And there was that feeling again. The feeling of a heart shattering, her lungs struggling to expand as her friends begin to plan for the intervention of the male who she so loved, even if he wanted nothing to do with her.

———————

Azriel was many things, within the last year or so, he’d resolved to adding foolish to his attributes. Foolish for thinking that he could be loved for the male he was, foolish for thinking he had any right to the happiness he saw in the faces of his brothers, and foolish to think that he could be hers.

It plagued him daily, the pull to a female that belonged to another. That he was not deemed worthy by the Cauldron of the female that held his heart, but that one of the sons of Autumn was.

She belongs to no one but herself. His shadows, his only companions, whisper.

It was a small mercy that she seemed as uninterested in her mate as her mate is with her. That she was once so willing to spend time with him despite being mated to someone else. That she was once happy to be his friend.

And now, they were nothing.

That thought buried deep inside of him, burrowed into his bones and tore through his limbs.

So he cut himself out of her world. He threw himself into his work. He trudged through the tunnels under the Night Court and pretended that he was keeping his family safe from the Daglan, when in reality, he was avoiding them.

It was another grueling pass through the tunnels. His eyes slowly adjusting from the change in light when he stepped out of the dark and into the quiet grasses surrounding the opening to the tunnels that have become his tomb. He had promised to wait a week to return to his work, but the ache in his chest had him packed and ready to continue his mission only 3 days after his last excursion. After a week of fighting through the tunnels, sliding Truthteller through the folds of the various beasts that inhabited the chasms below, his exhaustion was threatening to take his knees out from under him.

So he gathered what little strength he had left, and flew himself to the House of Wind.

And it was a mistake.

Nesta stood in the middle of the training pit, arms crossed. The rest of the priestesses were long gone by the early-afternoon. Precisely why he had chosen this time to fly back to the house, a feeble attempt to hide from everyone. He landed with a little less grace than intended, and as he took a glance at Nesta, he could have sworn that the silver flames that had been given back to The Cauldron to save her sister were still present in her eyes as she stared back at him disapprovingly.

“So you’re volunteering for these tunnel missions, huh?”

Azriel sighed. He learned long ago that arguing with Nesta was futile, that she would never let him go without a word.

“My schedule is open.” He shrugged absently.

“The hels it is, Az!” She bellowed, looking him up and down for a sign of…what exactly?

“Are you hurt?” She asked, this time with a gentleness not many would associate with the accomplished warrior, Lady Death.

“I’m fine.”

She continued to observe him, not completely believing he was all well and good. She noted his tired eyes, his rigid shoulders.

“What’s going on, Az? You’re like a ghost, never staying long enough to rest. Barely managing to function. This is so unlike you—-“ it pained him to interrupt, but the unworthiness creeped into his chest at her care for him.

“—this is me, Nes. It’s been me for 540 years. You’ve only glimpsed a small part of my life. I’ve always been like this.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” She says through her teeth, the frustration evident in her voice, in her posture. Azriel bows his head in a movement meant to placate the female before him. She sighs, and with a voice far calmer than she’s treated him with thus far speaks.

“She’s a ghost, too.”

He knows who she’s talking about immediately. And he dares not let her know that he’s affected by those words. He swallows the lump in his throat and moves to go around her. She stops him with her palm to his chest, right where his heart should be.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I know that the last time I’ve seen her smile, her real smile, was when you were the one to put it on her face.” The hole in his chest is infinitely bigger as Nesta moves her hand and places it gently on his arm.

“Be present, Az. We love you. She—loves you.”

Az is sure that Nesta means he is loved in a friendly way, but the idea of being loved by Elain Archeron makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He nods his head, words failing him.

“Everyone is coming here for dinner tonight.” Nesta states firmly. “Get cleaned up and meet us in the dining room at 5.” She shuffles past him to reach the door to the house and smiles mischievously at him behind her.

There’s no hiding from them now. Nesta will hunt him down until he appears. So he plans to arrive for dinner even as his brain tells him to run.

——————

Elain stares at her sister as she repeats the itinerary for the day, eyes wide as she questions Feyre over the plan to “meet Nesta and Cassian at the House for dinner.”

Elain is confused. Never has Nesta invited them to the House for dinner. Tea, on occasion. Training, frequently. Never dinner.

“What’s the occasion?” She asks, trying not to let her nerves show.

“She just misses us.” Feyre smiles, and although Elain is suspicious, she gives her little sister a genuine smile.

“Sounds delightful.”

And if her nerves intensify as her sister’s mate puts her down gently on the balcony of the House of Wind a few hours later, she doesn’t let it show, because she can absolutely scent the one person she is anxious to see the most.

Azriel is here.

And it takes all of her mother’s etiquette training to hold her head up high and enter the dining room to see his gorgeous, but somber face. A face she’s conflicted to commit to memory. He looks so tired, she muses. And despite the ache in her chest, the unworthiness that her mind flashes into her skull, seeing him is like breathing air after drowning, and she can’t look away.

Dinner commences and for the first time in months, the smile on her face is real. Everyone she loves is at the table, Mor and Feyre chatting animatedly with each other. Amren, Rhys, and Varian are lost in their own conversation about the Summer Court. Elain chances a look at the glorious Shadowsinger across from her. He’s impressive as usual, but she notes that his shadows are moving lithe around him, as if they are also exhausted from his travels. His eyes meet hers, and that warmth in her chest that only he can provide blossoms under his gaze. And she smiles, for real, and she thinks she sees the corner of his own mouth move up slightly.

It’s only when the meal is done and the House takes the dishes away that Rhys and Feyre take Nyx home to bed. Amren and Varian go back to Amren’s apartment, and Azriel excuses himself to finally get some rest. The rest of the family moves to the sitting room to continue to chat and Elain sits with them, appearing to listen to their conversation, but barely hearing what is being said. Her thoughts are helplessly on the male asleep somewhere in this house.

“Elain, would you like to stay here tonight?” Nesta asks with a beautiful smile on her face that captures Elain’s attention. She points a finger at her mate and says, “It’s easier for this old man to fly in the daytime. His eyesight is going poorly, and Mor is too drunk to take herself home, let alone you.” Nesta nods her head towards the beautiful blonde already falling asleep on the sofa across from her. Cassian scoffs.

“539 is NOT old.” He crows indignantly. The sisters erupt into laughter but Elain can’t help but think that her sister is only asking for her to stay because it’ll make things easier, and not because she wants her there. As the others begin to move towards their bedrooms, Nesta stops Elain with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I know I haven’t been the kind of sister you deserve, Elain. I want to make that up to you. I want to have breakfast with you tomorrow. I want to sit and talk to you about your life. I want to show you that I’m trying, that I’m here for you.” Elain’s chest expands with hope and a love she can only have for Nesta.

“I would like that very much.” She smiles. And Nesta offers to show her her bedroom for the night. The two walk arm in arm as they move through the house until they come upon the door of a room at the far end of the hallway. The room she’s given is warm and inviting, with a giant bed covered in lilac sheets. There’s a fireplace in the corner that is not in use due to the late spring warmth, but the double doors opening to the balcony overlooking Velaris is the crowning feature. She bids Nesta goodnight, with a promise to meet in the dining room for breakfast, and immediately heads for the balcony after Nesta shuts the bedroom door behind her.

What Elain doesn’t expect, is to end up sharing a balcony with the Shadowsinger himself.

And it appears he’s just as surprised as she is.

“H—hi” she breathes. Taking in his tall form in the shadows of the night. He’s seated on the edge of the balcony’s railing, one leg hanging over the edge while the knee of his other leg is bent for balance on the railing. His glorious wings are tight against his back, the bottoms on either side of the balcony. His hazel eyes, the ones that torment her in her dreams, are wide.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you— or anyone, would be here—on the balcony, I mean.” She stammers as she looks down at her feet in embarrassment. He’s still quiet in front of her, and she curses the fact that the Cauldron didn’t boil her alive when it had the chance.

“I—I’ll just go…” she says and begins to move. She’s vaguely aware of him sitting up straighter than before.

“No, please— don’t.” His deep voice is a whisper that her fae ears only hear because she’s desperate to hear his voice again. She wouldn’t miss his first words to her in months for anything in this world. She swallows, unsure of how to proceed. Any courage she might have deep within her, sputtering.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He says louder, with conviction, and that hole in her chest feels the fullest it’s been in months.

“I don’t want to leave, either.” She says confidently. Her courage soars with the vibrancy of his words.

“I miss you.” He adds gently, finally meeting her gaze, and she’s at a loss. This male who has captivated her body and spirit for years now. Whom she thought was angry with her. Who walked away from her on solstice and didn’t look back.

“Then why?” She whispers back, a silver tear escaping and trailing down her pale cheek. The question is open ended, but he knows what she means.

“Because I am unworthy of you.” He admits. The self loathing in his voice matches her own every time she thinks about him.

“Of course you are. If anything, I am unworthy of you.”

“Never.” He replies instantly, but she waves him off. Moving to his side, eyes peering at his form under the stars, tears falling down both cheeks now.

“You are kind, Azriel. You are gentle, and you are courageous. You’ve fought on the battlefield, and you protect the people of this court, of this family. I bake bread, watch Nyx, and plant seeds in the garden. You deserve so much more than I can offer you.”

The air between them crackles with the intensity of his gaze. He moves, and before she can loose a breath, his scarred hands are wiping the tears from her skin.

“How can you not see how incredible you are, Elain?” He speaks softly, rubbing his fingers back and forth over her cheeks. “You put the needs of others in front of your own. You bake bread, watch Nyx, and build gardens to bring comfort and beauty to those around you. In a world of war and bloodshed, you are reminder that there are things out there so beautiful it’s worth fighting for.” She gasps at the depth of his stare. “You are everything I could ever hope for, but I can’t have you.” The words he’s spoken break something within her. Her hands land on his own on her cheeks, and she uses them to push his away, to push him away. Confusion gracing her features.

“And why can’t you have me? Why have you shut me out all of these months?”

He thinks carefully at how to respond. It’s in his best interest to lie, the rage in her beautiful brown eyes cuts him further than any blade and he pauses for a moment.

Rhys will mist him for revealing the truth. He’s disobeying his order right now, just being alone with the female that possesses his heart and soul. But he finds that lying to her is impossible. That he would rather be misted than lie to the female before him.

“Because I have been ordered to stay away from you.” He says with deep remorse.

The earth ceases to rotate for Elain. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She stares in horror and Azriel wonders if he’s made a grave mistake.

“Rhys?” She whispers. He nods.

“But—why?” The devastation in her voice is palpable, and he wants nothing more than to fly to the river house, despite his exhaustion, and hit his brother in his pretty face.

“You have a mate, Elain.” She scoffs. Ready to deny such a thing. He weighs his words carefully before he continues. “Our—involvement could have severe consequences for the Night Court.”

“What consequences?” She asks, in an eerily calm voice that he doesn’t recognize. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for her ire.

“The Autumn Court has an archaic tradition that allows for a mate to call for a blood duel against any male that threatens his mating bond. Lucien or Beron have the right to challenge me to that blood duel if you and I—“

Elain looks up into his eyes, horrified at the realization that this is what is keeping them apart.

“—but I would fight for you. Rhys knows it. And I would win, because there would be no chance in this lifetime that I would give up a life with you if I had the choice. But if I were to kill Lucien in a blood duel—“ he pauses. “Beron can enact revenge by calling for war against the Night Court.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her chest, that was finally full only recently, is hollowed out and bleeding down to her toes. Rhys has deemed them unworthy of each other. Have deemed them unworthy of his protection. Unworthy of the Night Court’s protection. She steps forward, so that her breath mixes with his. He’s stunned for a moment, peering down into her face, determination and understanding amongst the many emotions crossing her features.

“I would rather have you in secret, than not at all.” She says so quietly that only the two of them can hear and places her hand on his chest where his heart beats against it. He’s dumbfounded for a moment.

She’s choosing him?

“Are you sure?” He whispers just as quietly, so that only her and the Mother can hear him.

“Yes.”

The word is barely out of her mouth when his lips meet hers in a kiss that stops the world around them. It’s soft and gentle, just like they are, but Elain swears that this feeling in her chest, at finally tasting the male of her dreams, is the same one her sisters have so lovingly described about their mates.

How can this not be it? They both muse to themselves.

His lips move slowly against her own, savoring her taste, committing it to memory. She has chosen him. She is willing to risk war and their family’s loyalty for him. He will never understand why, but he’s too far gone to talk her out of it.

They stay on the balcony until the early morning hours, touching, tasting, and chasing away the demon of unworthiness inside of each other. Because even if their family or the Night Court didn’t need them, they found out that night that they needed each other.

Fin (or is it?)

#elriel #elain kingslayer #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elriel #pro elain #like calls to like #acotar #azriel

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callsign-rogueone · 5 months ago

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resson (garrick's version)

Garrick Tavis x reader a Garrick and Angel chapter! I need to re-number these at some point, but this happens between 1 and 2 — some of the events at Resson, and them going back to Aretia. written in Garrick’s pov, since Angel isn’t exactly conscious at the moment... words: 2.9k 🏷️: fourth wing spoilers, major character death, canon injury, allusions to hypothermia, writing as Garrick is hard but I tried, poor boy isn’t sure she’s gonna survive this (we know she does, since I wrote this out of order, but still), he takes good care of his girl, Sweetheart makes an appearance along with Darling Spark and Love, somewhat proofread but not really. I’m sorry this took me so long, but here it is. better late than never?

There’s a red dragon lying on the ground, wounded. It’s either Cosa or Deigh, but I can’t tell from this far out. Deigh, I realize when I’m close enough to see his horns, and he isn’t moving. If he’s dead, then Liam only has a few minutes left.

I make the jump too quickly, scrambling to get my feet underneath me, but I’m too late. Liam’s gone. His girlfriend is sobbing into his shoulder, Bodhi attempting to soothe her through his own tears. He has one arm held to his chest, the other rubbing her back gently.

But there’s a second body slumped against Deigh’s side, and my heart nearly stops when I realize who it is.

“Angel,” I breathe, kneeling down beside her, brushing my hands over her cheeks. She’s cold to the touch even in the July heat, her head lolled down onto her chest and her body completely limp, but she’s still breathing, thank the gods. I couldn’t bear to lose both her and Liam on the same day. It would destroy me.

A quick inspection and confirmation from Tab tell me that she’s not wounded — a few scratches here and there, and some tender points that will be bruised tomorrow, but nothing major.

“She tried,” Bodhi tells me quietly. “There was nothing she could do, but she tried anyway, and…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that I can see it as well as he can.

I’ve seen her drained before, completely exhausted after a long day mending in the infirmary, unsteady on her feet and ready to flop facedown onto my bed and sleep it off, but this is several steps past that. It’s clear that she’d used absolutely everything she had in trying to keep Liam and Deigh alive, and I don’t know how long it will take her to recover.

If she does recover, I think for a single second before crumpling the thought up like a piece of parchment and shoving it deep, deep down. She’s going to live. She’s going to recover. She has to. There is no way that the two of us could ever be separated like that.

I have to do something, but what? Is sleeping it off followed by a giant bowl of pasta going to be enough this time, or does she need to see a healer? Could the healers even fix this? Is there a cure for burnout other than rest?

“The Lieutenant Colonel would know. He’s a mender as well.”

Brennan would know. Him or Colonel Colbersy would be the best bets — but the idea of taking her back to that hellhole school right now is enough to light my blood on fire. Graduation is in less than a week, and I know they aren’t going to give her any time to recover before they transfer her across the continent to gods-know-where and expect her to start working.

I hook an arm under her knees, another behind her back, lifting her up from the dirt and gathering her into my lap. She’s too drained to speak, to open her eyes, but I feel a little flare of recognition from her as she leans into my chest — she knows it’s me. She’s still in there.

I tuck her head into my shoulder, stroking a hand over her disheveled braids, because that’s all I can do right now.

Our little sister has silently slotted herself between me and Bodhi. She leans her head against my shoulder, sniffling quietly. She looks unharmed, but there’s dried blood coating her nose and upper lip, and her cuticles are shredded; she’s been peeling them since we left the school, as a nervous habit. Something’s bothering her, but I haven’t had time to ask what — though I have a suspicion that it has something to do with that little joker in Violet’s squad.

And now this. Liam had become her best friend, the first person her age that she was truly comfortable with, and now… I put my other arm around her, squeezing gently. She’s trembling, crying as quietly as possible — even in a situation like this, she doesn’t want to make a sound.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” I say softly, as if that will make it hurt any less.

She leans into me a little further. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I promise her, “She’s gonna be fine in a day or two. She just needs rest — you know how it is.”

I pray to every higher power that exists that I’m right — that Angel will be fine, that our sister won’t lose yet another loved one. She’s finally coming out of her shell, starting to let people in, but I’m afraid that losing Liam might send her right back to square one: the girl I’d met six years ago, who was too scared to speak. I didn’t hear her voice for a week and a half — only timid nods or shakes of the head for yes or no questions.

My eyes widen as I see Xaden approach, a limp-looking Violet in his arms. She’s wheezing, black blood trickling from a wound in her side.

“It has to be poison,” Imogen reasons, sounding more torn up about this than I thought she’d ever be. “Look at it! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.”

“That’s a twelve-hour flight.” Xaden’s voice rises. “And I’m pretty sure her arm is broken.”

Is she going to make it that long?

“There’s somewhere closer,” he says quietly.

“You can’t be serious,” Ciaran interrupts.

“You’ll put everything at risk,” I warn.

Tairn roars in dissent.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are.”

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells. “We’re going, and that’s an order.”

Bodhi agrees without protest. “No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.”

“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks.

“Stop fucking asking him that,” I snap without thinking. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.”

“And it’s a bad one.”

Bodhi turns his head to glare at him. “When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran.”

Rocks crunch under a pair of boots as another of our friends approaches. She looks utterly defeated — her face, neck, and hair are splattered with wyvern blood, and the makeup she’d so carefully applied for the Reunification Day party is running in dark trails down her cheeks, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She’s unusually quiet as she speaks. “X is right. We need to lie low for a few days — get our wounded help, and…”

And bury Liam. Her little brother.

A wave of guilt floods through me. I had been too focused on Angel to fully process the fact that Liam, Xaden’s little brother, who may as well be mine too, is gone forever. We have to bury him tomorrow. I’ll never hear him laugh again, never receive another one of his little wood carvings… Oh, fuck. Sloane. She’d been counting down until her conscription day, when she could see him again, but now she never will.

“It’s settled, then,” another soft voice says — Bodhi’s wife. “We’re going home.”

Nobody dares to disagree with her.

I give our sister one last gentle squeeze before I rise from the ground, Angel in my arms, and carry her the hundred yards to the rest of the riot, who have been keeping watch over us.

Tab lowers his head, mournful and dejected. He must regret not cutting her off, blocking her out from his magic before she overdid it. She’d never forgive him if he had interfered with her efforts to save Liam, but if he had, she might still be lucid.

It’s absolutely terrifying seeing her like this.

Chradh nods in understanding before I can ask, lowering himself flat to the ground so I can climb up while still holding her. I know it’s a major no-no for a dragon to bear anyone but their rider, but all of ours understand the gravity of the situation — a few of us aren’t in condition to fly, and will need to double up with someone who is.

She’s still freezing cold, and I know that the altitude and wind on our flight home won’t help. I sit her up in front of me, removing my flight jacket one sleeve at a time.

It’s like dressing a doll — she’s completely pliant in my arms, and I have to keep moving her to get the jacket on, guiding her hands through the sleeves and buttoning it closed on top of her own. I pull her goggles up so the wind won’t hurt her eyes, and turn her head to tuck her face into my neck.

Chradh wraps an invisible band of power around us to help keep her in place.

“Just hang on for me, Angel,” I murmur, my lips brushing her hairline. “We’re taking you home.”

———————————————

Every step up the staircase sends a wave of pain up my left leg. I fucked up my knee in my running landing, too panicked to think straight once I realized that one of the dragons was wounded so severely.

I can worry about myself later. Right now I need to get her in bed, and prepare her for Brennan’s assessment.

