#also finally warm lighting instead of always being lit by moonlight!
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Being Alive Sucks
08. Respite
Lineart and base colours done by @aurantia-ignis.
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Caves, Gladion thought with a wince, were obviously nowhere as comfortable as a bed.
Still, they were a better choice than being caught out in the open, in the sunlight, where Moon would be vulnerable and it'd be far too easy to be surrounded. At least it offered some security. Their campfire was angled towards the entrance, where a large rock in front of it provided an adequate shield for the sunlight from leaking through- a fact that the vampire he was travelling with greatly appreciated. This deep in the forest, they'd be able to hear any attackers before they appeared, and the narrow entrance also meant that Gladion could mount a sufficient defense against potential intruders while Moon slept.
But despite their arduous trek through the night, Moon was, unsurprisingly, not exhausted at all.
"Vampiric stamina," she said when he groused about how she looked the peak of health. She grinned, her fangs showing. "Winded, Gladion?"
He grunted in response, trying not to bristle under her gaze. The fire between them shone an eerie light into her gray eyes, sharp and cold. It was the one feature that always betrayed her- despite her dainty frame and elegant clothes, there was no disguising the predatory look in her eyes.
Gladion didn't very much appreciate being prey. Not from his mother, and not from Moon. But if he had to choose one or the other, well... at least Moon wasn't out to kill him. Yet. And of course, there were other... benefits.
He flushed at the thought, but the circumstances- and the hard ground underneath him- quickly snapped him back to the present. Moon was still watching him, and with a telling smirk, she winked at him. With a huff, he glanced away, back to the barely visible cave entrance.
It was probably past midnight, maybe sometime into the early morning. After travelling for most of the night, avoiding the tell-tale signs of the assassins dotting the main road and opting for the harder journey through the forest, exhaustion was creeping up onto his muscles and limbs. Gladion was used to exertion, but continuous nights of this game of cat and mouse was starting to wear on his mind, as well as his body.
Then Moon shifted, poking at the fire. She'd been unusually docile all night, considering. No wanton advances, no horribly ill-timed dark jokes. Sure, the smile on her face never wavered, but still-
"Are you hungry?"
Her eyes shot up to him, and he caught faint surprise on her face before it quickly morphed back to her usual smirk. "Coming on to me? In this cave?" She tutted, shaking her head. "Have you no shame?"
"No, I'm- I'm not-" Gladion drew in a deep breath, scowled at the vampire that was both his bedmate and his potential-killer. "It's been a hard journey. I had dinner. You haven't. Not in days."
"And you're offering your blood out of the kindness of your heart?"
Gladion's cheeks and neck were burning now. Not just from the memory of her mouth and fangs on his skin, but also at the patronizing smile she wore. Moon was no human, wasn't capable of empathy or kindness, but she was the only reason why he was alive, so-
He unbuttoned his shirt, tugged the collar to reveal his neck. "Here," he said. "You should feed."
There was no telling what went on behind Moon's too-still smile. Still, there was a slight pause before she tilted her head. "You don't even want me to sleep with you?"
"I need you at full strength tomorrow night," he answered. "And after the difficult terrain tonight, it wouldn't be right for me to expect you-"
She laughed at him. A sharp, ringing laughter that echoed throughout the cave. Clutching at her sides, Moon doubled over, any semblance of poise gone.
And when she finally wheezed out the last chuckle, her silver eyes flicked back to him. "Ever the gentleman, aren't you, Gladion?"
Gladion scowled, tugging his collar back. "I'm just offering you food. If you're not hungry-"
She moved quicker than his eye could follow. Within a breath, her hand was on top of his, her face just a few inches away. Gladion froze, all too aware of the coy smile she was wearing, the deathly chill of her touch despite the warm fire not a few feet away. The predator's look in her eyes.
The heavy thumping of his heart and the anticipation in his veins.
"What's food without a little fun, hm?" Her voice slid across the stone floor, cold and soft and full of a tantalizing promise.
"This isn't exactly the time to have fun," he muttered. "Or, the best place."
"Ever the gentleman." She smirked. Then, without a second's hesitation, she kissed his neck. Softly, teasingly. Her tongue, wet and cold, sliding across the half-healed punctures where she fed from him last. He gasped, tensing. But instead of the quick pain of her bite, her hands slid down the parting of his shirt, onto the skin of his chest. Fingers spread wide deliberately as they teasingly made their way down his torso, nails glancing across his skin.