My magic works to open the doors here, too, so I don’t have to worry about dropping her while I get us inside. I sit in my desk chair and prop her up in my lap, the wood creaking under our combined weight.

I get her out of my flight jacket, then hers, and assess the state of her base layers. I decide to get her out of her leathers, at least — those are terrible to sleep in, and she’s always been picky about “outside clothes” on the bed.

She was cold to the touch even with the extra layers, but without them I realize exactly how icy her skin is. I leave her with shorts and a tank top, but I pull back the bed covers with one hand and lay her down, piling her with blankets to make up for the loss. As soon as I drape them over her body, I’m rewarded with a small sign of life — she burrows deeper into the covers, seeking warmth.

Maybe warming her back up will be enough to get her lucid again, like this is some kind of hypothermia. But how did that happen? It’s July, the warmest part of the year across the whole continent.

I drag my desk chair over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat. It’ll be a while yet before Brennan can check on her — it’s going to take a small miracle for him to get the poison out of Violet’s system.

She’s turned her head away from me, so I occupy myself with fixing her braids. They’re undone in places, big strands pulled out by the wind. I untie the leather band at the bottom, setting it on the nightstand and gently undoing the plaits.

I’ve been practicing, but I’m not skilled enough to do the style she usually wears. I settle for detangling as best I can with just my fingers, and gathering it all into a low ponytail. It’s a small comfort to see her looking less disheveled. This way I can almost pretend that there’s nothing wrong, that she’s just taking a nap in my bed on a winter afternoon, piled up with blankets.

“Can you ask Tab to keep an eye on her while I shower?”

“He won’t be taking his eye off of her anytime soon.”

If Tab can still feel her, that’s a good sign, I guess. I’ll take anything normal as a good sign right now. I cast one last long glance at her before I slip into the bathroom, keeping the door open just in case.

I look like shit after nearly two full days of flight and combat, but a shower and some real sleep should help. The water here is warmer than at Basgiath — though that’s a very low bar — and the pressure isn’t terrible. It’s almost nice. It would be a welcome reprieve, if I wasn’t so worried about her and Violet and all of our friends. I’m pretty sure Bodhi broke an arm back there, and our sister looked so shaken… she’d disappeared as soon as we got home. I need to check on her in the morning.

I haven’t heard anything from the bedroom, which is either a good sign or a bad one, but when I peek my head out, I can see the pile of blankets still rising and falling with her slow breaths. I dry off as quickly as I can and begin the search for clean clothes.

My old pajama pants are loose enough to accommodate the extra inches I’ve put on my thighs in three years as a dragon rider, but I can’t fit my arms through the sleeves of the first shirt I find. I make a quick modification with one of my smaller knives before tugging it over my head and settling back down beside her.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Brennan looks absolutely exhausted, but he waves a hand at me in dismissal as I rise from the creaking desk chair and offer it to him. Stubborn fucking Sorrengails.

He examines her for a minute, his eyebrows drawn together the way I’ve seen them when he’s looking over a battle map as he checks her pulse. Her breaths become even slower as he wraps his hand around her wrist, her body relaxing.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we left Resson,” I answer. “She didn’t wake up on the flight.”

He blows out a breath. “I can fix the smaller stuff, but I don’t know what made her this way. I’ve seen burnout before, but this isn’t it.” He pauses, and his voice is strained as he continues. “It’s like she siphoned half her life away to try to save him.”

I can’t help but wince, knowing how his friend had done just that in the battle of Aretia five years ago — only Naolin had given up not just half his life, but the whole of it. And him being reminded of that on the day that he’d finally reunited with his little sister, who is currently residing on Malek’s doormat…

I break the silence after a moment. “She’s not a siphoner, though. She’s a mender, like you.”

“That explains it, I guess. The loss of Deigh’s power is what ended Liam’s life, but we can’t mend magic. There’s nothing she could have done, but she kept trying anyway, and it was too much for her.”

Again, he sounds pained.

I tread carefully with my next question. “Have you seen it happen before? A rider lose their dragon?”

“Yes. I tried as hard as I could to save her, but it was futile. I felt utterly useless.”

“How long did it take you to recover?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t need to. I was fine, just a little shaken.”

I exhale. “She’s always had issues with her signet. It’s easy for her to overwork herself, but I’ve never seen it this bad.”

He lets go of her wrist, setting her arm down gently, and I hear a soft sound of discomfort leave her lips. Why is she in pain? He’d just mended all of her visible injuries away, and I didn’t see anything under her clothes when I’d gotten her into bed. Maybe it’s the sudden cold — being mended always feels warm, and she’s still freezing.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

He nods, looking ready to head up a flight to his own room and collapse.

The sun has set, the warm dusk we’d landed in now replaced with dark night, and I’m absolutely exhausted. I lift up a few of the half dozen blankets, slotting myself in next to her. My entire body relaxes as soon as I’m horizontal on a real mattress, the pressure taken off of my legs.

She curls into me with a soft sigh, and it takes an effort not to flinch at how cold she still is even through the layers of blankets, but I wrap my arms around her, trying to warm her up. “Angel?” I ask softly.

No response — not even a hum. How long is she going to be like this?

“I love you,” I say quietly, even though it’s doubtful she can hear me. “Get some rest, okay? You need to recover. You have to recover. I need you. We all need you.”

Another sleepy sigh as she shifts over a little, resting her head over my heart like she always does. It’s probably just muscle memory from sleeping like this every night for years, but part of me wonders if it’s her telling me that she loves me too, and that she’ll be okay.

“Sleep,” Chradh encourages. “We’ll watch her.”

I don’t respond, my eyes already closing. Shitty circumstances aside, it’s nice to be home again, curled up with her in my — our — own bed, away from the demands of that infernal school.

We can sleep as late as we want tomorrow morning.

#garrick and angel #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing

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riordanness · 1 year ago

Text

bad blood - [h.haddock]

8.2K wordcount

warnings: death mention, panic attack mentions

requested: no

a/n: i usually don’t do author’s notes on my fics bc i don’t think i have really anything to say lmao. however. i wanted to say a quick word about this one, as it’s a kind of old piece but one i was extremely proud of and worked really hard to complete. i loved the humorous parts i wrote, loved the character arc i gave y/n, and just in general really liked how my writing turned out. also, it’s the second longest one-shot (currently) i’ve ever written! anyways, enjoy my lovelies <3

I disliked Hiccup Haddock more than anything else in the entire world. I didn’t like him at all for a very long time, but… well, here is our story.

“Hey love.” A voice appeared next to my shoulder, and I rolled my eyes.

“Go away, Hiccup,” I demanded, refusing to look at him. I was carving a spear out of a wooden stick, so I kept my focus on my knife running back and forth along the wood.

Even without looking at him, I could tell he had a smirk on his face. “Oh love,” he whined. “I want to talk to you.”

He tugged on one of my small braids that ran down the sides of my hair. I whacked his hand away, still not looking at him. “I said go away,” I said again.

He laughed. “I know.”

“So leave me alone.”

A moment’s pause. “But why?”

“Because I hate you and don’t want you around, annoying me to death. I’m busy.”

“But you’re fun to annoy.”

I turned on him, fiercely glaring up at him. The worst thing about Hiccup was how tall he was compared to me. He wasn’t even that tall, I was just super short. Hiccup was a full head higher than me.

Hiccup had a smirk playing around his mouth. “Hey shortcake.”

I hit him. “Shut up, Hiccup.”

“Aww, c’mon sweetheart. I’m bored.”

“That’s nice.” I crossed my arms protectively. Not that Hiccup would ever actually hurt me. Honestly, if it came down to me being in danger, I was pretty sure he’d defend me. I’d known him longer than anybody else I knew.

I might hate him, but it was the truth. Hiccup was an asshole, but I knew deep down he didn’t absolutely hate me. I guess I didn’t hate him, either. He was just a total pain.

“Go ride Toothless or make a friend or do something. Just leave me alone. I don’t care to see you.”

Hiccup sighed, running a hand through his ruffled brown hair. His green eyes flickered with amusement. “Okay, love. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He winked. “Sorry love.”

I resisted the childish urge to stamp my foot. “Hiccup!”

He held up his hands. “Okay… okay.” I almost thought he might actually be genuine, until he smirked. “I’ll stop calling you love… darling.”

I knew there was no shutting him up. I turned on my heel without a word, and stamped angrily into my cabin, slamming the door behind me.

Three seconds passed, then there was a knock on the door. I opened it. “Hiccup, go away!”

Hiccup stood there, grinning mischievously. “Fine, fine. Bye, you.”

I rolled my eyes and shut the door. I’d only just turned around when another knock sounded. I gritted my teeth. “Stupid little —“

I opened the door again and stopped short. “Oh! Stoick. Um, hi.” I swallowed. “Sorry, I, uh, I thought you were Hiccup.”

Stoick looked amused. “That’s alright, y/n.”

“Um, would you like to come in?” I offered.

Stoick nodded, and stepped inside. I suddenly felt very conscious of how messy the place was. I didn’t spend much time here, preferring to roam outside or stay at Astrid, my best friend’s house.

“How are you faring up?” Stoick asked.

I shrugged. “I’m okay. Still getting used to the fact that they’re gone, but, you know. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Stoick nodded. “If you ever need anything, feel free to let me or Hiccup know.”

I groaned internally. “Yeah, like I’d ever ask him for help,” I muttered.

I hadn’t intended for him to hear, but Stoick chuckled softly. “He doesn’t hate you, you know.”

“Sure,” I said. “Because he thinks I’m fun to annoy.”

“That’s not it.”

I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “O…kay…” I said slowly. “Um. Great. Well, it’s getting late, so if you don’t mind, uh…”

“Oh! Sure, sure,” Stoick said. “Have a good night, y/n.”

A long time after he left, I stood in my empty, cold house, staring at the door, wishing for something to come and fill the hole that was forming inside of me.

“Y/n, did you hear?”

I turned to my best friend. “Um. No. What happened?”

Astrid brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Stoick just told Hiccup he’s going to become chief soon.”

“Cool.” I returned to making the leather straps I’d been softening for my future dragon’s saddle.

See, the thing is, I don’t have a dragon. I know, that’s so weird, everyone in Berk has one, but I’m, well… a dragon killed my parents a few years ago. I’ve never liked them anyways, but after that, I’ve struggled a lot with my feelings about dragons. I’m sure one day I will overcome this fear inside me and own a dragon, but right now? No way.

“That’s all?” Astrid looked offended. “Y/n, that’s so much cooler than cool.” She suddenly laughed. “You know what this means?”

I frowned a little. “No..?”

“Hiccup has to choose a bride.”

I blinked. “Really? Um, so?”

Astrid rolled her eyes, elbowing me as she sat beside me on the ground. “You know you’re in love with him, y/n/n.”

I pretended to gag. “Ugh, as if! Astrid, you know I hate him. I don’t care at all about him in any way, especially not in a romantic way. I don’t care a single little bit if he has to choose a bride.”

“Sure.” Astrid smirked. “You’re secretly hoping he’ll choose you, aren’t you?”

I shot her a glare that warned her to shut up. “He’ll choose you and you know it,” I said.

Astrid wrinkled her nose. “I doubt it,” she said. “Hiccup and I literally never talk. Besides, everybody knows that me and Stormfly are a forever couple.”

I shook my head at her, but I had to smile. “Well, he won’t choose me, and I don’t care about it anyway.”

Astrid looked like she wanted to argue, but she shut her mouth when she noticed someone walking over to us. When I saw who it was, I sighed.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“Gee, you’re lovely today, darling,” Hiccup teased, plopping himself down next to us.

“Excuse me,” I pointed out. “We didn’t invite you to sit with us.”

Astrid glanced at me, a smirk playing around her mouth. Her eyes were twinkling. I glared at her. I hate you, I mouthed.

I swung one leg over the log so my back was to Hiccup. “So, Astrid,” I said, a little too loudly. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

“I’m taking Stormfly out for a ride,” Astrid replied. “You’re welcome to join —“

“No,” I said instantly. “Uh, I mean. No thank you. I’m good.” My hands trembled ever so slightly. I coughed, swallowed, and picked up my leather strap, gripping it tightly to stop the shaking.

Hiccup poked his head over my shoulder. “You know—“

I elbowed him in the ribs so hard he tumbled off the log. “Whoa!” he yelped. “Jeez, y/n!”

“Sorry,” I apologised. “I- you startled me.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t. You just like hitting people.”

My mouth tightened. “No I don’t. And stop calling me a liar!”

“When did I call you a liar?” He got to his feet, one arm cradling his ribcage. “You’re violent for literally no reason.”

I glared at him. “You just said I was lying. And I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

Hiccup winced. “Uh- yeah you actually did. I think you broke a rib or something.”

I slammed my work to the ground, getting to my feet and facing the boy. “Stop avoiding the fact that you called me a liar! I never ever ever make up anything.”

My eyes glittered with unwanted tears. Involuntary memories sprang into my mind. My parents hugging me. My father’s voice in my hair, my younger voice begging them to promise to return soon. “Of course we will return, darling,” my father said. “We’ve never lied to you, have we now?”

I blinked, forcing the tears away. I hated crying in any situation, but I wouldn’t be able to stand crying in front of Hiccup. I’d never live it down.

“Whatever.” Hiccup glanced at me. His voice suddenly changed. “Want to see something amazing?”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “The retreating back of your head would be great, thanks.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I!” I turned away from him, and only then did I realise Astrid was nowhere to be seen. She must’ve snuck away while Hiccup and I were arguing.

Hiccup’s hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. “C’mon,” he pleaded, and his voice sounded genuinely kind. “It’ll be fun.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I come with you, do you promise to leave me alone after?”

Hiccup nodded.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Where are we going?”

He grinned mischievously. “You’ll see.”

Hiccup turned, and I had no choice but to follow; partly because I was curious, and partly because I wanted him to leave me alone, and this was the only way to guarantee that.

We entered the woods that surrounded the village, and I began to get suspicious. “Hiccup?” I asked. “Where exactly are we going?”

He didn’t answer for almost a minute. “You’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes. “First, that’s not a proper answer. Two, don’t you think that you should tell me before you drag me off somewhere?”

He laughed. “C’mon. Don’t you ever do anything adventurous or risky?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I talk to you.”

“Hey!” He shot me a playful glare.

I managed a smirk. “No, but seriously. Where are you taking me?”

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Okay. Just stay here a moment. I’ll be right back.”

I frowned, and opened my mouth to complain, but before I could say anything, Hiccup had disappeared into the trees. I had no choice but to wait where I was.

Only a few minutes later, I heard a rush of wind, and a midnight-black dragon landed in front of me. Hiccup sat astride Toothless, one hand in the air.

I yelped, taking a few quick steps backward. “I- shoot, Hiccup. Why are you…” My voice died as Toothless stared at me. A shiver ran down my spine, making me feel sick to my stomach.

“Y/n, it’s fine,” Hiccup assured. “He won’t hurt you. Will ya, bud?”

I shook my head, my throat tightening. “I- no. I can’t do this, Hiccup.” I took another step back, my entire body beginning to shake. This. This what had killed my parents. Dragons couldn’t be trusted. No matter how much Hiccup had tried to convince the village, I would never trust anyone, or anything, ever again.

Hiccup frowned. “Fine.” He leaned down and patted Toothless on the neck. “C’mon, bud. Let’s go.”

Without another word, Toothless spread his wings and they soared into the air.

I stood stock still for a whole minute before I realised I was holding my breath. I let it out all in a rush, and staggered a little. I reached out to hold onto a tree truck for support. My legs felt wobbly and unstable.

I decided it was best if I headed back for the village. I didn’t want to hang around in the woods today anymore. I had a sour taste in my mouth, and I needed some water.

I was twenty meters away from my cabin door when suddenly the ground beneath me was swept away. The village got smaller and smaller, and then I realised what was happening.

“Hiccup Haddock!” I shrieked. Toothless was holding onto my forearms, and I was suspended in the air.

“Yes, m’lady?”

“I am going to kill you!” I yelled up at him, panic temporarily pushing aside my utter agony at being defenceless against a dragon.

“Toothless, put her down,” Hiccup commanded.

Toothless flew around a huge pine tree that was significantly taller than most of the forest, and promptly dropped me onto its highest branches.

I clung to the tree truck, shaking. Tears clogged up my throat, and my legs were so trembly I thought I was going to fall and die.

“Y/n.”

At the sound of Hiccup’s voice, I slowly turned to face him. He looked almost sorry, but I knew that was impossible. The little wretch was trying to make me terrified, for what reason I could only guess. This was his biggest prank yet.

“Hiccup,” I said, trying to keep my voice level (and failing), “you will get me down from here, now.” I gripped the tree tighter. “You will take me home this instant, and you will never ever talk to me again. Do you understand?”

He blinked. “But—“

“Do you understand?!” I yelled.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Here.” He held out his hand.

I stared at it for a second, then gingerly reached out and rested my fingertips on his palm. A tingle ran up the length of my arm. He gripped my wrist, and pulled me up onto the dragon behind him.

Every part of my body that was in contact with the dragon’s felt heated up, like I could burst into flames at any moment. My head pounded in sync with my heartbeat, and my palms were getting sweaty. I was, in short, absolutely terrified.

“… let her down slowly.”

I realised Hiccup was talking. “You got that, bud?”

Toothless made an exasperated grunt, sounding more like a sarcastic teenager than a dragon. That didn’t make me feel any better.

Toothless slowly spread his wings, and for a second, I almost relaxed. Maybe he would fly down gently like Hiccup had asked.

The next second, my illusion shattered. Toothless took off so fast I almost toppled off. I was forced to grab onto the nearest thing to stay onboard (on-dragon?). Unfortunately, that thing happened to be Hiccup.

Whatever. I’d rather not die today. I gripped his shoulders so tightly my knuckles turned white. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, as if not seeing would make it better for me.

The wind whipped in my ears, blowing my dark hair all around my face. I was so scared, so worried, so distraught I felt like crying. I couldn’t, though. I wasn’t dumb enough to cry in front of Hiccup. He would never let me hear the end of it.

Suddenly, I felt the dragon beneath me twisting sideways. We started spinning, twirling in tight circles. My grip tightened on Hiccup’s shoulders.

Someone was screaming, and I was like eighty-five percent sure it was me.

“Toothless!” Hiccup yelled. “Stop this right now! You’re scaring her!”

Toothless took that as a challenge, and dove toward the ocean a hundred feet below. He showed absolutely no signs of slowing or stopping in any way. I opened my eyes, wanting to at least be able to see something in case I died because of this.

“Thanks for nothing, you useless reptile,” Hiccup muttered. I slowly began to realise that maybe Hiccup wasn’t the one at fault here. Of course. It was the dragon’s fault. Dragons weren’t to be trusted, which was exactly what I’d been thinking this whole time.

Just as we were about to hit the water, Toothless opened up his wings. We shot upward, soaring towards the sugar-spun clouds above us.

We levelled out, and my muscles lost some of their tension. Toothless floated in the air, almost flying gently now. I remembered how to breathe, and let out a long, breathless sigh.

“Hiccup,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “I am going to murder you.”

I melted into him, partly in relief that I wasn’t dead, partly in exhausted terror. My arms went around his waist, my forehead falling to rest on his back. My eyes fluttered shut, and a lone tear streaked down my cheek.

Hiccup didn’t say anything for a long while, and so neither did I. Toothless flew long and slow and level, giving me the slightest chance of not murdering him, too.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. All I remember is Hiccup’s voice saying softly, “Sweet dreams, love,” before I fell into the welcome arms of sleep.

I woke slowly, curled in a ball inside a warm, soft bed that didn’t feel like mine. When I finally opened my eyes, I realised why it didn’t feel familiar. I wasn’t even in my house.

I sat up, looking around, trying to work out where I was. With a start, I couldn’t even think of a time I’d been inside any other houses in the village except for Astrid’s. I had no idea whose house this was.

“Morning, m’lady,” said a deep voice from the top of the stairs.