"Moon-" He was trembling now, his voice strangled as she pulled herself onto his lap.
She lifted her head. But instead of her coy smirk, there was a gentle smile, one that warmed the chill of her eyes.
"Gladion," she said softly, his name on her tongue sending shivers down his spine. "A deal's a deal, and if you're a gentleman, you'd honor it. At least, let me have a little fun, hm? To ease the tension of the... day. And as a reward, for protecting you. I'm sure you'd enjoy it, too."
He narrowed his eyes. Swallowed. "There could be assassins right outside, waiting to kill us."
Moon laughed- the suggestion that human assassins could sneak up on her was ludicrous, but that she would dismiss it so easily set a tight knot in his stomach.
Still, before Gladion could retort, Moon stilled him with a cold fingertip on his lips. Traced it down his jaw, along his throat. Watched him with eyes full of predatory intent.
"Then at least we'd die in the throes of pleasure."
He didn't answer, but when she kissed him again, he responded by parting his lips and pulling her close. She wrapped her legs around him and, with urgency, pushed him down to the cold, hard floor. The aches and pains of his muscles faded away as he gave in to her, let her touch stir the fire within him.
If nothing else, he had to admit- it was fun. It always was, with Moon. It was the only time when she resembled anything but the vampiric creature she so usually was, when she was warm in his arms, when her cries and desire mingled with his and he almost forgot she was a monster.
At least until she bit into him, and the sharp pain sent him over the edge in ecstasy.
She fed on him as he came down from his high. Through the dizzy fog, he was vaguely aware of her naked weight on his lap and the sounds of feeding just above his collarbone. Of the gray eyes, framed by dark hair, flicking over to him with some measure of warmth even as his blood dripped down her lips.
"That wasn't so bad, hm?"
He managed a nod, and her soft chuckle rippled through his skin. A faint brush of her lips against his, the metallic taste of blood against his tongue... and then she was gone. The strange weight and unnaturally cool body disappeared, a disorienting feeling. Gladion blinked. Faint sunbeams streamed through the crack of the cave, and with a start, he realized that it must be dawn.
"You should sleep, too," Moon murmured. She stalked some distance away, before settling down on a flat part of earth.
"So that I won't stake you?"
"You need me," Moon smirked, crossing her arms to cradle her head. "You won't stake me till then. Besides, you enjoy my company. But no- you should rest, Gladion. Nobody will attack us here."
"You don't know that-" he began, but with a roll of her eyes, she turned away from him.
"Ever the gentleman."
Gladion stilled. It wasn't until she said nothing more that he realized she had already fallen fast asleep. And with a strange pang, he knew their conversation was at its end.
Quietly, he pulled on his shirt and pants, made a mental note to take a bath at a nearby river before the night fell again. Considered whether he should take Moon's advice to rest, or to keep watch over the vampire that sometimes felt more enemy than friend.
She slept soundly by the dying embers of the fire. Despite her nakedness, she seemed unperturbed by the morning chill- yet another side-effect of vampirism, Gladion supposed. It still unnerved him to see a woman so casual with her body around him, and as much as he wanted to remind himself that Moon was a vampire, a monster, someone who was preying on him, sometimes... he wondered.
Towering over her, it was so easy to imagine how quickly he could rid the world of her. While it was true that he desired her power, it was also true that she was a monster, and during the day, when she was vulnerable, he could easily kill her.
But the look on her face wasn't arrogant or coy- just at peace. The smile she wore was... uncharacteristically gentle. Part of him wanted to tuck her hair behind her ears, just like he would Lillie's, when she was much younger. In the faint light from the embers, there was a warm hue to her skin. Perhaps almost like how she would have looked, if she was alive.
His throat tightened at the thought. And, unbidden, his hands moved.
Quietly, Gladion picked up his coat and her petticoats, and tucked them gently around her form. Hesitated, before brushing a finger across her cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
She shifted at his touch, leaned into him. But she didn't wake.
Something twisted in his heart, and as he backed away, Gladion couldn't shake the notion that he'd intruded into something vulnerable and soft. Something Moon would probably not have wished for him to see.
He was her prey. She was a monster. Something he'd made a deal with in order to keep his family safe. Something he knew would kill him without hesitation, and would, once his use to her was at an end. It was something he'd come to terms with already.
But in the early dawn, in that brief moment when she was asleep, she looked... human.
And as he sat down on the stone floor, settled in for a long wait as the sunbeams warmed the cave... Gladion imagined he would have liked to know that Moon a lot more.