I groaned internally. “Oh, gosh, of course it’s you.” I found myself pulling my fingers through my hair, brushing it as nearly as I could, straightening my shirt, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

I dragged myself out of the bed. I was still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, my usual top and skirt combo, with leggings underneath for warmth. My boots were lying on the floor, so I yanked them on.

I glanced up at Hiccup, who was hanging over the banisters, watching me. With a jolt, all the memories of yesterday flooded in.

Red-hot anger filled me. I clenched my fists. “Are you gonna come down here, or should I just murder you up there?”

Hiccup’s eyes widened. “I- what?”

“You heard me,” I muttered. My knife was missing from my belt, which was just great. I’d probably lost in on that horrific flight yesterday.

I stomped up the stairs, stopping on the one below the one Hiccup was standing on. He leaned against the banister, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Hey shortcake,” he whispered teasingly. “Sleep well?”

I gritted my teeth. “You are so beyond dead right now, Hiccup.”

He chuckled. “Hey. Blame Toothless, alright? There was nothing I could do!”

I wanted to roll my eyes. “Um, okay. And he’s your dragon.”

“That doesn’t mean I can control him!”

I didn’t answer, my gaze sliding away from Hiccup. I sighed, laid my palm on the cold wood banister. “I don’t ever want you to talk to me again, okay? I don’t want to see you; I don’t want to hear you. I don’t even want to know you exist.”

I felt a glistening tear streak its way down my cheek, dripping off the bottom of my chin. “Just—“ My voice broke. “Just leave me alone.”

I turned, and ran out of the house, leaving his door wide open. I headed for the only place I could think of; the woods.

I didn’t stop running until I was deep in the forest, surrounded by unfamiliar trees. I dropped to my knees in the dirt, buried my face in my hands and cried.

Hours later, I slowly rose to my feet. It was growing steadily dark, and the cold was seeping into my bone. I shivered, and wrapped my arms around myself as I walked around in a small circle.

I realised, horrified, that I was completely lost. I had no idea whatsoever where I was, which direction the village was, or what time of day it even was right now.

I eventually sat down on a rock, pulling my knees up to my chest. The darkness was growing. Soon, I didn’t think I would be able to see a thing. I began to get worried.

Who knew what things might be hiding in the shadows? My hand instinctively went to my belt, my my knife was gone. I cursed under my breath, and stood, pressing my back against a tree. I figured it would be safer than sitting on an exposed rock.

I shivered, wrapping my arms tighter around myself, my eyes turning towards the sky, hoping, for some insane reason, that someone might be out there looking for me.

Who was I kidding? Who was there that even cared about me that much? I didn’t have parents who were waiting back at home, wondering how late I was going to stay out. I didn’t have siblings who would notice my absence.

Astrid wouldn’t notice this late at night. I tended to wander during the day; she was used to that, but at night it wouldn’t even occur to her that I was anywhere but home.

Hiccup briefly crossed my mind, but I truly did not think he cared about me that much. I didn’t even want him to. I was still so mad at Hiccup, thinking about him made it hard to breathe. I hated him.

“I hate Hiccup Haddock,” I whispered under my breath, trying to make myself feel better. My breath made a wisp of steam in the cold air. I watched it as it floated into nothingness.

My vision suddenly blurred, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of exhaustion or tears. I slumped down to the ground, my legs giving way. I drew my knees close to my chest, hugging them to me. My chin rested on my knees, gazing out at the woods, though I could barely make out anything anymore. I couldn’t even see my own hand clearly, let alone anything else.

I’m not sure how long I sat there, but eventually, I slipped into a deep sleep, half-frozen, chilled to the bone, alone and crying in the darkness.

“Y/n! Y/n? Y/n/n?!”

My eyes fluttered open. I groaned in pain. I felt someone’s arms encircling me, carrying me, but I couldn’t make out anything. Everything was blurred, hazy. The person carrying me was talking, but it sounded far away and watery.

I slumped against the person’s shoulder, closing my eyes. I was tired: so, so tired. Everything ached; my head pounded and throbbed.

I don’t think I feel back asleep, but I wasn’t really aware of anything for a long while. Finally, the person slowed to a walk, and laid me down on a couch or a bed or something. A cup was held to my lips, and I gratefully accepted the water.

I blinked several times, and my eyes focused on a very familiar looking boy, who’s green eyes were staring down at me, full of concern.

“Hiccup?” I asked weakly. “What are you…?”

“I found you in the middle of the woods,” Hiccup replied, his eyes darkening slightly. “Are you okay? Do you need anything else? More water? Are-are you warm enough?”

I laid my head back, rubbing my thumb against my throbbing temple. I let out a long sigh, whether it was of annoyance or exhaustion or pain, I wasn’t sure.

“I hate you so much,” I muttered.

“Gee, thanks,” Hiccup answered. He held the back of his hand against my forehead, testing my temperature. “You don’t seem to be too sick. I think you’re going to be okay,” he said, almost to himself.

“I’m not sick at all,” I said firmly. “I don’t even know why you’re taking care of me. I don’t need you. You—“ My voice suddenly broke with emotion. “You did this to me.”

Hiccup’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Look, Y/n/n—“

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

He blinked. “Y/n. I-I am so sorry for what happened yesterday. I, well, I thought it might make it better if you saw that dragons aren’t always vicious. Um…” He glanced down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Toothless didn’t really get the memo.”

He looked at me. “I’m really sorry, Y/n. And I hope that maybe someday you can find it in you to forgive me.” He stood, brushed off his pants, and left, closing the door gently behind him.

I lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but Hiccup had brought me home. I was in my bed, in my house. I could hear small noises from downstairs, which meant that Hiccup was still here. I wasn’t sure what he was doing down there, but I didn’t really care.

What I cared about right now was what he’d said. And what it had made happen inside of me. Was I really as mad at him as I thought I was? After all, he’d gone out and found me, brought me home, taken care of me. Maybe he’d been trying to be nice, and it really was Toothless who had been doing all those things to me. (Which just proved all my theories that dragons weren’t to be trusted).

I thought again of Hiccup’s eyes staring down at me, his sad voice asking me for forgiveness. The worry in his expression when he asked if I was okay. I hated how much I’d liked that. I hadn’t ever been in love, or even had a crush on anyone. I wasn’t sure if this even was a crush, but if it was, I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like the swirling in my stomach when I heard Hiccup’s voice. I hated how much I suddenly wanted him near me. I disliked how I kind of trusted him. I didn’t want to be in love. I didn’t want to have somebody I believed in again.

Last time I’d loved someone, trusted someone, all they’d done was break my heart and leave me forever. My parents. I wondered if part of my hatred inside was because I’d never truly forgiven them for leaving. For dying and not coming back for me like they’d sworn they would. I blinked back tears, brushing my cheeks with the back of my hand.

I swung my legs out of the bed, standing. I swayed a bit at first, but I forced myself to be steady. I yanked on my boots and slowly pushed open my bedroom door. I stepped out onto the landing, peeping over the edge of the banisters.

Hiccup was down in the kitchen. I was shocked at how much cleaner everything looked. I barely ever tidied up. Not that things got particularly dirty, as I spent little time here, but dust had certainly stocked up over the years. Hiccup had scrubbed away the five years of dirt from my home, and it was sparkling.

Something smelled good, too. It hit me like a brick wall that the fire was going, and Hiccup was cooking something over it. It looked like soup or something similar. I hadn’t had a home cooked meal for ages. I hated cooking, so I just lived on things I grew in the garden, or tidbits from friends.

I shifted slightly, and a floorboard underneath me creaked. Hiccup glanced up, and when he saw me, a slight smile flickered across his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back, not sure what else to say. I mean, I’d just yelled at him, and made it pretty clear I didn’t ever want to talk to him again. What do you say to someone who’s just cleaned your entire house and taken care of you after you told them that? “What are you making?”

Hiccup glanced down at the pot he was stirring, then back up at me. “Chicken and potato soup. Want some?”

I hesitated, but nodded, with a small shrug. “Why not.” I slowly walked down the stairs, my eyes on Hiccup the whole time. I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from him.

He noticed me staring and smiled nervously. “What? Am I in trouble?”

I found myself slowly shaking my head. “No, I don’t think so.” I allowed myself a small, watery smile. “At least not yet.”

Hiccup grinned. “Good. Now sit down and eat.”

I obeyed, setting myself down at the old dining table. I wiped my palm on the wood, expecting it to be coated it dirt, but it shone with new cleanliness. My eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Hiccup…” was all I could manage.

Immediately, Hiccup knelt in front of me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, almost urgently, staring up into my eyes. “Are you alright?”

I swallowed. “You-you cleaned the house… you’re cooking… I- you…” I let out a broken sob.

For so long, so one had cared. Astrid cared the most, but she was busy with Stormfly and her new baby brother and life in general. She’d offered a few times to have me stay with her and her family, but I’d known that would be far too hard for them. I’d always politely told her I was just fine on my own, thank you. But I wasn’t. I knew that. I needed someone to care so badly that now that someone did, someone cared, it almost hurt.

“Hey, hey,” Hiccup said softly, grabbing me by the shoulders. I realised I was shaking.

“It’s alright,” he assured me. “Come here.” He brought me into a hug, which at first both startled and scared me, but then I melted into it. The hug felt unfamiliar, different, awkward. But nice, somehow.

But this was Hiccup. I untangled myself from him. “Uh,” I stammered, tucking my hair behind my ear, eyes flitting away. “Thanks.”

Hiccup shrugged. “It’s fine.” He stood slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. I mean, no. I-I guess? I’m not sure…” I stared up at him. “Hiccup, why are you doing this?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?” He gestured around. “You needed help. You need help. I am the son of the chief; soon to be the chief myself. It’s my job to help the village.”

Something inside me wilted a little. So this was just part of the job to him? The rest of me internally yelled at that bit to shut up, and that we hated Hiccup, so it doesn’t matter what he does. But why did I hate Hiccup?

Thinking back on it now, I really didn’t think he had ever done anything truly bad towards me. Yeah, sure, he’d been a total tease, but I was a rude, bitter, secluded brat to be honest. I didn’t deserve any help from him.

I blinked back unwanted tears. “Um, well, I really appreciate it,” I said. “It was really nice of you to come looking for me.”

Hiccup studied my face for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded once. “It’s okay, Y/n/n.”

Something inside me jolted. No one had called me that in years before today, when Hiccup had started to. It was the nickname my father had given me. Hearing Hiccup use it had just opened up a deep wound inside me I hadn’t even remembered.

“Please don’t call me that,” I whispered, staring at the floorboards. My feet hung limply in the air just above the floor.

Hiccup glanced over at me from where he was standing, stirring the soup. “Um, okay. Sorry, Y/n.” He stressed my name, saying it slightly slower than the rest of his words.

There was so much tension in the air, and I realised it was all my fault. I made the room awkward and made Hiccup have to watch everything he said. I was a terrible person.

I’d even told Hiccup never to talk to me again, right after I’d woken up in his house. It hit me that he must’ve taken me there after the awful flight on Toothless. Then, I’d screamed in his face that I hated him, and gotten myself lost in the woods because I was selfish and prideful and full of hate.

Even then, Hiccup had gone out and found me. Who knew how long that had taken him? He’d brought me back here, cleaned my house, made me food, and for what? For me to be snappy, harsh, and rude.

I ran my tongue over my lower lip, staring resolutely at the floor. “Hiccup?” I managed finally.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this?” I looked at him, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Be honest.”

Hiccup hesitated, stirring the wooden spoon listlessly around the soup. “What do you mean?” he said finally.

I sighed, sitting up straight and brushing off my skirts. “You know… helping me.” I have a little laugh. “Heavens knows you don’t need to. So why are you really doing all this?”

Hiccup chewed his lip. “Because I’m going to be the Chief of Berk pretty soon. I need to be able to protect my people.” His gaze fixed on mine. “Even when they don’t like me, or want me to.”

Under his fierce eyes, my insides crinkled. I felt exposed, as if I was being examined under a bright light. I dropped my gaze.

“I’m sorry…” I managed, the words sounding funny in my mouth. I hadn’t apologised to Hiccup, for anything, ever.

“It’s okay.” His voice sounded surprisingly even, like he wasn’t even bothered about all this. So it was just me feeling all these things, was it? He was truly just doing this out of a sense of duty. And honestly, why shouldn’t he? I’d already told myself I was a rude little brat, to be totally honest. I didn’t deserve to have people look after me, at all.

I didn’t meet Hiccup’s eyes. “Um, that’s cool. But thank you, really.”

Hiccup nodded, and handed me a steaming mug of hot soup. “Eat up,” he said. “I’ll leave you the rest… have a good night, Y/n.”

And with that, he disappeared. The house felt suddenly very small and lonely, and I shrunk into myself, staring into the fire, sipping tiny bits of soup until I was all warmed up inside.

I gazed around the cabin. It looked so different, all shining and clean. It made me feel like maybe I might be able to move on; get over them leaving me. I shook my head. That would never happen. I didn’t think I was capable of letting it go, of moving forward with my life. I was seventeen years old, and I still held a grudge against my parents for ‘abandoning’ me when I was twelve.

Thoughts whirled through my brain, at an almost dizzying rate. I left my mug on the table, and went to stand by the open window, facing out into the main road of Berk.

A few children were playing in it, kicking a round wooden ball to each other. I watched them for a minute or two, before an absurd idea struck me. I pushed open the front door. “Hey!” I yelled.

The kids turned to look at me, momentarily forgetting their game. “Can I join you guys?” I asked, feeling brave.

The oldest girl looked confused for a moment, then after a brief pause, gave me a smile and a nod. “Sure!” she called.

I grinned, and shut my door behind me, jogging over to them. Playing ball was something I hadn’t done in years, but it felt good to just relax for a while. Plus, it was amazing to see others doing an activity that didn’t revolve around dragons, so I could join in.

Dragons. I shuddered a little, remembering the awful ride on Toothless, and making my feelings around Hiccup even more complicated.

After a good long play, I collapsed to the ground in a heap, blowing up my breath. “Gosh,” I managed. “I can see why kids like playing ball. It’s fun.” I offered the girl who’d let me come play with them a small smile.

“You’re Y/n, aren’t you?” the girl asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

I hesitated. How did they know who I was? I never really talked to anyone except Astrid, Hiccup and a few other people. Certainly not the children.

“Yeah, I am,” I said slowly. “How do you know my name?”

The little girl allowed herself a smug smile. “Hiccup told us about you.” Turning, she threw the ball to one of her friends.

I was dumbfounded. “Hiccup?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah. He told us you guys used to be friends but now you’re mean to him and won’t let him be nice to you anymore. He said he misses being your friend.”

I wrinkled my nose, staring at her. “Hiccup said he misses me?” I scoffed finally. “There’s no way. You must have heard him wrong. Hiccup hurt me incredibly badly when we were six years old, and ever since then he’s teased and bothered me almost to death. I will never be his friend again.”

I stood, suddenly angry all over again. Angry about how hurt I was, how much I hated Hiccup and my parents for hurting me. I clenched my teeth. “Thank you for letting me join you. Bye.”

I turned and began the walk uphill to Astrid’s house. Right now, I really needed to see my best friend.

When Astrid opened the door, she immediately noticed something was wrong. She frowned. “Are you alright?”

I shook my head. “Everything is so hopeless, A.”

Astrid made a sympathetic face and pulled me into a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered into my shoulder. “Come on, come inside. It’s freezing.”

Maybe it was. I felt so numb I didn’t think I would’ve noticed even if it was cold enough to give me frostbite. I felt like my insides were frozen, unable to feel anything at all.

Astrid pulled me inside, sitting me down on a chair beside the roaring fire. She knelt down in front of me. “What happened?” she asked, staring into my face.

I shook my head, looking away from her. “I… I don’t even know…” I began to cry, dropping my head in my hands.

Astrid pursed her lips, hugging me again. “Is it your parents? Hiccup? Tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and slowly began to tell her the entire story, beginning yesterday, when Hiccup took me into the woods and the whole, horrible ride on Toothless began. I kept my eyes steadily fixed on the fire as I spoke, quietly recounting the flight, the fight, being lost in the woods and then Hiccup rescuing me and cleaning my house. I even told her about the awkward hug.

The only thing I couldn’t manage to admit to Astrid was how I felt about Hiccup. I couldn’t decide if I hated his guts, or if I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again.

When I was finished, Astrid let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “But if you ask me… Hiccup wasn’t at fault for what Toothless was doing during that flight. I think he might be telling you the truth; that he just wanted you to see that dragons aren’t dangerous.”

I nodded slowly. I was beginning to believe that. Of course, that just made me hate dragons even more, but there was no point saying that aloud. Astrid knew I hated dragons even more than I hated Hiccup. I would never, ever trust a dragon.

Astrid studied me. “Do you want to know what else I think?”

I glanced at her. “By the look on your face, no. But I guess you’re going to tell me anyway, so… sure.”

Astrid suppressed a smile. “You know me too well,” she said. “But, what I think is, you don’t hate Hiccup at all. You’re just angry. At your parents mostly. But Hiccup hurt you too, years ago. You’re alone now, so you’re taking out your anger on the only person you have any sort of justification to do so to.”

I was silent. Sadly, her words rang hard and true. I could finally see that, yes, my hatred of Hiccup was really just anger at myself, and my parents. It had honestly nothing to do with Hiccup himself. He’d just been unfortunate enough to annoy me all those years ago, so now I’d decided to hate him because of it.

I shook my head in disbelief. “I’ve been so stupid,” I muttered.

“Not stupid,” Astrid said. “Kinda crazy, maybe, but not stupid.”

I looked at her. “I think… I think I should go and apologize to someone.”

She smiled. “Go.”

I jumped to my feet and ran, leaving her front door swinging open in the wind.

I didn’t stop running until I reached Hiccup’s house. I burst inside without thinking about knocking, but stopped short on the threshold.

“Stoick!” I gaped, trying to find the right words. “I, I am so sorry—“

“Y/n,” Stoick replied, getting to his feet. “What brings you here in such a hurry?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”

I nodded breathlessly. “What? Yes. Yes, I’m fine, thanks, I just —“

“Were you looking for Hiccup?”

I pursed my lips. “I might’ve been.”

Stoick chuckled. “You’ve got spirit, lass. I like that about you.”

I blinked. “Um, thank you?”

“He’s at the beach.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Chief.”

The path that ran towards the beach was thin and steep, covered in loose rocks that skidded under my shoes. More than once I almost fell off the cliff side.

When I reached the beach, I was surprised at how small it seemed. Then again, I hadn’t been here since I was little. I guess my memories of it had faded. With a start, I realised that the last time I had been here was probably with Hiccup himself, back when we were small and best friends.

I spotted Hiccup’s figure walking through the surf a few hundred meters away. I started toward him, slowly in case I scared him with a sudden approach.

The beach itself was small and rocky, round black stones instead of proper sand. The waves here were little and inconsistent, barely making a splash. Sometimes in the summer, we would have a day or two of good weather, and the waves would be bigger, but that was a pretty rare occurrence.

I reached Hiccup, who was now standing with his hands buried in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“What do you see?” I whispered.

“Freedom,” he replied softly, turning to look at me. “When I’m riding Toothless, nothing is impossible. Me, a human, can fly on the back of a dragon. There is something magical about that, Y/n.”

I chewed my lip, considering his words. I guess there was something amazing about that fact, but still… dragons.

“Um,” I said. “I came here to apologise.”

Hiccup’s green eyes turned a darker shade. “For what?”

I dug the side of my shoe in the sand, my eyes sliding away from his. “For… everything.”

He waited, his eyes roaming my face.

I swallowed. “For not being your friend when I should have been. For hating you and your love for dragons. For being a terrible person. For hitting you and hating you and making your life miserable.” During this little speech, my voice had gotten higher and louder. Now it broke, and I felt tears brimming to my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Hiccup,” I cried.

Hiccup didn’t say anything. He stared at me for a count of five, while tears began to stream down my cheeks. What was wrong with me this week? For years, I’d barely cried at all, hiding my emotions inside. Now I was crying, again.

Hiccup did something I didn’t expect. He grabbed my face between his hands. They were tougher than I would’ve thought, calloused and hard from working with metals and wood and materials. He stared into my eyes for long enough for my tears to stop flowing. “Y/n,” he said. “It’s okay. You were forgiven years ago.”

He pulled me into a tight embrace. A week ago, I would’ve fought and hit and yelled at him, but now? I melted into Hiccup’s body, burying my face in his chest and wrapping my arms tightly around him, letting my tears flow freely.

For the first time since my parents died, I felt at peace.

For the next three weeks, I tried my hardest to start a routine. To start cleaning my house, cooking meals every day, and (the hardest part of all), going out and talking to someone each and every morning.

Sometimes I just talked to Astrid, when it got bad and I truly couldn’t get enough emotion energy to talk to anyone else. But sometimes I managed. I talked to the kids playing in the streets, to the other girls I never really talked to before, to the guys helping out in the dragon-saddle-making workshop.

But mostly, I talked to Hiccup. I talked to him as if we’d never stopped being friends, as if we were six years old again. It honestly surprised me how easy it was to get along with him now that I didn’t have an eternal grudge against him. Hiccup was still the same person he’d always been. It was me who had changed.

I made an effort to even start working. I’d never done anything like it before, really, but it was honestly alright. I had a few shifts at the dragon workshop a week, and it was kind of fun after a while. Yeah, sure, I still got terrified when someone actually brought their dragon to the shop, but for the most part it was good.

Hiccup worked there sometimes as well, and so did Stoick. Astrid didn’t, because she was a dragon trainer and didn’t really have the time. I would’ve liked it if we were able to work together, but there was no way I would be able to train dragons. At all.

But, you know, life was pretty alright. I still had scars, deep and hidden and probably incurable, but I also had friends. And hope. And maybe, just maybe, a future.

I woke up screaming. My bedsheets were clutched tight in my fists, a tangled mess around my legs. Hot tears were still rolling down my cheeks, and my chest heaved, as if I’d just run the length of the island in my sleep.

I tried to swallow, tried to even out my breathing. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow properly. I reached for the glass of water that I always had beside my bed, and gulped it down.

I could still evision the awful images from my dreams. Hiccup, Astrid, my parents, all trapped in a circle of flaming dragons. They were screaming for me, calling my name. I couldn’t move, my legs seemingly stuck to the ground. I could do nothing but watch as the dragons slowly spread over the bodies of my loved ones, devouring them. I sank to my knees, screaming in agony.

I shivered, climbing out from under the sheets. I needed to get out of this empty house. I didn’t care if it was the middle of the night, I had to see someone.

I hurried down the stairs, bursting out into the night. Stars glittered in the sky, the night quiet and bright. The cold wind hit me like a wall, and I shuddered. I hadn’t thought of grabbing my jacket.

My feet moved faster than my mind, taking me somewhere that I didn’t even know I wanted to be. I slipped inside Hiccup’s house, tiptoeing to where I knew his room was.

Outside his door, I finally realised what I was doing. Sneaking into Hiccup’s room in the dead of night? What was I thinking? Was I crazy?

Maybe I am, I thought, slowly pushing open Hiccup’s door. I stood still on his doorway for a moment, before quietly slipping over to the side of his bed.

“Hiccup?” I breathed, almost soundlessly.

“Y/n?” Hiccup was instantly awake, sitting up in his bed. “What are you…? Why are you here? Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse from sleep, and he squinted at me.

I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? Oh, I just had a dream about you dying and it terrified me so I’m here to make sure you’re still alive? Of course I wasn’t going to say that.

“I had a nightmare.” I bit my lip, shifting from foot to foot. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Hiccup’s dark eyes gazed into mine. He leaned back slightly, so he could see me more clearly. “Why did you come to me?” he asked quietly, his voice ragged and raspy.

I dropped my gaze. “You were the only one I thought of coming to,” I whispered. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Hiccup said. “Do… do you want to stay here? Or do you want me to walk you back to your house?”

I hesitated. “Could I please just stay here, with you?” I met his eyes for a brief second.

He smiled. “Anything for you.” He said it so flippantly, I might’ve missed it any other time. But my brains snagged on the words, turning them over and over in my mind. Anything for you…

“Thank you, Hiccup,” I whispered. We were both silent for a while. “Can I… can I stay with you until morning?” I asked.

Hiccup stared at me, then nodded. I slowly crawled onto his bed, leaning against the bed-head. Hiccup glanced at me, then lay back down on his pillow. After a moment, I snuggled down next to him, hyper aware of every part of my body under the sheets.

We were nose to nose. I could feel his hot breath on my face. His green eyes glittered in the darkness.

“Goodnight y/n,” he whispered groggily. “I hope you don’t have any more nightmares.” With that, he closed his eyes, and I heard no more from him.

#hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #hiccup haddock x reader #httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd fanfic

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daydreamtofiction · 3 months ago

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The Feature XXI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) While on assignment at another glamorous event, Quinn takes the opportunity to have some fun. Though it doesn't quite go the way she'd hoped.

Chapter Word Count: 8K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, tones of jealousy and possessiveness, fake event, op-ed excerpts contain graphic imagery. Quinn back at it again with her nightmarish antics. Readers must be 18+

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Julia would bounce her knee when she sat at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, the heel of her Louboutin slingback clinking against the table leg with an irritating rhythm. You were sitting across from her as she read your final draft, your gaze focused on the blood red sole of her shoe, the remnants of the discount sticker she hadn’t fully peeled off.

She placed the papers on the desk and cleared her throat. You looked up at her, only then realising you’d been making a face; eyes narrowed, lip curled disdainfully. It wasn’t intentional, your face just settled that way sometimes. So you softened your edges, rounding your eyes and relaxing your jaw as you waited for her to speak.

“Quinn…” she sighed.

Your thorns quickly returned; lids turning heavy with indignation as you rolled your shoulders and pressed your back into the chair.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she continued with a patronising smile. “It’s well written, there’s no denying that, but it’s not going in the mag.”

“Why not?” you asked bluntly.

She picked up the papers and licked her thumb, using it to flick to the second page where she began to read aloud. “I just wanted those men to stop looking at me. I wanted to erase myself, piece by piece, I imagined my face sloughing away, then my arms, my breasts, until there was nothing left but a pool of flesh and marrow where I’d once stood. But then, I thought, would they even care? Or would they still find pleasure in my remains; dig their hands into the slurry and let it slip between their fingers. And that scared me more than disappearing altogether...”

You blinked at her, waiting for her to explain the problem. But the way she was looking at you made it seem like you should have already known.

“It’s quite graphic,” she said.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Yes, obviously I understand that. But it’s not the most pleasant of visuals, is it? Really, the topic of the op ed on a whole, it’s- It’s dark, heavy-”

“It’s about gender, sex, inequality, how I’ve learned to navigate society as a woman, it’s not meant to be all bubblegum and rainbows. And it’s not like the magazine hasn’t shed light on these kinds of topics before.” You shrugged.

“Yes but not this… Brutally.”

You furrowed your brow.

She sighed, flicking to another page. “I thought sex was supposed to make me human, make me whole. But in the end, he was just a prop, an object. They all were. I could always tell they wanted me to love them, and they thought I might if they gave me everything. But nothing ever seemed worth taking.” She looked at me. “You can’t seriously think Draft would publish this?”

“It’s an op ed,” you said, your tone growing snippy. “It’s supposed to be personal, subjective, opinionated-”

“But there’s a fine line, Quinn, between sharing your views and experiences on important topics and oversharing to the point where it becomes disturbing and completely indigestible for readers.”

“Disturbing?” You breathed out a laugh. “So this, a woman’s real, lived experience of men and sexuality and emotional connection is ‘disturbing’, but the piece we let that dick head comedian write back in August where he said Hitler ‘wasn’t such a bad guy’ was okay?”

“It was a joke he made in poor taste and a retraction was published almost immediately.”

“Still made it to print though.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good piece of writing. Because it is. I know you’ve been working on it for months and it shows. It’s important and it’s relevant, I get that. But we have to give readers balance; some escapism, y’know. And that’s the job of our staff writers, to uplift the magazine with stories about celebrities and fashion and lifestyle and-” She sighed. “We have the hard hitting stuff covered. What we need from you is-”

“Fluff.” You inhaled sharply through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I just thought after the Benedict Cumberbatch interview and how well it was received I might finally get to write something with more… substance.”

She let out a single, clipped laugh, shaking her head at you condescendingly. “Quinn, one feature on a big name celeb doesn’t fast track you to serious journalism. You wrote about his films, his love life, what he does in his spare time. It wasn’t exactly an exposé.”

You bit back a retort, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the office through the glass wall. “What did Ellen Ford say about it? The op ed.”

“I haven’t shown her. And I’m not going to.”

“Julia-”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Quinn. I was given this position permanently because I know what I’m doing. Ellen trusts my judgement and my judgement is that this piece is a no go. If you want to write something for the next issue then you can cover the London Arts and Culture Gala tonight. Kate was supposed to be going but she just called to say she’s sick.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers into your eyes. “Why do you keep sending me to fucking galas?”

She tutted sarcastically, pushing out her bottom lip. “Getting dressed up to have free food and drink while rubbing shoulders with celebrities all night, how evil of me.”

You glared at her.

“I hear Benedict Cumberbatch is on the guest list,” she said, a slight snarkiness in her tone. “Maybe you can cosy up to him, get yourself a follow up interview. Not exactly Pullitzer material but hey, it’s another step towards those doors you’re so desperate to open.”

You already knew Ben was going to be there. You wanted to tell her that you knew; that he’d told you about it as you lay together in bed last night - still not having sex, to your utter dismay - and that you’d scoffed when he asked if you were covering it for the magazine. You wanted to punch her for suggesting you cosy up to him, as though he was nothing more than a rung in the ladder of your career.

“The last editorial assistant that suggested I get ‘cosy’ for a story ended up escorted out of here by security,” you said with a cold, flat smile.

She held your gaze, her foot bouncing more quickly now. “I know you like to think the world’s against you, Quinn. But I actually think you’re a good journalist. Hence why I keep sending you to fucking galas…”

You paused a moment before finally giving in and standing up with a huff. “Can I get another dress?”

“I’m sure you have something at the back of your wardrobe you could wear.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and snatching your papers off the desk before turning to leave her office.

The back of your wardrobe had provided you two options: the first was a short, bright chartreuse dress with a boned bodice and sparkly straps. It was awful. So awful that you grimaced when you pulled it out, wondering what kind of fugue state you’d been in when you bought it. But then you noticed the tag was still attached, realising you must have come to your senses and decided to never let it touch your body or see the light of day again.

The second option was plain, black, high neck and sleeveless. It hugged your figure like a second skin, skimming just above your ankles as you stood on your tiptoes in front of the mirror. You wondered why you’d never worn it before. Then you remembered you’d bought it for a funeral, only to get it home and realise your dead uncle’s family probably wouldn’t appreciate being able to see the outline of your arse at his wake.

You put your hair up and did your makeup, feeling pangs of excitement in your stomach at the thought of seeing Ben’s face when you arrived. You hadn’t told him you were coming, much preferring the idea of him spotting you from across a crowded room, having to hide his surprise and keep his cool, to pretend he barely remembered your name. You slipped into a pair of heels, stuffing your ticket and press pass into your bag alongside a notepad and pen, your fully charged phone and the perfume he always complimented.

When you arrived at the Claridge’s hotel, you stepped out of the cab to a mob of flashing cameras lining the carpeted entrance. There was something humbling about being unimportant, being able to weave through a sea of celebrities and influential figures like a ghost as paparazzi screamed for them to stop and pose for photos. It was comforting, almost, to be overlooked.

You made your way inside, the grand hall warmly lit with ornate chandeliers, large round tables covered in pristine tablecloths and floral centrepieces. The room buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and reserved conversation, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne and dainty canapés. You took a glass from a waiter with the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen, unable to resist a glance at his backside as he walked away.

The press table was at the other end of the hall. You took a large swig of champagne and began the long walk, meandering through tables and crowds of famous faces you never got used to seeing in person. Olivia Colman was at a table to your left, close enough for you to reach out and touch her - and you thought about it, just for a moment - but you resisted.

You hadn’t been watching where you were going, an elbow almost knocking the drink from your hand as you walked right into it. You looked up to see an actor you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, his surprise softening to a friendly laugh as he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted by Olivia Colman.”

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” he replied.

He was tall, smartly dressed, with a crooked smile and reddish hair. He’d been in a TV show you watched. Or was it a movie? God, what the hell was his name?

You gave an awkward laugh. “Sorry again.”

He waved his hand, as if telling you not to worry. You smiled appreciatively and turned to walk away, but his voice suddenly made you halt.

“Benedict! How’ve you been, man?”

You glanced back over your shoulder to see him pulling another tall, suited man into a hug, the pair smacking each other hard on the back in that weird way only men ever seemed to do. The corner of your mouth curled, threatening a smirk when you saw the side of Ben’s face.

You tilted your head, waiting for him to notice you. And when he did, it was as delicious as you’d imagined it would be. It began with a flicker of recognition, followed by the slow widening of realisation, his expression changing so subtly that only someone who knew him as well as you did would notice.

He composed himself quickly, giving the man he’d been hugging a final, firm pat on the back before stepping away with a slight smile. You kept your face neutral as you stood in his eyeline, as if seeing him was no big deal, as if you hadn’t spent the majority of your evening fantasising about this very moment; the way his eyes travelled down your body, his jaw clenching as he lingered on your curves. You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow sip of champagne, never looking away from him as he tried to engage in polite conversation.

It didn’t take long for him to excuse himself, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he stepped around him and made his way towards you, his long strides closing the distance far too quickly. You’d wanted to make the moment last, to savour it, make him sweat a little while longer.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and warm as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Benedict,” you replied coolly, giving a slight nod.

He glanced around before returning his gaze to you. “You said you weren’t coming.”

You smiled, giving a casual shrug. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

He gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. Then his eyes flitted down again, taking you in once more. “You…” He trailed off, his gaze returning to your face, and for a second you thought he might lose his composure. “You look… Nice.”

“Nice?” you repeated, feigning offence.

His mouth twitched, his voice darkening. “Very nice.”

You could feel his restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to touch you, to close the distance between you.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re here for the magazine?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking another sip of champagne. “Mhm. Julia, the editorial assistant, completely shat all over my piece, decided I was more useful rubbing shoulders than writing anything of actual substance.”

His brows came together for a moment with a sympathetic smile. “Well clearly she’s an idiot.”

“Tell her that.”

He leaned in slightly. “I’ll tell her, if you want.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, that’ll go down well; getting the guy I’m fucking- sorry, not fucking, to pull strings for me at work.”

He smirked, dropping his head and fixing the cuff of his blazer. “Just say the word.”

“Stop it,” you laughed, holding back the urge to push him playfully in the chest.

“Well I suppose there’s worse assignments you could’ve ended up with.”

“Yeah.” You looked around at the glitzy hall, the man he’d been talking to finding his seat at a table. “Oh my god, what’s his name by the way? It’s been driving me mad.”

He looked over to where you’d pointed before turning back and opening his mouth to speak. But before he could, a sudden presence appeared at his side.

“Benedict, good to see you again!”

You recognised Leo McGrath immediately. He was a documentary filmmaker, award winner, known philanthropist. Yet it was his recent appearance at the Oscars that had shot him to sudden, unexpected internet fame. You wondered what it must feel like, to be so unbelievably attractive that just standing there on a red carpet could send the whole world into a frenzy. To have millions of people suddenly know you, not because of your work, but because they fancied you.

It was true, he was undeniably stunning; green eyes framed by masses of dark lashes, full lips and thick wavy hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, his imperfect teeth giving him a charm that made it hard not to swoon, even just for a second.

“Ah, Leo,” said Ben as he shook his hand. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, it’s been… intense.” He breathed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I can imagine.”

“Well I suppose you don’t need to imagine, you’ve been there too. What did they call you? The Internet’s Boyfriend?”

Ben rolled his eyes, nodding with a laugh.

Leo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lighting up as if he hadn’t noticed you until now. “Sorry, I’m so rude!” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Oh, of course, sorry. Leo, this is Quinn Armitage. She’s a writer for Draft.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he said, looking you up and down, far less subtly than Ben had.

You shook his hand with a smile, catching a fleck of irritation on Ben’s face. “Likewise. And congratulations on your Oscar win.”

“Ah, thank you very much.” He took a step back, his eyes bouncing between the two of you. “So are you here together, or?”

“No,” Ben replied, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the speed of his response. “Quinn wrote a piece on me at the end of last year. We were just catching up.”

“Oh right.” He seemed pleased to learn you were there alone, his interest in you piquing, attention lingering on your face. “So you’re here for work then?”

You nodded, watching Ben’s jaw tighten from the corner of your eye, like he was grinding his teeth. You held back a grin; the sight of him ruffled was a rarity, and you couldn’t help but take some pleasure in it.

“Well you should join me at my table,” said Leo. “It’s near the front, a much better spot for you to get some good material.”

You glanced up at Ben, the slight flush in his cheeks, how hard he was having to work to stay calm. He was jealous. You liked it.

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That sounds good, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you did, meeting Ben’s gaze as you stepped aside and began to walk away. You couldn’t hold back the smirk as you watched his eyes darken, a silent warning etched on his stony, unamused face.

You followed Leo to his table, the weight of Ben’s eyes heavy on the back of your neck. You couldn’t help but feel excited, perhaps even satisfied; Leo’s sudden interest in you was undeniably flattering, and Ben’s barely contained jealousy made it all the more enjoyable.

He pulled out a chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The view was indeed better from here; the stage only feet away, every guest visible with the turn of your head. He took a seat beside you, getting comfortable as he chatted casually to the other people around the table.

Then he turned to you, snatching you out of a daze.

“So is this what you do for Draft then?” he asked. “Report on parties and events and stuff?”

“Well I’m a staff writer, so I pretty much just do what I’m told,” you said, your voice laced with cynicism.

He smiled. “I sense some… unrest.”

“You could say that.” You drank down the dregs of your champagne, twirling the stem of the flute between your fingers.

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head as he looked at you with narrowed eyes, an amused smirk creating a deep dimple in his cheek. “Let me guess, you’re trying to work your way into serious journalism, but all they’re giving you is celebrity gossip and… listicles.”

You pressed your lips together, exhaling a laugh through your nose. “I wrote this piece - it’s my best work to date - put it forward for an op ed but they weren’t interested. Sent me here instead.”

“Y’know, this industry is… brutal. You fight to be heard, to have your work taken seriously, amplified, given the platform you know it deserves. Then you finally get recognised for that work after years and years of graft, and yet somehow it still ends up overshadowed by how fuckable women on the internet think you are.”

“You are quite fuckable though, to be fair,” you replied bluntly.

He dropped his head to disguise a laugh, before composing himself again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He stretched his arm along the back of your chair to lean in closer, speaking quietly. “What I’m saying is that no one in this industry gets anything without going over heads and stepping on toes. It’s a fight. And even when you get to the top, you have to claw at it if you want to stay there. It’s like… the Hunger Games but for losers who watched the news too much as kids.”

You gave a slight smile, allowing a quick glance over your shoulder to Ben’s table where he sat fidgeting with his hands, watching you beneath a heavy brow. You looked down at Leo’s arm draped behind you, your smile quickly turning into a smirk.

You leaned in closer to Leo, mirroring the intensity of his gaze. “So you’re saying the only way I’m going to transition to serious journalism is if I… play dirty?”

“Exactly,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“How do you suggest I do that?”

He thought for a moment, running his tongue across his top teeth. “When I first started making docs, I got turned down by every production company, every channel and network. No one would give me a penny, wouldn’t even agree to broadcast. So I said fuck it, went out there with my camera, whatever money I had in my account and I made them anyway. Then when these companies saw that people actually gave a shit about the things I was documenting, they came running to me.”

“So you’re saying I just go rogue?”

“Potentially.”

“Hm. There’s just one problem with that; there’s this thing called rent, and erm… needing to eat…” you said sarcastically.