#being alive sucks#lonashipping#finally a fanfic for this au XD#also finally warm lighting instead of always being lit by moonlight!#... BAS art is almost entirely night lighting hahahaha weeps#also yes moon be shameless
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Nothing Left | R.B
Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Gryffindor!Reader
Summary: Everything crashes within seconds and Sirius doesn’t know where to go.
Everything went downhill so fucking fast. How was that even possible? Everything was perfectly fine a year ago, but it seems that within that year, everything had collapsed onto the helpless boy. It was like being beneath a crumbling concrete tower that fell with no warning. Like being slapped in the face unexpectedly. Like getting doused in freezing water on a Sunday morning.
In retrospect, it sucked.
Sirius Black would know first hand. His entire life had been a screw-up from the beginning. It started with his parents, who - at the start - loved him. But when he turned out to be the child they never wanted all that love had vanished. They tortured him, broke him piece by piece, they built up trauma that took years for him to express to his friends. It wasn’t until third year when they heard him crying alone in his four-poster bed and asked what was wrong. He could remember the comforting embrace James Potter had given him.
Nevertheless, it never ended there. The summer going into his sixth year, Sirius decided it was enough after too many Cruciatus Curses and body binding curses; enough was enough. His hands were trembling after enduring just ten minutes of the torture curse, and it was a struggle, but he packed everything he could. His heart broke at inevitably leaving his little brother behind. He could only hope that Regulus would understand.
It took a Knight Bus trip to the Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow. The sky could’ve resembled how Sirius felt. Back at Grimmauld Place Twelve, the sky was always cloudy and rainy. Godric’s Hollow allowed the sun to shine past the fluffy clouds, but tonight was different. The sky was dark and thick, black clouds covered the stars. Rain poured from them, and it pittered on the stone roads. Sirius was instantly drenched when he stepped off the Knight Bus.
Hesitantly he made his way to the door, where he knocked softly. The house was two stories and was a relatively big family home - not bigger than Grimmauld Place - but an average family home. The house was a mixture of grey, dark purples, and brown. It reminded Sirius of Remus’ patched jumpers. Sirius could hear movement from behind the plum door, and it opened to reveal a familiar face. James Potter with his messy hair, hazel eyes, and long limbs. James was muscular, but he was also tall, not Remus tall but taller than Sirius.
James didn’t speak and ushered him inside. The following morning at breakfast, Euphemia - Mrs. Potter - had given Sirius the excellent news of his new forever home. The Potters would never forget the way Sirius lit up and how a smile had taken over his face. Sirius didn’t remember being this happy except for when Regulus was born.
But his forever home was not forever.
In seventh year, James’ parents had died, and nobody had comforted Sirius except one person who attempted. James had Lily, and that was enough for him. Perhaps it was selfish to think that James should be comforting him. It was definitely selfish. Sirius was doing really good at hiding how he felt until he crumbled behind a tapestry near the dungeons.
Sirius didn’t know if it was good or bad luck that Regulus - his prefect Slytherin brother - had found him behind that tapestry. Regulus had pulled back the fabric slowly with his wand lit. His face had softened at his older brother sobbing with his knees to his chest. Regulus allowed his wand light to extinguish before sitting in front of him in the same position, allowing their socks to touch at the tips.
They sat there for a couple of minutes before Regulus moved closer, albeit hesitantly to sit beside Sirius. Regulus had his back against the concrete, and Sirius curled up onto him while the younger Black brother rubbed his older brother's back. Sirius cried harder and harder. It took an hour before he subdued to sniffles and whimpers, but Regulus took it as his time to speak.
“I know they meant a lot to you,” Regulus stated, still rubbing his older brothers back, “And I don’t blame you for grieving them.”
Sirius sniffled, “I ought to be grateful for them, really.” Regulus released a sound that sounded like a chuckle, but it was so foreign to Sirius he couldn’t tell, “They kept you safe. Kept you away from mother and father. They gave you a home where you could finally be you.”
“And no matter how mad I want to be at them for taking you away from me,” Regulus admitted, “I just can’t be because they gave you everything you wanted, and I’ve never seen you happier in my life.”
Regulus didn’t stop talking, “You know… I- I found my own James Potter.”
Sirius looked up at Regulus with flushed cheeks, but his facial expression was baffled, and Regulus presented him with a small smile, “Okay, maybe she isn’t my ‘James Potter’ per se because I don’t see her as a sister but rather she’s my girlfriend.”