He laughed. “I’m not saying you go and quit Draft and start a fucking blog or something. I’m saying… check out. Quietly quit, as they say. Attend the fancy events, write the fluffy articles, do whatever you need to do to keep your affiliation with the magazine and use it to your advantage.” He reached up and took your chin between his finger and thumb, turning your head towards the sea of tables behind you. “See all of these people? Actors, producers, investors. You have direct access to them all right now. You could charm and persuade and get numbers in your phone and your name on people’s radars. And all you have to do in exchange is write a silly little article about their clothes and how they spend their evening.”

You turned your head back to him slowly; his insight like an epiphany, turning the banality of your surroundings to an abundance of possibility. Ten minutes ago this man was a stranger, yet now here he was with his face inches from yours, giving you the best advice you’d ever heard.

“Let me interview you,” you said.

He leaned back, brow furrowed in curiosity.

“What? I’ve made a connection and I’m using it to my advantage.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Fair play. Though, an interview… with Draft…” He scrunched his nose with scepticism.

“I won’t write anything about your looks. Won’t ask a single question about anything other than your work.”

“It’s tempting,” he replied with a hum.

The lights of the hall dimmed as a single, bright spotlight illuminated the stage. A woman stepped up to the microphone holding a stack of cue cards and clearing her throat. Leo turned away from you to listen, and you felt your chest heave with a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. He was intense. Beguiling, even.

“Welcome everybody,” said the woman, her voice creating a screech of feedback through the speaker. She took a step away from the mic with an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you so much for coming…”

Your phone buzzed inside the clutch bag on your lap as the woman continued to speak. You dug it out and opened the message waiting on the screen.

I know what you’re doing.

You subtly turned your head, giving Ben a mischievous wink from across the dark hall.

What am I doing? you replied.

Flirting. Stop it. Now.

Your stomach fluttered as you pictured the tension in his fingers as he typed each word, the firmness of his jaw as he grit his teeth.

Flirting???

Quinn. I’m serious.

Not my fault he fancies me. I’m actually quite enjoying the attention.

As if on cue, Leo turned his attention back to you, leaning in to speak directly into your ear. “What’s so interesting on your phone?” His breath was warm against your skin, his hushed tone filled with playful curiosity.

You looked over at Ben again, smiling as you put the phone face down on the table, turning your attention back to Leo. “Nothing.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I was losing your attention so soon.”

The woman on stage continued her speech, her words fading to a muffled hum as you lost yourself in the game you couldn’t resist playing.

“You haven’t lost my attention,” you said, keeping your voice low. “I still want that interview.”

He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But I don’t think a formal interview is what you really want from me…”

Your heart began to race, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the hunger in his eyes. If this had been a year earlier, you were sure you’d have ended up in Leo’s bed by the end of the night. But instead, you found yourself more thrilled by the idea of Ben watching you; the power you wielded to make his blood boil from across a crowded room.

“What else could I possibly want?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly towards Leo, your lips nearly grazing his cheek.

He let out a low, throaty laugh, his hand sliding from the back of your chair to your thigh. You wondered how far you could take things before your actions became indefensible, before the flirting verged beyond a game and evolved into something less playful.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot of things you want.” His touch was soft yet bold, his fingers tracing swirls that tickled, even through the material of your dress. “Some I might be able to… help you with.”

You bit your lip, unable to hold back a smirk, before leaning in close. “And here I was, thinking you invited me to sit at your table because you wanted to do a good deed for a struggling journalist.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Turns out you just wanted to fuck me.”

He turned his head to look at you, his face so close you could feel his breath. “Can I not want both?”

“You can,” you replied simply. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get it though.”

The room erupted with applause, quelling the tension between you as you turned your attention to the stage. A young woman made her way to the microphone with a guitar in hand. She smiled shyly as she waited for the clapping to fade, before pressing her fingers to the strings and beginning to play.

Your palms were beginning to itch; every speech and performance receiving a lengthier round of applause than the last. You had no choice but to join in with it, no matter how boring or mediocre you thought it was, putting down your little notebook and pen with a quiet groan to bring your hands together in feigned appreciation.

You’d been nursing your second glass of champagne for most of the evening, knowing it was your last and taking small sips to savour it. Julia warned you not to get drunk, and you’d taken offence to the insinuation that you couldn’t be trusted to stay professional. But when you realised Leo’s arm was still draped along the back of your chair, you thought perhaps she’d had a point.

The last wave of applause rippled across the room as the host made her way offstage; the spotlight dimming, chandeliers regaining their warm glow as the atmosphere began to relax, the hum of conversation drifting through the air like a sigh of relief. You skimmed over the pages in your book, trying to decipher the chaotic notes you’d scrawled in the dark when Leo turned to look at you.

“Get everything you need?” he asked, nodding to your notebook.

“Eh, I’ll probably have to employ some creative writing here and there,” you replied as you looked up at him.

He smirked. “You weren’t paying attention to any of it, were you.”

“More than I would have if I were back there at the press table.”

“Well it’s a good job I had a spare seat.”

“Mm.” You allowed your gaze to flit from his eyes to his lips and back again, just enough to keep him interested. “I better do a few rounds, get some quotes from people before they start to leave.”

Mingling had never been your thing, the idea of approaching strangers or interrupting conversations creating a pit of dread in your stomach that made your skin clammy and your mouth dry. Usually you came with someone else; dragged Nick along or found yourself on assignment with another writer who would do most of the talking. This time, you had no choice. .

You moved around the hall, weaving through a maze of tables as you searched for targets. And with each interaction, it became easier. You took quotes from a table of theatre directors, had surreal conversations with celebrities, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to Olivia Colman, the only thing you managed to write down was ‘aaahhhh’.

You took a moment to breathe, scanning the room to see Ben still at his table, deep in conversation with another actor you vaguely recognised. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his usually easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how he kept brushing the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip. To anyone else, he seemed happy, comfortable. But to you, it was clear he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.

You made your way over, navigating the scattered chairs and waiters topping up champagne until you were close enough to hear their voices.

“...and everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said I should do it,” the other man was saying. “But it’s just such a big commitment.”

Ben nodded, his eyes flickering in your direction for just a moment. “It is a lot. But you’ve just got to weigh up the pros and cons…”

He trailed off as you finally made it to their table, turning his attention to you as though he hadn’t known you were coming.

“Sorry for interrupting,” you said as you cleared your throat and held up your notebook. “My name’s Quinn, I’m a writer for Draft Magazine. I was hoping I could steal you for a second to ask a few questions?”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment before returning to the actor beside him. “Sorry.”

“Ah no worries, duty calls.”

“But if you want my honest opinion, I think you should go for it.”

The man smiled appreciatively as he rose to his feet, raising his glass in a mock salute before walking away.

You quickly sat in his place; the seat was still warm, turned towards Ben at an awkward angle. You shifted it further to face him, leaning back with the notebook in your lap.

“Hi,” you finally said, holding back a smile.

“Hi,” he replied, his face calm, tone unreadable.

“So, the question I have for you is…” you flicked to another page. “Do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary-”

“What the fuck was that?” he interrupted quietly, gesturing subtly towards Leo’s table across the hall.

“What was what?” you replied casually, defiantly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he mirrored your posture, leaning back in his chair and lowering his chin slightly, his eyes darkening beneath the shadow of his brow. “His hands were all over you…”

“So?”

“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You cocked your head, widening your eyes to feign innocence. “What was I doing?”

“Trying to piss me off.”

You pushed out your bottom lip. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous-?” He exhaled a laugh through his nose. But there was no amusement in it. Then he lowered his voice. “I was jealous when I saw him eyeing you up. I was jealous when he invited you to sit at his table. But now? I’m not jealous, I’m furious.”

You regarded him for a moment, taking undeniable pleasure in his silent rage. But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, a hand on your shoulder made you still.

You looked up to see Leo standing at your side, glancing down at both of you with a charming smile.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Quinn, my team and I are heading to an afterparty at the Edition. I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

“Oh, I…” you looked at Ben, then back up to Leo. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m still working.”

“Your boss doesn’t have to know…”

You breathed out a laugh. “No really, I think I’m going to be good for once and actually do my job.”

“Or you could come with me to the afterparty and start being good tomorrow…”

“She said no,” Ben interjected firmly.

It caught you off guard, raising the hairs on your arms and sending a shiver down your spine. It was his unexpected harshness paired with a friendly smile, the restraint it was clearly taking him to keep his cool.

Leo seemed taken aback too, turning to him with raised brows and parted lips, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. He eventually gave up with an understanding nod, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card.

“Give me a call some time,” he said as he handed it to you. “If you want, of course.”

You took it with a smile, waiting for him to walk away before turning your attention back to Ben.

“That was rude of you,” you said.

“Sorry… Rude of me?”

You rolled your eyes and slid the card between the pages of your notebook.

“Are you really keeping that?” Ben asked.

“He’s a documentary maker, I’m a journalist. It might come in handy.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he continued to glare at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking when you said you were furious…”

“No. I wasn’t. I told you the mind games and manipulation wouldn’t fly with me. I told you that.”

“You are taking this way too seriously.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his movement sharp, teeth clenched. “Too-” But he stopped himself, pressing his lips together and looking around the bustling hall as he slowly reclined again. “We’re leaving.”

You furrowed your brow as you watched him stand up. “Did you not hear what I just said? I’m working, I can’t leave yet.”

“I said we’re going.”

You hadn’t seen him like this since the first night you met. You’d almost forgotten he was capable of it; the hard angles and stern tone, the dominance of his demand sending a flutter through your core. The thrill of it was undeniable, but his anger was palpable, making you stutter as you tried to speak.

“Ben, I’m- I’m not-”

“Now.”

You yielded with a sigh, shoving everything into your bag and tucking it under your arm as you rose to your feet. Your heart was pounding as you began to follow him, almost tripping over the leg of your chair as you went. He didn’t speak as he made his way to the exit of the hall, his fist opening and closing at his side in a steady rhythm, face brightening with a polite smile whenever someone greeted him as he passed.

He gripped your wrist as you neared the exit, leading you out into the large, echoing foyer. The indelicacy of his touch surprised you, flooding you with a fleeting rush of panic, like a child preparing to be scolded once their parents got them home.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, your quick, uneven footsteps struggling to keep up with his long strides as he walked you towards a quiet, hidden corner.

“Don’t you need to tell people you’re leaving?” you asked. “Like your publicist or whoever you came with?”

“I came alone,” he replied, stopping once you were out of sight.

“Really? Why?”

“Because I drove here.” He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the paparazzi as they waited outside. “You’re going to go and wait for me by the car. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.”

You did as you were told, emerging into the mild spring night and slipping through the chaos with ease. When you got to Ben’s car, you waited with your arms folded over your chest, watching from a distance as an explosion of camera flashes illuminated the darkness like fireworks.

You pressed your lips into a straight lined smile when he finally reached you, hurrying around to the driver’s side without a word. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. You raised onto your tiptoes to look at him over the top of the car, breathing out a laugh when he almost scowled back.

“Are you seriously still annoyed with me?” you asked.

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I can barely look at you right now.”

He slipped into the car and pulled the door closed. You paused for a moment before deciding to climb into the back seat instead.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want to look at me,” you replied brattishly. “You don’t have to if I’m back here.”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Get in the front.”

You thought about defying his demand, but you quickly gave in; choosing to clamber arduously over the centre console instead of getting out, purely to annoy him that little bit more. You settled into the front passenger seat, turning to look at him as you dragged the seatbelt across your chest.

He drove in silence at first, the journey ebbing and flowing between heavy traffic and dark, deserted streets. You’d been waiting for him to speak, but with each silent wait at a red light, you found yourself growing impatient. He turned his head towards you, and you glanced back at him hopefully, only to realise he was looking past you, checking the road was clear before driving across it.

You huffed. “Fine, you win, I apologise for flirting with the sexy man, alright? Can you stop acting like I slapped your mum now?”

“You really don’t get why I’m pissed off, do you.”

“He was just giving me career advice-”

“Career advice? What career advice requires him to touch you like that? To whisper in your ear, run his hand up your thigh?”

You couldn’t resist; the old Quinn taking over with a shrug and a surly glare. “I was just having a bit of fun-”

A deep growl rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Nothing about that was fun.”

“Maybe not for you…”

“Quinn. I swear to god.”

You threw your head back and let out a groan. “It was flirting, Ben. He clearly fancied me and I took the opportunity to tease you, wind you up-”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure you got no pleasure out of it whatsoever,” he quipped cynically.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Y’know, it’s almost like I haven’t gone the past four months without sex because the man I’m seeing refuses to touch me anywhere below the fucking neck. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been masturbating so much I could give a teenage boy a run for his money; forgive me for indulging in a bit of physical affection for one night.”

“So you did like him then...”

“No, Ben-” You stopped yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and letting out an exasperated breath. But when you composed yourself again, your brows came together in sudden realisation. “Actually, what if I did?”

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at you in confusion.

“What right would you have to tell me I couldn’t flirt with him? Couldn’t let him touch me?” You sat up straighter, turning your body towards him. “What if I wanted him to do that? What if I enjoyed sitting with him and decided I wanted to go to that afterparty? What authority would you have to tell me I couldn’t?”

He rolled his eyes.

“What if I went with him? Danced, drank, let him take me home, undress me, kiss me…”

Your words were getting to him; crawling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he was trying to shrug the image away.

“I mean, you said it yourself to whatshisface back at the gala; I’m just Quinn, the journalist you met once back in November. Why would you care who else I fuck?”

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car into a layby with a sudden stop. It was dark, void of streetlights, thick trees lining both sides of the road. You jerked forward as he broke, the seatbelt pressing firmly against your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Ben.”

He shut off the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “You know full well that neither of us want people to know about this. You don’t get to use it against me to justify flirting with someone else.”

“I flirted with him to annoy you. Clearly it worked… A bit too well.”

“But why? Why would you think I’d find that amusing?” His voice was raised, his hands moving in time with his words.

“I didn’t. I thought I’d find it amusing.”

He growled, letting out a hot angry breath through his nose. “You are the most infuriating fucking person.”

“Then why have you stuck around for this long?”

“Why have you? If taking it slow and doing things right has been such a fucking chore for you then why are you still bothering?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance, unclipping his seatbelt to lean in closer.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you know I’m the only man who’s ever been able to handle you. Who sees you for who you really are and likes it.”

Your heart began to race, your back pressing against the passenger door. He was right, and you hated it.

“Because even though I haven’t touched you in four months, you still aren’t bored of me.” His voice was dangerously soft now, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because even as another man threw himself at you tonight, you still found yourself looking for me.”

“So if that’s what you think, why do you care that I let him touch me?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Because I don’t like watching someone else touch what’s mine.”

You swallowed hard, your defiance faltering as his words sank in. He was so close now, one arm outstretched along the back of your seat, the other holding back the urge to reach out and touch you.

Your eyes flitted from his face to his crotch then back again. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you…”

His gaze flickered with something dark, primal. He exhaled slowly, the angles of his face sharp with anger, partly with you, but mostly with himself.

A rush of excitement flooded through you as he reached out to cup your face, pulling you into a sudden, intense kiss. You could feel his possessiveness; the way his lips moved with a firm pressure, tongue sweeping impatiently into your mouth.

You fumbled for your seatbelt, unfastening it quickly and letting it snap back against the door, your hands immediately snaking around the back of his neck, pulling yourself into him. His hand dropped to your side, his touch rough, almost painful as he pressed and squeezed his fingertips into your waist. You felt him pulling you closer, his body radiating a heat that almost made it hard to breathe. His hand travelled lower, pushing up the material of your dress and allowing his fingers to graze the bare skin of your thighs. He ran his palm over the place Leo had touched, as though he was cleansing you of it, wiping it away and replacing it with his own.

You’d been starved for so long that even his hand on your thigh made you tremble, a soft moan escaping your parted lips as he kissed you. The sound stirred something in him, and in moments you found yourself straddling his lap in the driver’s seat.

He was hard. You could feel it straining beneath his trousers, pressing against your centre as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths hot and heavy, anger and lust fogging the windows like steam. You rolled your hips, the steering wheel letting out a short, loud beep as your backside knocked against it. But neither of you paid it any attention, giving in to the fevered, passionate release you’d been denying yourselves for so long.

His hands settled on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed himself against you, the friction drawing a satisfied groan from his throat. You’d missed those sounds, the way it felt to have him desperate to fill you. But you knew he was losing himself, intoxicated by his own frustration. You were in a car, parked on the side of a quiet, winding road. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and you weren’t sure it was how you wanted it to be either.

You broke away, letting your head fall back as he began traipsing hot, hungry kisses down your neck. “Ben,” you whispered breathlessly. “If we go any further I won’t be able to stop.”

You felt him pause, his lips still, breath tickling your skin.

“This isn’t how you wanted it to be,” you said softly, masking your disappointment. “We need to stop.”

He lowered his forehead to rest on your collarbone, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with lust.

He pulled away from you, his hand lingering on your waist for a second longer before finally letting go. He sat back, his head tilting against the headrest as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.

You slid off his lap, climbing back into the passenger seat and fixing your dress. You looked over at him, watching him in silence, fearful of what awaited you when he finally opened his eyes. You’d spent four months wanting nothing more than to see him break, to give in to you, and if it were anyone else, you would have taken full advantage of this lapse in judgement. But you couldn’t.

The silence was awkward, moonlight casting a soft glow through the steamy windows, your slowing breaths providing the only sound. When he finally looked at you, there was a clarity in his expression; his jaw softening, eyes rounding.

“Thank you,” he said.

There was something about the way he said it, like your restraint had renewed his faith in you, shifted something inside him.

You nodded slightly, reaching behind you for your seatbelt.

He nodded back, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before finally starting the car again. The engine rumbled and he leaned forward to wipe the windshield, using his sleeve to clear it.

The tension remained as he drove, but it was different now. He was no longer angry, and you no longer cared to push his buttons. After a while, you gathered he was taking you to his house, and it filled you with a sense of relief you couldn’t quite explain.

The road was empty, quiet, yet still the traffic light turned red. He slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the gearstick as he waited for it to change.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “About Leo. I really was just teasing you. I never would have-”

He reached out and took your hand in his without a word, giving it a gentle squeeze. You relaxed back into your seat, looking down at your intertwined fingers as they rested in your lap.

*Reader Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

#benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic writing #benedict cumberbatch x oc #benedict cumberbatch x you #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch smut #benedict cumberbatch fanfic #Benedict Cumberbatch fanfiction #smut #smut writing #lemon #fanfic series #ao3 fanfic #the feature

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months ago

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ignore me for a second because this is literally just going to be insistent nonsensical rambling but what i really crave more than anything else currently is a story dissecting tom riddles one fundamental flaw; his inexperience/inability to feel selfless, genuine love.

i have, for the most part, written my tom very removed from canon but i just feel like a story surrounding this could be so beautiful if articulated right. i think of how i wrote mattheo in beg for me—he was so reluctant to let himself feel love because along with it came fear; fear of abandonment fear of vulnerability fear of what it could mean to have something worth losing. tom’s fear would be tenfold.

i don’t know if i’m crazy but i just need that angst from him right now. i love self assured emotionally detached composed tom riddle but a tom riddle who finds himself enamoured with you to the point he’s wishing he never met you because he misses the man he was before you—the restrained man with nothing to lose—yes, the thought of that does something to me.

not to mention i’ve been listening to sleep token nonstop and if these lyrics don’t fit tom then idk:

“I’m not here to be the saviour you long for, only the one you don’t.”

i love this line and i feel as though this would be something tom says to you as you’re attempting to push him away. such a prose fits him so well because he’d be trying to tell you that he may not be the hero in your story but his presence is still significant in its own right. he’s never claimed to be the good guy but that you could gain something from him you may not realize yet.

“I’ll take a pound of your flesh before you take a piece of my paystub.”

a threat spat through a clenched jaw and hunger blown pupils. uttered from the lips of a lying man who knows he’d never lay a finger on you and would kill anyone who dared to try. he’s still in denial of his feelings, you’re in denial of yours. the two of you so alike you’re destined to butt heads.

“Turn me into your mannequin and I’ll turn you into my puppet queen.”

tom often presents himself as someone willing to be molded to gain trust. it’s different with you because you know this. you’ve accepted it. you need eachother—you feed off eachother—you’d be a fool to ignore it. he uses you for one thing and you use him for another. you can’t fall victim to his tricks if you know that’s all they are. surface value. mutual manipulation.

alright i will stop rambling. i’d love to write this but i don’t think i could ever do him justice.

#slytherinslut0’s yappin #i’ve decided to rewrite all of tiyp because i’m just not happy with it #and now my brain is here #tomriddle #i love him beyond words #harry potter #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tomriddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tomriddle x reader #tom riddle x yn #tom riddle x you #tom x reader

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lewinblue · 5 months ago

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Put It On me || Harrison Knott

A/N: I haven’t written smut in a while so please give me some grace. If you like it please let me know!

Warnings: It’s smut. It’s public but no one is around.

W.C: 2.7+

Summary: You weren’t expecting Harrison to remember your interest in this song. Especially not in this moment.

You had moved to California two months ago and only recently met Harrison through his sister a month ago. When you had first wandered into Lost & Found with your friend you knew that her brother worked there. You hadn’t expected the immediate spark that sizzled in the air when you were left alone with him as Chloe browsed through the store.

“It’s an empty cassette,” Harrison had answered when you asked what it was that he was fiddling with in between helping customers. “I’m waiting for the right songs to put on it.”

“You know you can just download Spotify or something write?” You teased him as you gently took the tape out of his hands and looked it over.

You had only ever seen cassette players in your parent's attic or at record shops. You had no idea people still made mixtapes.

You didn’t try to stop the smile of endearment at the thought of the attractive boy in front of you making a mixtape.

He snatched it back from you playfully as a new song came over the speakers in the store. It took you a second to place it. For the past hour you’ve been in here waiting around for your friend and pestering her brother, every song has been calm. Songs that you could listen to and lose yourself to as you sat on the beach.

You couldn’t name those other songs, but you did know this one. Put It On Me by Matt Maeson, is not a song that you would have expected to play in here but one that left a smirk on your lips.

“This is the first song I’ve seen you react to since you came in here,” his blue eyes on your face felt more intense than they were a second ago and you could feel your cheeks heat up a bit. “You like this song?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. You only knew him for less than two hours and somehow his blue eyes swam with mirth and something darker and more intense.

“Of course I do. Haven’t you listened to it?” You asked, looking up from the counter and scanning the store for your friend, trying your best to not look back at Harrison. Without looking at him you said somewhat shyly, “I don’t know if it’s a song I’d play in a public store, though.”

The man hummed and when you didn’t look back at him he finally said, his voice deeper and rasper but his smile still present. “Where do you think this song should be played then?”

It took you a second but when you looked back at him, you paused. Your mouth was dry and you knew you looked flustered under all of his attention. Thankfully before the silence stretched too long, Chloe came rushing back up the front declaring that she couldn’t find what she wanted and that the two of you should stop at the new coffee shop before heading back to your shared apartment.

You only nodded and pulled your bag up higher on your shoulder. You were about to say your goodbyes to Harrison before he jumped in before you could, “actually, your friend was about to give me her phone number.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and he only smiled devilishly at you and handed you a pen from behind the cash register. When you looked for a piece of scrap paper, Harrison slid the empty cassette player over to you and tapped the front for you to put your number.

You ignored your squealing best friend as you did and only let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when you finally returned the pen and walked out of the record store.

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to have one more look so quickly you turned back to see if you could see Harrison from where you were walking away with Chloe only to see him already looking at you. When he caught your eye, he winked playfully and waved your phone number as a reminder that he would be calling you.

That chance meeting (or set up if the mischievous twinkle in her eyes told you anything) had only happened two weeks ago and already you had spent most of your time with Harrison. If you weren’t with him physically then you were talking on the phone and if you couldn’t do either you were thinking about being with him.

It made you giggle like a child with a schoolyard crush but you couldn’t deny that you were down bad for him already.

Harrison seemed unlike most of the men and general people you had gotten to know since moving to California. He loved to surf and he loved music but it didn’t feel fake or like it was for show. You could tell by the way he talked about music that he loved it. It didn’t matter the genre, the singer, or the decade. He always had an opinion on it and if he didn’t he would listen until he did.

I’m such a short amount of time you felt like you had gotten to know him better than most people you had known for years.

Still, over the past two weeks and the handful of times the two of you went out nothing went further than a kiss. Chaste at first but this last time after he dropped you off at your apartment the way he held the back of your neck and your waist in a strong grip to hold you tighter as his tongue finally danced its way into your mouth left you hot under the collar. At that moment you wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs to your bedroom and not let him leave until you were both spent. Tired, spent, sweaty and giddy.

So when he finally pulled away, you hadn’t thought twice before grabbing onto his blue t-shirt and trying to pull him back to you. His laugh was low and charming and if you stood there any longer you could have sworn that you would have melted right there.

Harrison grabbed your hand that was fisted in his shirt and brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. Never letting his baby blue eyes leave yours.

“My sister’s home. I just saw the bedroom light flicker and I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to come in tonight with her here.” He said. You could tell he was trying to calm you down but it was clear that he was just as riled up as you.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You said. You knew it was a lie and so did he. He leaned in again to nuzzle your cheek and kiss your jaw. “We could just hang out”

He kissed the beating pulse on your neck before pulling away. “I promise you, if I move one step closer to that door I won’t be able to just “hang out””

You kissed him once more and nodded. Accepting that things wouldn’t be going further tonight.

“Tomorrow,” he said, as he finally backed away. “I’ll take you to the cliffs by the ocean at sunset. Just me and you and the waves.”

You smiled happily, not thinking about how your fingers grazed where his lips touched your neck. “Tomorrow.”

Sitting on the roof of Harrison’s car overlooking the crashing waves was picturesque, to say the least. Even after settling down here you still hadn’t made the time to really take in your new surroundings.

The way that the sunset over the waves and the warm breeze that blew your hair gently felt like Heaven. It all came together when you remembered the man lounging beside you and the sounds of the song playing from inside the car.

and I fall to pieces (Bitch)

I fall to pieces when I’m with you

(Why?)

Cause I love you so much

I fall to pieces

My cherries and wine

It felt like something out of a film.

When you finally pulled your eyes away from the water to look down at Harrison who had his face angled up to the sky, showing off the scruff on his chin and neck. You bit your lip to stop yourself from leaning in to place kisses on his neck and jaw.

“You enjoying the view?” Harrison questioned quietly.

You knew that he wasn’t talking about the oceans or the rocks. He knew you were looking at him and you couldn’t deny it. He was handsome and hard to take your eyes off of. He was kind and funny and had a good taste in music. He was intoxicating and in this moment there was nothing more that you wanted than him.

You hummed I’m agreement and when a slow smile spread across his face you couldn’t stop yourself. With his eyes still closed, you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips before murmuring against them, “The best view in all of California.”

When you pulled away his eyes opened and you were met with his blue eyes. Dark with what you could only define as lust.

He didn’t say anything as he looked around to make sure that the two of you were completely alone. You watched as he slid off of the roof of his car.

“Stay there for a second,” he called as he jogged to the driver’s side door and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Harrison was already back and grabbing your ankles, causing you to giggle, to pull you to the edge of the car roof as a different song started to play from the radio.

You didn’t have a second to process the lyrics or the song as his lips connected with yours. The kiss was hard and desperate and full of need and when he finally pulled away, you were breathless.

“We’re finally alone,” you said quietly and you were surprised that he heard you over the waves of the ocean.

His large hands slid up your thighs and under your dress slowly as he kissed your collarbone and smirked before saying, “That we are.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. You didn’t really want to say anything else, you just wanted to feel Harrison’s lips on yours and his hands on your body. He must have felt the same because, with a small nip to your bottom lip, he slid his tongue into your mouth.

Between the grip he had on your thighs and the way his tongue played with yours and licked into your mouth, you felt like a gourmet meal that he was tasting.

The whine that left your lips when he pulled away wasn’t something you were aware of until you saw him smile and then kiss your nose softly.

“Lay back for me,” his tone was firm and gentle at the same time. Your heart was racing and you could feel the dampness pooling in your panties as you did as he said.

Thankfully, you decided to wear a dress tonight because it made it easy for Harrison to pull your underwear down your thighs and put them in his back pocket. You would blush if you could but you were sure at this point you couldn’t turn any more red.

His eyes never left yours as he grabbed your thighs and spread them wide, putting your wet cunt on full display for him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing. You knew you wanted this for a minute now and now that it was finally happening it felt overwhelming.

You bite the inside of your cheek and listen to the waves and the familiar song playing and Harrison kisses the inside of your thigh. The softness of your skin and the roughness of his stubble made you squirm in the best way.

Then, nothing.

You were certain that you might have given yourself whiplash as you whipped your head up to look at him. He chuckled at your reaction before saying softly but loud enough for you to hear him clearly, “I’m just making sure that you want to do this.”

Barely a second passed before you nodded your head enthusiastically, “God, you have no idea how much I want this Harrison.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, baby.” With those words he dragged his middle finger through your slit, collecting the wetness that was there before pushing his digit in.

You sighed in relief and dropped your head back down. Forgetting that you were on the roof of a car for a second and rubbing where you hit your head. Harrison laughed and gave you an inquisitive look before you confirmed you were fine.

Believing you he dropped his own head down and pressed kisses across your waist and your thighs as he flexed his finger inside of you. Almost as if he could read your mind he slipped another digit into you and he nipped gently at your thigh.

The feeling in your core was no longer relief. Tension was building and you needed him. Needed more of him.

You tugged on his t-shirt and whined his name. “Harrison, please fuck me.”

You felt a stuttered breath across your stomach and a falter in his strong fingers at your words.

“Baby, trust me, I want nothing more than to spread those pretty legs of yours further and make you take my cock but I didn’t bring a condom and I want to hear how you sound as you cum before I ever bury myself in you.”

His words made you groan and buck your hips. Just the thought of him fucking you was enough to bring you closer. You had to remember to buy a box of condoms tomorrow because after this Harrison was going to have to call into work for at least a week.

Just as his fingers found that sweet spongy spot in you, that was the moment that Harrison finally put his mouth on you. He licked the wetness on your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit.

He ate your cunt like he kissed. Desperately and like there was nothing else he wanted to do.

Your hands found their way into his sandy brown hair and held tightly and you ground your hips against his face. His moans and groans vibrating against your most sensitive parts were enough to make you moan louder than any wave that was crashing against the rocks below. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

The tension inside you just kept building and when Harrison wrapped his free arm around your thigh and pulled you closer to him, as if you weren’t close enough. You came with a loud moan. Twitching under him and pulling his hair until you could compose yourself enough.

At some point during your orgasm, you must have closed your eyes because when you opened them again, Harrison was standing straight again with a cocky smirk and he wiped his mouth of your juices off with his fingers only for him to stick them back in his mouth and groan.

“You taste divine,” his words were closer to a growl than anything and when he leaned in to kiss you, he flicked his tongue against yours so you could taste yourself. It was obscene and downright delectable.

It took you both a moment to collect yourselves and when you saw the time on his watch you knew that there was no more time for fun because it was late, later than you two usually stayed out and you both had work tomorrow.

When you slipped back into his car after trying and failing to get him to give you your panties back you finally put your seatbelt on and played with the radio while he started the car and pulled off.

It was only after you realized he had a cassette tape in that you thought to press eject and see which one it was. You must have looked surprised when you looked down and saw your phone number and inside the song written down ‘Put It on Me’ by Matt Maeson.

“You didn’t think I forgot the first song you introduced me to did you?” Harrison laughed, “And trust me that song that was playing before is definitely going on here too.”

You laughed lightly and put it in his center console.

“So what I’m hearing is that you plan on making a sex mixtape.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

#harrison knott x reader #harrison knott #press play #my writing #harrison Knott smut #lewis pullman

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moremaybank · 1 year ago

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BACK FOR YOU — r.c

day four second chance with rafe cameron

pairing rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary months after your failed long distance relationship, rafe begins to send you love letters in an attempt to win you back.

warnings one allusion to sex closer to the end, but nothing else. just a lil angst and hella fluff. oh, and some language.

author’s note hi my loves, i’d really appreciate if you read this because i haven’t written a piece like this in a very long time and i’m actually really proud of it ♡︎ thank you ily

obx week ‘23 masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

Dear Y/N,

Hey. I know it’s been awhile, and I know that it’s weird — writing you like this. But something happened the other day, and I wanted to tell you about it.

I was in the grocery store with Wheeze, picking up some cupcakes for her class bake sale because none of us actually know how to bake (which you know). When we got to the bakery section, I saw chocolate-covered strawberries, and I immediately thought of you. Remember how we used to go star-gazing? We’d pile the back of my pickup with pillows and those thick-ass, furry blankets from Costco, get all cozy, and you’d bring those chocolate-covered strawberries that you’d spent the day making just for me. You’d feed ‘em to me, grinning when I’d instantly chase your hand for another bite. And then afterward, you’d cuddle into me, and we’d just lay there, looking at the stars. You’d get this wondrous look in your eyes, like you’d never seen anything so beautiful. I had though. I got to look at you every day, and you beat the stars by a long shot.

Anyway, I ran into your mom at the club earlier. She told me that you were travelling, visiting every place you possibly could in Europe. Sounds like you. I bet you went to Greece first, you’ve had an obsession with it since you were fifteen. I know I always talked about taking you there. Who knows, maybe I still can.

I miss you. Did I mention that? ‘Cause I do. I miss you all the time.

Yours,

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

You didn’t answer that last letter, and that’s fine. I understand why. I never said how sorry I was for everything that happened last year, never really explained. But I will now.

I’m so sorry for how I ended things. Every day, I woke up at school, far away from you. It ached me to not wake up to you. To not see you every second of the day. To not hold your hand or see you smile as soon as you saw me.

I missed everything. The smell of your lavender shampoo. Your hands running through my hair when I was stressed. You’d always kiss the frown off my face and fix everything just by telling me you loved me. The nights you’d call me when you couldn’t sleep because you needed to hear my voice. That cute little giggle you’d do after you’d been laughing for awhile. The way you’d look at me when you told me you loved me. There wasn’t a single reminder of you that didn’t constantly play on a loop in my head, that didn’t buzz deep in my veins. But I felt such a large void in my heart without you around, and I thought that if I broke things off with you that it would go away. But in the months since then, it’s only grown. Only gotten worse. I don’t think I’ll ever survive losing you.

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope you open it, and maybe decide to write me back. No pressure, though.

Yours always,

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know if you’re getting sick of these. I really hope you aren’t. I gotta admit, writing to you makes me feel like we’re still connected. I still think we are. At least, on my end, we are.

Life’s been really crazy, lately. Ward’s getting ready to hand Cameron Development over to me. Every day he tells me that he hopes I won’t run the damn thing into the ground while he’s gone, travelling with Rose. I honestly don’t know why he would let me run things when he obviously doesn’t have an ounce of faith in me. You always told me that his love didn’t have to be earned, and I’ve always known that you were right, but it really feels like I’ll never have it. I wish you were here. You always make things better.

Anyway, I’m on the road to Raleigh, and I can’t help but think about our crazy road trip last summer. We had no freakin’ clue where we were going, but honestly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with you. Your infectious laughter and your terrible singing along to All Too Well (the ten minute version, obviously) is what kept me going that entire drive. That, and when you’d shower me with kisses all over my cheek when you got bored. I loved that shit.

I’ve been missing you like hell. I’ve already said this, but I really wish you were here. You’d make all this work worth it. ‘Cause, as of right now, I don’t really know why I’m doing all this. You aren’t here, and we don’t have the family we’d always dreamed about. Hopefully that changes in the near future.

Yours (until my heart stops beating),

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

A little birdie by the name of Sarah let it slip that you’ve been keeping my letters. Truth is, I sent her to spy on you.

Okay, I didn’t. But I had you for a sec, didn’t I?

I only know you have them because I begged her for hours to tell me how you were doing, and if you talked about me. Even then, I had to bribe her by saying I’d babysit the kids for an entire weekend so her and John B could go on a couples getaway. Totally worth it.

Oh, and they threw me a party at work. Apparently I beat out Ward for some record. I don’t even remember what it’s called now. I had so much cake that I went into a sugar coma. It was red velvet, cream cheese icing. Your favourite. That’s probably why I ate so much. You’d go back for it so many times that by the time you were full, I’d be finishing all the rest.

You still haven’t written me back, but that’s alright. Do it when you’re ready. If you’re ready. Again, no pressure.

Anyway, I’m sitting here on my couch watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, I finally got around to watching it. I know you begged me to for ages and we never actually got the chance to do it, but it popped up on my ‘recommended’ the other day and I decided to give it a try. You were right. This show’s freakin’ hilarious. I swear Lorelai Gilmore is the reason you were always so witty with me. She’s so quick on her feet, it blows my mind. Also, please tell me that Rory becomes enjoyable again. I miss her Chilton days. I miss her and Jess. Does he ever come back? And please tell me that Luke and Lorelai are endgame. I mean, the horoscope!!! The man waited eight years for her. People probably thought he was crazy for doing so, but I get it. I’d wait centuries if it meant I got to end up with you.

Yours (until the end of time),

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

I’ve written you so many letters, I hope I’m not taking up too much space at your place. Hey, that rhymed. I should be a rapper. All right, I could never be a rapper. This is why I need you. You keep my delusional mind in check.

The other day, I was on the ferry, riding over to the mainland, and when we reached, I swear I almost started driving to your house. Obviously, I didn’t. I chickened out. I thought about walking up to your doorstep, watching you open the door, and even dream-you was way too beautiful for me to handle. I almost gave myself a heart attack. One day, though, I’ll work up the courage. I wanna see you so badly, it’s killing me.

Can I tell you something? I have this dream sometimes, more often than not. It takes place back when we were still in college. Instead of ending things between us, I drop everything and run to you. The journey takes all day long, but I don’t care. I make my way to you, and once I find you, I pull you into my arms and kiss the life out of you. You ask me what’s gotten into me, and I respond by saying that I never want to live without you. That being away from you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with, and that life isn’t worth living if I’m not by your side. I get down on one knee, pull out a big ass rock from my pocket, and ask you to marry me. And you say yes. Every. Damn. Time.

The reason I’m saying all this is because I want to give you a fair warning. I’m going to make that happen someday. Sure, we aren’t in school anymore, and we aren’t even together right now, but I don’t care. We’re going to end up together. I know it, and you know it. I promise you, Y/N, I’m going to come back for you. And when I do, I’ll never leave you again. The only place I ever want to be is right by your side, in our huge house that I’m going to build for us, with our kids running around and chasing our dog. The house will smell like a bakery all the time because of your huge sweet tooth, and it’ll most likely be a mess because we won’t be able to keep up with our crazy ass kids. But we’ll be together. And we’ll stay that way until we’re all old and grey. And I might be pushing it by saying this, but I’ll still be taking you to bed every night, ‘cause I know in my heart that you’ll still be getting me all bricked up even in our nineties. Please don’t hate me for saying that.

Yours forever,

Rafe

You placed the last letter back into its envelope and added it to your large collection. Your heart warmed at Rafe’s declaration. You’d been rereading that one letter for a month now. You missed him terribly. You’d tried to write to him so many times, but each time you’d started, you just couldn’t go through with it. Your fear consumed you. You were petrified of the thought that once you opened yourself up again, Rafe would find another reason to leave you. You’d always known that it was hard for him to walk away from you, but it hurt you just the same. If not, more.

Still, this was a side of him that you’d never seen before. He’d changed in the near year since you’d broken up. You could tell from the way he wrote to you. He’d never been as vulnerable and raw as he had been in those letters. He was bearing his soul to you, something he was always unable to truly do. There was always a small part of him that was closed off, even to you. But that part seemed to have vanished.

Just as you placed the crate of letters back on your shelf, your doorbell rang. Your heart raced as you approached the door. You opened it, and there, finally, he stood.