“What’s- What’s her name?” Sirius croaked; his throat was so raw from crying.
“Y/n L/n.”
“A- A Gryffindor?”
Regulus made that sound again, “Yeah. A stupidly brave one too. Even worse.”
Sirius smiled, “I know her.”
“Don’t tell me she was one of your conquests.” Regulus grimaced, and Sirius chuckled, snuggling back into Regulus’ chest, “No, she wasn’t. It turns out she has the hots for the other Black brother.”
Regulus smiled, and they allowed the silence of the castle to consume them. It was dark in the corridor on the other side of the tapestry, and Regulus could see the faint moonlight peaking out. He could also imagine the stars glittering beautifully in the midnight sky. He could see the star Sirius shining brighter than ever, and he just wanted his brother to feel the same.
“I plan to marry her.” Regulus said before he could stop the words from falling from his mouth.
“What happens then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mother and father will never approve.”
Regulus scoffed, “I’m done with their bullshit and have been for quite a while.”
Sirius met his brother's eyes again, “I left right after you. It turns out there is no more heir to the Black family name.”
The older Black brother smiled brightly and tightened his grip on his younger brother. Regulus couldn’t remember feeling this warm since they were little boys running around the backyard. Sirius was practically on top of him, and that was okay. For now, everything seemed okay again. Maybe Euphemia and Fleamont were gone, but even in their deaths, they managed to benefit Sirius’ life.
Now it all seemed fruitless.
Only a couple of months later, Sirius and Regulus had gotten into a huge kerfuffle. It ended with screaming, raw throats, tears, and flushed cheeks. Sirius could remember how Regulus playfully mocked his and Remus’ relationship. He didn’t know exactly what happened, just that he was pouncing for his little brother, and Remus was holding him back. Sirius had yelled some very awful things that he couldn’t take back.
She hadn’t done anything. She didn’t even know that an argument had happened. Y/n had been reading in the common room when the book was flung out of her hand, and she was pushed against the stone wall of the Gryffindor Tower. Y/n met eyes with stormy grey ones, not unlike her lovers, but these weren’t her lovers. These were his elder brother's eyes, and he had lifted her off the floor against the wall until James had pulled Sirius off her.
Y/n hit the floor with a thud and repeatedly coughed, hands on her throat. James had stormed into the boy's dormitory with Sirius with him. She didn’t even understand what was happening not until she met up with Regulus in the prefect dorm, and he saw the marks on her neck. Sirius had taken it too far, and Regulus was furious. They were no longer on speaking terms.
Now Sirius had someone entirely different to grieve.
Sirius had felt like his heart hit the floor when he was forced to move out of James’ house with Lily due to Harry being born. Remus had moved away to take care of his sick mother and asked for privacy. The funds that had previously been in Sirius’ account had been squandered, and now he was paying the price.
He had absolutely nowhere to go. Truthfully, there was one place he could go, but he didn’t think he’d ever be accepted there. He had said unforgivable things, but James had given him enough confidence that it would be okay. Reluctantly, Sirius Black took the Knight Bus to the suburbs in London. The community felt so modern and new. It was different then Godric’s Hollow which had been around for so many years that it began to weather and erode.
The deja vu was hitting him like a brick. Their house was a mixture of grey, black, white, and maybe blue - Sirius couldn’t tell in the darkness if it was white or pale blue. Perhaps he’d find out tomorrow if he was even welcomed inside. Sighing and shivering, Sirius knocked on the door. He could hear little squeals of delight that sounded much like a child. He also heard talking, but he froze when the door opened.
Regulus Black, at the age of twenty-two, looked good. His hair was to his jaw, and it was wavy at the ends, whereas Sirius’ was much more straight. His eyes had turned silver over the years. His cheeks looked much fuller, and he looked a lot better. Regulus was no longer looked underweight, but he was still slim and skinny. Black family genes, Sirius supposed. Sirius couldn’t meet his brother's eyes.
“What do you want, Sirius.”
His name falling from Regulus’ mouth instead of a nickname hurt more than he expected, “I had nowhere else to go…”
Regulus scoffed, “James finally kick you out, eh?”
“Yeah, he did.” Sirius sounded so distant, “Perhaps it was about time, and here I am, at your doorstep.”
“Come on, Sirius.” Regulus motioned for him to come in, and Sirius did.