Rafe slapped his hand to his heart. “God, I was right. Way too beautiful. Take it easy on me, would you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you threw your arms around his neck and practically jumped into his arms. He returned your embrace quickly, squeezing you tightly and keeping you pressed to him as one hand cradled the back of your head.

After a moment, you hesitantly pulled away, your tears clouding your vision. You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafe beat you to it.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. I—”

You cut him off. “—Shut up and kiss me, fiancé.”

“Fiancé? Yeah? You wanna marry me?”

“Of course I do. You’re still mine, right?”

“Yours,” he confirmed, punctuating it with a kiss. “Always.” Kiss. “Until my heart stops beating.” Kiss. “Until the end of time.” Kiss.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he let out a content sigh. “Forever.”

RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE!): @surftrips @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @wildflwrdarlin @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @jjsbank444 @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @darleneslane @sya-skies @ellabellabus07 @emmalandry @madelynie @urbestieboo @cruzgrecia @l1lactheflower @rafegirly @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @gillybear17 @obaex @abbybarnesstuff @mattyskies

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jealousjersey · 10 months ago

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖”come home”⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

☆ tags // mike schmidt x reader, loser!mike x dom!gn!reader,

☆ mentions // mike is a needy loser who begs for your attention, dick sucking, edging, cum drinking, reader doms mike, angst, fluff, smut, needy and desperate mike, reader has like wrapped around their finger., missionary, unprotected p in v (wrap it) minors dni 18+

☆ a/n // i still love writing for mike schmidt this is heaven ty lou

your work has been consuming you, working long hours, barely coming home on time, sleeping all until your next shift and just being busy. your boyfriend, mike, hates it. he hates that you’re never home, he hates that he never sees you, and he hates that you two haven’t had sex in weeks.

he’s been a brat about it ever since you took more hours, and he never took the time to realize that you’re only working so hard to provide for things he’d want, i mean, you are the house breadwinner. ever since his pizzeria secrurity job ended you’ve had to work since he couldn’t get hired anywhere.

as you’re working you get texts after texts from mike. “are you gonna be home on time?” “i miss you.” “i need you it’s been so long” he spams you.

god, he’s so needy. you roll your eyes at the text. if he doesn’t chill the hell out for atleast 3 more hours you’re going to loose your mind, does he not know that it’s hard for you too?

as the hours go by you think of ways to surprise him. maybe some lingerie? maybe a new toy for you two to experiment with? maybe some flavored lube? the possibilities are endless. you count down to the second you get off your shift, simply texting mike “wait up on me, i have a surprise.” as you clock out and go to your car.

you arrive at the nearest mall and get a cute lingerie set from the Spencer’s located within. a black lacy bra with a golden heart charm between the breasts, the bottom piece is a black and lacy with “baby” on the butt written in rhinestones. you knew he would love it but you didn’t expect him to like it as much as he did.

as you’re getting back in your car to drive home, you get a sudden rush of excitement. wondering how he’ll react at the site of you. you even put on red lipstick to top it all off. as you arrive at home, you change into your new set in your car, it fit perfectly around your shape. you swiftly but your work clothes back on. you still need this to be a surprise.

you enter the house and throw your keys on the kitchen table. you walk into your room and mike is waiting patiently for you, god his bulge is showing just by the thought of you coming home.

before he could say anything you strip as soon as you get through your door, watching his eyes gaze at your body in your new set. giving him a spin around so he could see your rhinestone covered ass.

mikes eyes widen at the site of you, a wet spot already forming at the tip of the tent in his sweatpants. “oh my god” he says softly as he stares at your figure.

you stand in your set in front of him, your fingers dancing across your chest, driving him crazy. you get on your knees in front of him and bring his sweatpants down, followed by his boxers. pulling them down just below his balls. his dick springs out of his pants, hot and red at the tip with precum pooling out.

you leave one kiss on his tip as your lips take in his precum. leaving the red lipstick kiss mark on his dick. he immediately groans at the sensation, feeling better than he has in weeks just by the expectation of you giving him head.

but you’re not giving in that easily. you kiss and lick around his shaft, but never long enough for him to get a release from it, your lipstick leaving red stains all around his hard on.

“please suck, i’ve been thinking about it all night please” he pleads with almost tears in his eyes from the overstimulation. it’s so cute seeing him like this but who are you to say no to his request?

as per his request you start, you wrap your red lips around his tip and his hand pushes your head down, it’s almost insulting but god, it’s so needy of him and that drove you crazy. you fully emerge yourself around him and he lets out a sore whimper.

you gag on his dick as you’re sucking, he throws his head back and keeps his hand on the back of your head, gripping on your hair. his dick twitches in your mouth signaling he’s close to cumming. “m’gonna cum” he moans, only the whites of his eyes showing. as his words hit your ears you stop, red lipstick covering the shaft of him.

he looks devastated at your action. “please let me cum, i’ve been waiting so long.” he begs. it’s almost cute how desperate he is for you. you want to keep going for him but you stop yourself. “now is it really fair if you get to get off and i don’t? is that fair? i’ve been waiting just as long as you have.” you say

you push him back on the bed, his dick springing up, tip still red and sensitive. you wrap your hands around him, feeling the warmth of him.

you basically rip your panties off of yourself, positioning yourself on top of him, sliding his dick inside you, grinding on him as you look him in the eyes. “you look so pretty when i’m overstimulating your dick. so, so pretty.” you say as you place a hand on his cheek

he moans your name as he places his hands on your hips, so tightly that you’re certain it’ll leave bruises. you want that, the pain would be a reminder of this amazing night.

your hair flips around your neck, your face flushed with a pink tint and sweat beaming off your forehead. his dick assaults your walls as his tip brushes your gspot causing you to let out a soft moan of his name. his fingers make their way to your clit, moving soft circles along it, making you pant soft sounds.

mike almost cums on contact with your body, but he knows he has to stop himself. he has to make this good for you. he has to make this last as long as he can. “fuck, i’m gonna cum mike.” you whimper. he speeds up, hitting your gspot with each thrust he leads you to bounce on.

“m’so close” you whimper, his fingers bring themselves to your chest, god he loved it so much. especially in that new bra. his teeth graze your nipples, biting them so softly but it feels so much more intense this way. so intimate, yet so dirty.

“can i cum now? please” he moans. how could you say no? “cum in me, please cum in me” you say, and he does. leaving thick white pools in you, the warmth making you shake as you finish, as you remove yourself from on him, you pour out a mix of both of your releases. he brings a finger to your wetness and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on them. he loves the taste of you.

please come home earlier next time.

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xbomboi · 5 months ago

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i wonder if people actually realize that darling and dexter being twins was a retcon

if it were up to me, they’d have always been presented as twins from the start, because that’s just way better imo, but i’m not CEO of Mattel so it’s NOT up to me and we have this weird inconsistency.

i mean, first of all, the start of the tv series already includes that weird period of time where darling just straight up Does Not Exist because at the end of the day this is just an extended toy commercial and there wasn’t any toy to advertise yet.

when darling WAS, however, introduced into the show, she strangely interacts with DARING more than she ever does dexter, despite her closeness to the latter that’s established as early on as her doll’s diary. my personal guess as to why that is has to do from the show capitalizing heavily on darling’s princess charming gimmick of being a girl who’s a knight, and as a result, benefited from portraying the fact that she and daring are, in a way, foils to each other.

anyway, when darling’s doll released, her bio listed her birthday as November 16th. dexter’s birthday had already been established as the 11th of February, so at this time, darling was not intended to be his twin.

and we can see this further shown by the word choice in darling’s diary. she refers to daring as her “oldest brother” and then goes on to refer to dexter as her “older brother”. which, sure, a twin can be older than the other, but in her doll diary, she’s gonna call him her twin if they want us to know that they’re twins.

i’m not sure exactly when the earliest instance of any official media referring to darling and dexter as twins was, but if my memory serves me correctly, i believe it was a post from the official Facebook that had stated they were twins. again, don’t quote me on that.

this discrepancy is important to me as someone who has to constantly fact check lore and timeline of events, because it very much so impacted Ever After High media released prior to the twin retcon’s ability to hold up. as far as I can remember, a good amount of the books were written under the initial status of darling’s birthday falling on 11/16 rather than 2/11 with dexter, the Susanne Selfors books coming to mind in particular. but i could be wrong, because i’m not going to reread all of those books just for this post.

the updated birthday for darling ended up being the one they stuck with. a brief scroll on the official Ever After High Instagram page will show as much, with birthday posts for dexter & darling on the same day. there is the tidbit of information that dexter is still older by a few seconds (not sure if this was ever officially stated, i’m only going off of the wiki for this one detail), but i honestly think that’s only included as a way to try and rectify the past instances of darling or possibly anyone else referring to dexter as her older brother.

as of today, it seems like everyone understands darling and dexter to be twins, and if they are familiar with the past retcon, they prefer the twin change and are glad it was made. i’ve never witnessed anyone say anything like “ugh, i really wish they wouldn’t have made darling dexter’s twin and kept her younger!!”.

still, it’s interesting that it happened. i call it what it is: a retcon. and most people hear that term and associate it with negativity. which, to be fair, in terms of writing, it more often than not absolutely is. but in this isolated case, despite it making some of the supplementary pieces of media for the series confusing (though the show and books/diaries take place in a different continuity anyway), i see this as a good thing. right off the bat, it makes less sense to me that the Charmings would intentionally go on to have not just one but two other children individually after daring with him being the successful golden child they wanted. it makes more sense that they decided to have one other child just for the hell of it and happened to end up with two.

also, and i don’t have the source for this so i’m just going based off of memory, apparently the grade-level cut off isn’t in the fall in the Ever After High universe, because daring, dexter, and darling are all intended to be in the same grade according to what i believe was one of the writers or producers or something of the sort for the tv show. and i make that conclusion about the cutoff not being in the fall because daring’s birthday is April 2nd, and since he’s older than dexter & darling, they’d have been born in February of the following year, meaning in order for them to be in the same grade together, the grade level cut off couldn’t fall anywhere within the roughly nine months gap between April to the next February. which, if you’ve done the math, you’ll have realized must mean that either the cut off for the next grade either falls sometime late February anywhere after the 11th, is on the 1st of April, or is any day in the month of March.

darling being in the same grade as daring and not a grade (or two) below also makes daring and rosabella work considering that, being her roommate, rosabella would be in whatever grade darling is in, and were she to be anymore than a grade below daring, there’d be a questionable age gap. not to mention with darling herself and apple. jesus. so it’s definitely a positive that’s not the case. and to anyone who may have been confused before, this is also why dexter can room with a character like hunter, because he too is in the same grade.

or maybe this is a show for babies and nothing matters.

#can you tell the extra work i’ve had to put in for the css has got me thinking #because it has #eah #ever after high #darling charming #dexter charming #daring charming #charming siblings #charming twins #rosabella beauty #apple white #hunter huntsman #ramble #info dump

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elspethdekarios · 2 months ago

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Atonement

Hello fellow Solavellan sufferers!!! I've written a little fic about what I imagine goes down between Solas and Lavellan once the game is over. I'll have you know I listened to the Lost Elf Theme on repeat while writing it, if that tells you anything. Anyway, read below the cut or on AO3 here!

SFW, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2,821

! HUGE VEILGUARD SPOILERS !

When she stepped into the Fade, hand in hand with her love, Sulah had no preconceived notion of what to expect on the other side, nor did she spend a moment speculating about what it could possibly be. She was with Solas, after all, and there was no use in trying to predict his actions. It was funny, really—how she found him predictable and surprising all in the same. No, there was little use trying to guess where in the Fade he would lead them. Nonetheless, she wasn't sure she would have ever expected this.

The pocket of the Fade they walked into was dull and gray as stone. In fact, most of it was stone. Fragments of buildings and debris floated slowly through the foggy sky above. Tendrils of winding roots grew up through cracks in the stone. There were staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere, and twisted, barren trees clinging to broken columns and walls. The air was so still it felt stifling in Sulah’s lungs. And Solas, downtrodden and bruised, looked like he belonged there. Like he was part of the backdrop. As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke.

“It is a reflection of what I am. What I don't want to be.” He paused, dropping his head. “What I don't want to face.”

“This is how you atone?”

“I told you it would be terrible.”

“And I told you forever.” Sulah turned to him, heart aching for the bloodied mess of his face. “I meant it.”

Solas lifted his head enough to look at her through glassy, violet eyes. “I don’t deserve you, vhenan.”

“I think that’s up to me,” she said, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. “Let’s talk, my love. Before you start making your amends.”

They sat with their backs against a nearby stone wall. Solas’s eyes alternated between being heavy with sleep and haunting despair. He looked so much older than she remembered him—not physically, really, but in the way he seemed to be held down with millennia of burden. On the other hand, he had the heartbreaking demeanor of a child unable to emotionally grasp the multitude of his feelings.

“I don’t know… where to start,” he breathed. With one look at her, a hint of hope glimmered amongst the sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you. Desperately so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Sulah’s voice cracked as she spoke, a stream of tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away and smiled sadly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

His kiss tasted of salt and metal. She didn’t care about the wounds on his face or the small gash on his lip still swelling with blood. It had been a decade since she tasted him, touched him, spoke to him. Even though she knew he visited in her dreams, he never made contact—only watched, a dark figure in the distance. How she longed to reach out for him every time, to pull him close and find solace in his arms like she used to. Sulah crawled in front of him, her knees aching as they pressed into the cold stone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a brief hesitation, Solas rested his hands on her waist, his touch timid at first, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. But his touch grew more confident by the second, and soon his arms were wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. It felt as if a missing piece of her heart had been restored, held in place by molten gold.

“I don’t know that I can possibly tell you all of it. Perhaps I could… show you, instead.” With a single thought, Solas willed into the Fade a blue crystal statuette of a wolf, not unlike the one Sulah found when his ritual failed. He held it, concentrated on it, and its core radiated bright blue magic. He held the figure out to her. As Sulah took it from him, their destitute surroundings swirled and dissolved, leaving her in front of a young Solas. His face was not quite so worn with pain and exhaustion like the one she knew. Long, auburn hair cascaded down the center of his head, falling over his shoulder as he turned to face the other elf in front of him.

“Solas, how could you?” the other elf asked. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, and his face was marked with Mythal’s branching vallaslin. The same branches that Sulah had tattooed underneath her eyes.

“I do not expect you to understand, Felassan,” Solas said, standing tall and proud as ever. “It was necessary for the enemy to believe we were committed. A heavy sacrifice, but one that gave us a real chance to end the war.”

“You knowingly sent those spirits to their deaths!” Felassan shouted. “We’re supposed to be better than this.”

Felassan spoke to Solas with the intimacy and confidence of a close friend, unafraid to confront his wrongdoings. Sulah could make out a hint of remorse in Solas’s eyes before his face hardened into a scowl.

“I did what had to be done.”

The scene dissipated. Ruins were replaced with the glorious landscape of ancient Arlathan, sprawling greenery among grand, floating palaces. Solas argued with an elven woman who Sulah now recognized as Mythal. She was identical to the spirit fragment she had seen before stepping into the Fade with Solas, only solid and real. The words they spoke were jumbled, as if Solas couldn’t remember the exact things said when he transferred the memory to the statue, but Sulah knew what they were discussing all the same: the Blight. Solas protested, pleaded with Mythal, before finally giving in to her demands.

“I will follow you always,” he said. Sulah had never heard him sound so defeated. A distinct and overwhelming sense of shame settled over her as the scene faded.

The memories continued like this, one after the other, each one brief but enough to show her the actions that haunted him. And enough to leave her with thousands of questions. She saw his regrets from centuries ago—memories of Mythal, Elgern’an, Ghilan’nain, the other Evanuris. She saw him destroy the legacy of the titans, and the corruption that introduced the Blight to the world. She saw his sorrow at the creation of the Veil, the loss of the world he knew, the unbreakable tether he had to Mythal, similar to a commandeering mother and a child eager to please her, desperate for her approval. She saw his plans to give Corypheus the orb go awry, the conflict raging inside of him as he fell in love with Sulah, the way he almost told her the truth that night in Crestwood. She felt the guilt he carried afterwards—that he still carried. She saw him devise his devious plan to mold Rook into someone the prison would take in his place. His betrayal and desperation.

She saw the despair in his eyes when he killed Varric.

Sulah stood on the raised platform where Solas orchestrated his ritual, watching as Varric climbed the stairs in an attempt to stop his friend. Even in a memory, the air was charged with powerful magic, culminating in a swirling wind that blew her hair into her face, obscuring her view. She could only make out fragments of the argument.

“You need to listen—”

“You have come a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric—”

“—able to give me a straight answer—”

“—rather than admit this is mine to solve—”

“—who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

Varric’s last statement stung like a knife. His words echoed as time slowed. Sulah felt the heavy burden of self doubt imbued in Solas’s memory as the two men locked eyes, their argument hanging in the air between them. In a chaotic flash, several things happened: Solas turned to continue the ritual, Varric attempted to pry the lyrium dagger from Solas’s hands, and the monuments of the Evanuris surrounding the ritual site began to fall. Somewhere in the chaos, while wrenching the dagger back from Varric’s grasp, the blade pierced through his chest. The sound of ripping flesh. The gasp from Varric’s mouth.

“NO!” Sulah shouted. Time had slowed, and she rushed to catch him as he stumbled, forgetting that it was no use. Her arms moved through him like a ghost.

Solas watched his friend fall to the bottom of the stairs, regret bubbling up inside of him at what he’d done. And still, the sense of doubt from Varric’s words lingered, sullying Solas’s certainty as innocent blood seeped through the fabric of his gloves.

He steeled himself with cold resolve and turned away.

The gray of the Fade prison came back into view. Sulah felt like she had been in Solas’s memories for hours, but neither her body nor his had moved from the ground against the wall. He watched her with bated breath, his jaw clenched, eyes glossy with fresh tears. Moments ago, she watched him command a rebellion, steadfast and resolute and proud. A powerful god among mortals. But the Solas in front of her now held little of the immense ancient spirit she’d seen. He was only a man, broken from the weight of his regrets.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, vhenan. Not even your understanding.” His voice broke, his next words spoken through a sob. “I am so sorry that I let you fall in love with a monster.”

Solas hugged his knees to his chest. His hands shook and his body trembled as he cried. It was pure, raw, searing emotion—and it was the first time she had ever seen him lose control of himself. Sulah had been lonely for years, yearning for the man who felt like home while sleeping cold in an empty bed, but she’d never felt as alone as she felt now, sitting in the vast emptiness of the Fade with a god shedding centuries’ worth of repressed agony that she could never possibly comprehend. He was the one who always seemed to know what to do, who had a plan for everything. He was the one more familiar with the Fade than the waking world. But he was also the one who had to face his regrets. His pain. And he had already proven that he couldn’t do that on his own.

“Solas,” she said, quiet and sad. “You killed Varric.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked through tears.

“I… I knew he was gone, but no one…” she trailed off, thinking back to the letter she received from Morrigan shortly after she met Rook and the others. Varric was gravely injured in an altercation. He did not make it. I am sorry you have to find out this way. “No one told me it was by your hand.”

“They were protecting you,” he said. “From the truth of what I am. Perhaps they shouldn’t have done so.”

Sulah sat in silence, trying to piece it all together in her mind.

“I never meant to hurt Varric,” Solas whispered. “I have harmed so many people, innocent people, and Varric… Varric….”

He stopped speaking and rested his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall on his armor.

“My love—”

“How can you possibly still love me, Sulah?” he snapped, a wolf showing his fangs. “I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me here. You do not.”

“Solas—”

“Would you truly—”

“Let me speak,” she said, stern and commanding. Her Inquisitor voice, the other members liked to call it. It worked. Solas nodded for her to continue. “To heal from your past, you have to confront it. It will be painful, but you must. Tell me about Varric.”

Solas sighed and let his head fall back to the wall, the apex of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Varric was a good man. He was my friend.” He closed his eyes and Sulah watched as a single tear ran down his bloodied face. She tried to hold back her own tears, but they streamed warm down her cheeks nonetheless.

“What would you say to him if he were here?”

“That it is one of my greatest regrets, one that I desperately wish I could take back. That I enjoyed his company on our journey years ago, and that I have missed him in the years since. And that I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Like a prayer, the final words escaped Solas’s mouth in a despondent whisper. In the distance, a structure resembling the skyline of Kirkwall crumbled. Sulah recognized it from her visit several years ago. She had only made it to Kirkwall once in the time that Varric was viscount, a position he reluctantly accepted, but one that she always suspected he secretly enjoyed. He took her to the cliffs of Sundermount, where Dalish sometimes set up camp. It looked remarkably like the area of the Free Marches her clan frequented before she left.

“I thought it might remind you of home”, he had said.

“I came here to see* your *home, Varric.”

“We’re doing that too.” he pointed across the water to the silhouetted, square buildings.

She smiled at the memory and let herself cry as the Kirkwall replica became an avalanche of stone plummeting into the abyss. When its final, broken pieces fell, Solas turned back to her and took a long breath. She looked at him, attempting to reconcile the Solas she knew and loved, the Solas in front of her now, with the Solas she saw in his memories. There was a cruel pride deep inside of him, one he tried to keep from her for so long. She could see it now, and it was fractured.

How could she possibly come to terms with all he had done? He had taken Varric away from this world, a man who, despite his faults, brought hope and friendship and humor into the world around him. She could feel the empty, aching shells of all the hearts who missed him—including her own. There were more adventures to be had, more books to be written, and Solas took it away. Away from Varric, away from the world. Sulah couldn’t bring herself to consider the even larger things he had done. The man she loved was responsible for the Blight. He tranquilized the Titans. He murdered his friends—sometimes on accident, sometimes for what he considered betrayal.

Sulah steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing in and out of her lungs. She let the world fall away until she could feel nothing but the essence of her soul spreading into her limbs, making her weightless. If Solas was a spirit of wisdom, what was she, deep down? A word stirred somewhere in the depths of her heart: patience.

“This is going to take a long time, vhenan.” Solas’s words roused her from contemplation.

“Yes,” she said. “For both of us, I think.”

For the first time since reuniting, he touched her of his own accord, studying her prosthetic arm with gentle fingers before resting his hand on her thigh beside it.

“It’s a good thing time doesn’t exist in the Fade, then.” Sulah placed her remaining hand on top of his. “To answer your earlier question, I choose to still love you despite your mistakes, Solas. I love you because I tried to move on, to meet other people, but none of them could touch whatever piece of my soul that you do. Every person I tried to give my heart to was a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. And I had to reconcile with myself that I love someone who would tear the world apart for his own stubborn pride. I know your heart, Solas. You are more than your mistakes.”

Sulah felt as if a small part of the rift between them had stitched itself back together; a fragile scar translucent and deep, but healing nonetheless. For a moment, the insurmountable hurdles she would have to help him overcome fell away. It was just the two of them, together in the Fade like all those years ago. She knew how the world would see them: the lovestruck Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. The cautionary tale of a Dalish girl who fell right into the jaws of Fen’Harel himself.

“Sulah,” Solas reached for her face with both hands, holding her like he had to be sure she wasn’t a mere reflection of his desire. “As long as you will have me, I swear to you: I will never abandon you again. You will have me, always.”

His kiss was soft, but charged with intention. Devotion. As they broke apart, he pulled Sulah into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“Ar lath ma vhenan. Bellanaris.”

#dragon age #dragon age fic #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard fic #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #datv #datv spoilers #datv fic #solas #solas spoilers #solas fic #solavellan #solavellan spoilers #da fic #my writing

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moonyinpisces · 8 days ago

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Hey I probably totally could’ve just left this as a comment on ao3 but I’ve had the browser closed for about a few hours at the point after reading the newest update (and I’m kinda afraid to reopen it back to the fic,) with 30 minutes immediately proceeding reading it spent laying exactly where I had been up into the ceiling and simply reflecting. It hasn’t left my mind since.

Oh. My. God.

Whenever this fic updates, for the last like 5 chapters I somehow unknowingly have this sudden compulsion to go and see if it had updated recently, and just happen to have this thought occur on the exact day or day after you update again. Never in my life have a read a fic so so so so good that I have a sneaking suspicion that the universe itself is somehow leading me back to read it.

Ever since I was lucky enough to happen to find a rec of it somewhere updated around the 7th chapter (and proceeded to spend the entire day, from around 10am to 8pm reading the entire posted story, only breaking for a single microwaved meal and completely forgetting to ever bake my bread dough I had prepared before knowing my life would be altered) I have genuinely held more thought for this fic than anything else I’ve ever read.

I have laughed aloud. I have exclaimed and yelled at them through the goddamn screen. I have genuinely sobbed more times than I’d like to ever admit (a bit more for these for the last few, and for this most recent update…… 😬😬😬 let’s just say it was a rough time in a wonderful brilliant way.) Never before has a fic affected me so so so so so so so so so much.

Speaking of the fic itself, mentioned appallingly late in my message of absolute adoration for your writing, I think it is the most well written piece of media that I have ever read. Yes, that genuinely includes the original Good Omens book, which ranks at a close second. Every single character you write is absolutely three dimensional and genuinely sososososos interesting, like an entire world of their own. One of my favorite things is your imagined progression of characters like Adam from when we see them in the show to this current timeline. Older Adam’s personality just seems so…. right?)??????? And of course, our main duo and their evolution throughout the course of the story. The in-depth progression of their characters, relationship, and understanding (both of themselves, each other, and the readers understanding of each of them) is absolutely stunning.

Actually, that might be an understatement. I could use a near infinite amount of words: jaw-dropping, beautiful, stellar- but none of them would be able to truly express how absolutely wordless and indescribable (perhaps the closest one could say would be ineffable?) the absolute wonderfulnessnof your ability in that regard is. That, combined with your absolutely intricately woven plot constantly leaves me both simultaneously shattered and forfilled and joyous and devastated at every twist and turn.

That combined with your word choice and structural ability? You not only know how to weave marvelous concepts and ideas but write and execute them absolutely flawlessly.I remember after the last update with Things Kinda Beginnjng To Fall Apart in chapter 19 where as times gets more choppy and everything gets more distorted, the small details leading up to the bigger ones worked perfectly to create slight confusion yet not outright “wait this is wrong” before things seemed to click, just eerily getting more and more off. Do you know how smooth that transition has to be for me to not outright stop to question when Aziraphale says to Crowley “you should get a car” and Crowley’s like “Nuh uh, death traps” and just feel extremely uneasy and yet have absolutely no waver in continuing to lead??? And all ending up to Dogs grave and where everything super MEGA wrong and so much time is gone and kwcwlcwivekckdck!???????! I know I’m just reciting your OWN plot back to you but point is THE WIRITJNG WAS GENUINELY SOSOSOSO AMAZING

What really made me really finally write this after the hours spent reflecting on this fic was the most recent update. I have genuinely been unable to stop thinking about it since the last update, and I just. My heart is broken and yet I’m the lightest I’ve ever been with the ending, even if I’m still recovering from the rest. My heart genuinely broke slowly more and more as I realized Aziraphale was Highkey RIGHT and reflecting more and more while reading about how even though Crowley doing everything to save him in the end it’s just kinda spending the little ttime they have apart and???))) I totally understand him and his desperation but at the same time I wanted to SHAKE him just like I imagine Aziraphale kinda wanted to at times to open up his eyes from the tunnel vision!!!!

The gloves??????????? And the market????? And the COTTAGE?!)))!?????? I know I’m just causing things that have happened but every single thing that happens in this chapter is just so major and so so so sososos evocative and I can literally visualize literally everything in my head which is so hard to do sometimes with my autism. And I can see it all sososossososo clearly which is genuinely something I can never do.

I cannot describe to you the tenseness and despair and bitter sweetness (however one would experience/react to bittersweetness? Not sure of the word) that I felt as the time slowly ticked down in the very final stretch, when they finally were able to just spend the time they had left together OTGHETER (not to mention Aziraphale KNOWING that he will come back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) that I felt leading up to the midnight bell. I genuinely had my phone in one hand and the collar of my shirt bunched up in the other to continue to wipe away the constant watery tears that threatened and blurred my eyes to prevent me from reading (which I refused to let deter me even for a SECOND) as they said their goodbyes before MURIEL COMES IN WITH THE (metaphorical) STEEL CHAIR!!!!!!!!!!

And the sudden shift wasn’t jarring in any bad way and I literally started pumping my fist in the air in an empty room and cheering YEAHHH LETS GOGOGOOOOOO LET S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO when Muriel came in for the win. And the shift to hope? To joy? To the familiar lightheartedness and determination that they’d lacked in the face of something so grave for so long???????? You have set things up for the absolute most rewarding turn and fight back to the finish that I’ve ever read. After chapters of setting up the stakes, of making everything (in the best way) so incredibly hopeless and dark and dreary and unbeatable and intimate and lovely, the catharsis of the relief of FINALLY having their fate in their hands again and that fighting chance (quite literally now) has been one of the most amazing feelings ever.

I am being literally so genuine when I say I don’t even think I felt this strongly watching the final fifteen in the actual for the first time. I’m so so so so excited and ready for the next update and to be able to finally cheer for them again as a kickass team, a group, a group of the two of them (+Muriel my beloved) to save the goddamn universe AGAIN!!!!!! I’m so so so excited for some straight up action (as much as I’ve absolutely enjoyed getting my heart ripped out and stomped on for the last few chapters, and the decisive business and bold decisions before those) and genuinely can’t wait to see what these upcoming final two chapters bring 🫶🫶🫶 thank you sososossooso much for writing that absolutely wonderful piece that will haunt me for years to come and be solidified as one of the best works I’ve read not just in fanfiction, but ever.

oh my god. sorry i've been sitting on this several days, i actually read it pretty much immediately and have been routinely rereading it over and over this entire week. from the bottom of my heart, thank you SO much for your kind words and for your enjoyment of hdwtotl. you taking the time out of your day to write this just to let me know you're enjoying the story is unreal, i cannot express enough how much i appreciate you and probably the nicest words i've ever heard from anyone regarding my writing. the fact that this feels like a faithful continuation of the canon is nothing less than an honor. i really feel like all the sleepless nights and weekends full of writing and rewrite after rewrite have all been made worth it :'-)

normally i would answer this privately, but i'm a bit selfish and want this to forever be available to read on my blog whenever i want to <3 never hesitate to shoot me a message

#hdwtotl #yes i cried. yes i'm currently crying again. what about it

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the-100-days-of-junkan · 2 months ago

Text

Day 50

Wow. fuck it’s weird to think we’re halfway there. 50 fucking days of Junkan . . . How’s everyone holding up?? I’m still writing these in advance so I have no idea if Future Jem is holding it together having to wait day by day for these, especially as we enter the period of the project where a lot of our favorite pieces come in.

So anyway “No Regrets” There’s the fic again for if you haven’t read it and are interested.

There is a LOT to talk about with this one. So much that I’ll likely put this in a read under once again. I’ve got history, fun facts, scrapped(?) ideas, and memes.

Let’s start with my history with writing in general. Because the biggest thing that comes to mind with this fic is that it was the first time in Four Years that I had ever written something.

When I was, say, around 15 or 16, I entered the Death Battle Community on Deviantart (I swear to god this is relevant and I won’t take too long). It did a lot of things for me, it gave me a source of income when I was confident enough to open commissions, it helped me make a small amount of close friends (eventually leading to even closer friends), is the community that introduced me to Danganronpa in the first place, and it’s where I first started writing.

Now obviously, what I was writing were fights between fictional characters, most often to the death. With some attempt at a logical outcome for the match. And the account is so old and untouched that it still has he/him pronouns baked into it. I still have a lot of pride in some of the work I did on that account despite the equal amounts of dumb bullshit, grammar issues, and a severe lack of proofreading.

But shock of all shocks, Rocky Balboa fighting an Anime Character (yes that’s really the last thing I published online, it was like 40,000 fucking words and it made someone cry allegedly), is a far cry from a fic about Junko Enoshima really wanting to swap spit with Mikan Tsumiki.

Suffice to say, I was very, very nervous about writing again. However I’m a woman with too many ideas, and not every idea can be done through just drawings alone. Especially with how I was doing things at this point. This wasn’t the first time I had desired to try writing fanfic, I still have a RWBY x Kamen Rider W fanfic haunting my brain to this day. But it was the first time I had felt so tempted. However as you might have gleamed over time whether through these posts, or talking to me personally, I have a severe lack of self esteem, ESPECIALLY when it comes to writing. And it was even worse at the time of this fic. This was the biggest roadblock for the it.

However, Junkan broke me once, causing me to draw Angst shipping art for the first time. So it only makes sense that it would break me a second time, making me write a god damn fanfic. And I made plenty of memes about this too, which i’ll post in order of creation.

As you can tell by that last one I was fucking nervous as hell making this, which is understandable since it’s completely new territory for me in a medium i hadn’t touched in years. However, enough friends who also liked DR seem to be into it, so I was able to post it.

My AO3 account was of course originally a secret because at the time of this fic being made I was still deeply paranoid over anyone knowing I shipped Junkan. Now granted CJ is kind of an obvious alias given y’know, it’s just the initials of my fuckin main account. However it does require that someone on AO3 also have a Tumblr account and also be aware of a chick named “Carbonated-Jem” who at the time was drawing a suspicious amount of separate Junko and Mikan art.

Last thing before I talk about the actual fic. This was posted February 4th. Which fucks with me because I’m pretty certain that means that the first 50 Days of this project (reminder that most of the colored ones were after the fact) were made before that date. Half of this project was done in One Month at most. How the fuck did I do that????

Okay. So the fic.

The idea was simple at first, what if Mikan saved Junko from dying at the end of DR1. And then it spiraled from there.

This is not something I plan to talk about on this blog or anywhere but the privacy of my friend groups very often. But I am not a big fan of Danganronpa 3, I have very little nice to say about it, but my biggest issue with that Anime is it’s handling of Mikan. I do not like that Mikan was boiled down to just being whatever that was in the anime, since while I’ll never say that it was definitely a perfect relationship even with what we had teased in DR2, I think there’s a lot of nuance to the way Junko and Mikan described their relationship (moreso Mikan since last I remember at most Junko just made heavy implications that she broke each class member one by one with unknown methods). So seeing it be . . . that in the anime, just never sat right with me. If it were not for events that will be discussed later in the project, I would have been fully adverse to this ship as a result.

As you can see now I’m not only all for the ship, I’m dangerously brainrotted over it dsljfhsdlaf. How things changed.

Point is, regardless of whether you like DR3 and how it handled this dynamic (In which case, more power to you despite my lack of understanding), I had less than fond thoughts toward it. So you can kind of see this fic as also like, a way of me trying to do something more productive with that negativity rather than just wallowing on it.

I’m gonna be real until Mikan jumps in to save Junko I don’t feel very strongly about the intro. You can very much tell this was my first time writing in 4 years, and not just that but it was me writing Junko for the first time rather than drawing her, and to take it EVEN FURTHER this was at the time the closest I had ever gotten to depicting the canon versions of the characters rather than Non-Despair takes on the characters like I was for every pic before and after this. Which yeah spoiler, beyond I think 2 instances later (there MIGHT be more) everything in this project is non-despair in nature.

You can probably still look at a lot of the art as like, just them dating Pre-Tragedy I suppose? But that’s up to you and your suspension of Disbelief.

Tangent, sorry. Back to it where was I.

Oh yeah, so I don’t know when the hell the idea for the Neo-World Program being implemented came in. But when it did that’s when I had like a solid vision for where I was going.

I think originally Junko wasn’t going to enter the program alongside everyone else? But the more I thought about it, it was like the only sure way that she could get what she wanted in the end. Since if Mikan came back reformed, whether with partial memories or nothing at all it’s a hard sell to think Mikan would be willing to go back to Junko outside of the specific circumstances that brought them together in the first place (that said i can’t say the idea of Junko trying to win her back isn’t interesting). I’d find it more likely for a full reformed Mikan in this context to like, get with Hajime or Ibuki.

So I threw Junko into the program as well, despite my concernsI did actually have a lot of fun writing the interactions. Not just Mikan (we’ll get to her in a sec) but also with Makoto.

Writing Junko’s first moments in the program was my favorite part though, from what I remember at least. Especially once she starts giving Mikan her full attention. And that’s where we finally get to the art piece.

So here is the singular fun fact about the art. Junko had the bear clips originally, but I realized after the fact since the Neo-World program put the cast in their outfits prior to becoming Remnants, it’d make more sense to give her the bunny and bow clips instead. So I edited the art at some point to make that more clear.

Anyway here’s the interesting part. There was in fact a time where this was going to be a series.

The original intention was always a Oneshot, but you know how the mind tends to wander, it was inevitable that I’d be tempted to think about what else could happen in this timeline.

It would have mostly been a Slice of Life series, more rom-com elements. Focused on the developing relationship between Junko and Mikan, essentially kind of recreating how they first met and fell in love, albeit with less of the evil girlfriends stuff.

Another part of it is that because Junko’s plans are on a hard hiatus till she gets off the Island, and more specifically because of Mikan’s influence on her in these very specific circumstances, the NWP actually does start reforming Junko on some level. I’ve always loved the idea that Mikan could have the potential to help Junko become a better person, whether it’s a Non-Despair AU where that means she just stops being a bitch to everyone (or at least mostly stops), or in Canon where she ponders that maybe starting the apocalypse isn’t the best course of action.

I did plan to try and write the rest of the DR2 cast, which admittedly was a roadblock because I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do for characters like Nekomaru for example. I’ve only really latched onto a small handful of the overall cast of DR, so i’m severely lacking in my ability to write most of them. I did plan for Junko and Chiaki to become besties though, I feel like under a normal context Junko would just think Chiaki was really funny.

So it would have mostly been romance and shenanigans, one way I thought of to just give random little plotlines for Mikan and Junko was the MonoMono machine. Have Junko just get a bunch of coins and gamble away at the thing getting random items. And then said items just make the plot for the chapter.

That idea is what made me think of the other half of this fics equation.

So you know how there’s a fucking painting of Junko made during the Tragedy??

First off, missed opportunity to have that be a “Love” item for Mikan, would have been great foreshadowing.

Second off, actual point. I was like “how the fuck is junko gonna react if she sees this??” So I realized that while I wanted to have this overall fic have a lot of fluff and shenanigans and Junko kissing Mikan. There is in fact the elephant in the room of what’s outside of the program.

So, why not have Junko by some means start remembering reality, and realizing everything she’s been responsible for. Most importantly, killing her sister and killing Chiaki (yeah I would have kept Chiaki being a real person and not just an AI, partially just cause I think that’d hurt Junko more), and then having to cope with all of that because by that point Mikan would have unintentionally helped to make Junko a less apocalypse hungry person.

And beyond that I don’t think I had any plans to show like, the aftermath of the program working. Partially because I feel like that’s reaching a level of writing I’m not mentally strong enough to pull off properly, partially because I think keeping it vague similar to how DR2 did it would have worked.

Now all that said, on some level I would try to like writing that story. There’s just a lot of hurdles I’d have to get past first. Not just my normal “Writing makes me want to slam my head into the wall” issue, but also stuff like-

How do I write the other characters when I have very little experience with them?

I actually have to make a plan for this one, I can’t just wing it like I did for the Vampire AU.

I have to write the Canon version of Junko for a big stretch of it and as I already established I barely grasp how the fuck to do that.

I just have other things I want to do which includes other writing.

So if you’ve made it this far into my inane ramblings, would YOU dear audience like to see this fic? I can’t say for sure how soon it would be assuming the response is positive, but I wouldn’t be opposed to making the attempt if there’s even mild interest for it.

Anyway, thankyou for your time! Hopefully will be awhile before I yap this long again.

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

#danganronpa #junkan #junko enoshima #mikan tsumiki #enomiki #junkomikan #junko x mikan #enoshima junko #tsumiki mikan #shipping #fanfic #fanfiction #AU

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