The house was much cozier inside. The floors were dark wood, almost black. The living room - on Sirius’ left - was a darker turquoise color with grey furniture. The dining room - on Sirius’ right - was a light grey. The furniture was a marble table, white wood chairs with cushions, and a beautiful light fixture. Regulus led him to the kitchen, which was straight ahead in the hallway.
It was a beautiful mint green color with black and white furniture. The appliances were primarily black and the furniture primarily white, but regardless, it was beautiful. They had another table in the kitchen that was a grey wood instead of the shiny marble in the dining room but nevertheless screamed elegance. Sirius sat at one of the barstools at the L of the counter. Regulus slid him a cup of tea.
“Your house is beautiful.” Sirius complimented, and Regulus placed the cup back into the saucer, “Thank you. My wife picked everything out for the most part. I either built it or painted it.” Regulus smiled.
“Your wife?”
Regulus hummed, “Y/n Black. Ring any bells?”
Sirius swallowed, “Yeah.”
They both took a sip of tea, “I have two kids too. Both boys.”
“Two?!“ Sirius nearly spat out the liquid he had just taken a sip of.
“Twins. Fraternal, thankfully.”
He placed the cup down, “What’re their names?“
“Perseus Regulus Black and Leo Alphard Black.”
“Perseus and Leo, huh?“
Regulus blushed, “It wasn’t my idea. It was Y/n’s.”
“I like them,” Regulus looked up at him, “The names. I’m sure they fit them too.”
“Thanks.”
It wasn’t long until footsteps began to echo coming down the steps. Y/n had grown up too. Her face was sharper and her curves more defined. If Sirius was honest, she didn’t look like she had kids at all. To be fair, he wasn’t really staring at Y/n but more so his brother. Regulus had a starstruck expression as his wife walked towards him. He had a dopey smile on his face and stars in his eyes. Regulus really loved her, and Sirius could tell, hell, anyone could.
Y/n stopped in her tracks at seeing Sirius, “What’s he doing here?”
Regulus placed an arm around her waist, “He came looking for a place to stay. While I was waiting for you, I decided to catch up with him for a little.”
Sirius looked guilty, “Ultimately, I’m leaving this decision up to you.”
Y/n sighed and looked at both brothers. She thought of what he did back at Hogwarts. She thought of how Regulus had cried and ached for his brother, wishing for their relationship to be back the way it was. She thought of her two children who always asked about their Uncle Sirius, who was never around.
“Sirius,” Y/n began, and Sirius held his breath, “Where will you go if I were to say no?”
Sirius looked at his lap, “The streets.”
He couldn’t hear the footsteps that approached him until soft hands lifted his head where he met soft e/c eyes, “I’m willing to look past everything that happened at Hogwarts for the sake of my children. They deserve their uncle. But I need you to show me that I can trust you and that you won’t cause trouble.”
“I’ll do anything.” Sirius complied, and Regulus smirked, “Don’t say that. She’ll have you remodel something.”
“You’re an asshole.” Y/n whirled, and Regulus continued to smirk, “I told you to use magic, and you said we should do it the Muggle way.”
He shrugged, “We got good memories out of doing it the Muggle way.”
“If getting paint all over me counts as good memories, then sure.”
“It does.” Regulus smiled, “Your face was priceless.”
“Dickhead.” She muttered.
Sirius grinned, “Well, Sirius. If Y/n lets you stay, then you’re welcome here. What I did back at Hogwarts was uncalled for, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mocked you and Remus.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is.” Regulus countered solemnly, “Had I not done that; then we could’ve had a better relationship. For that, I’m sorry.”
Sirius stood up and hugged Regulus tight, “New beginnings?”
“New beginnings.” Regulus smiled.
Regulus led Sirius up the wooden stairs up to the second story. It seemed to have had four bedrooms and two bathrooms, one in the master bedroom, one in the hallway, not including the one downstairs. On the end of the left side was a door leading to the master bedroom. On the right end was a cabinet and two doors across from one another. Then in the middle of the back was a door leading to another bedroom which Regulus had opened.
The bedroom was spotless and beautiful. It was painted a grey with purple undertone with a queen-sized bed. Most of the furniture was white, and the bedding was black. Sirius had brought his trunk to its normal size and placed it at the end of the bed. Regulus smiled as Sirius looked around.
“This is yours for as long as you want it.” Regulus stated softly snd Sirius had tears in his eyes, “Thank you.”
Sirius hugged his brother again, “I really mean it, thank you.”
“I love you, Sirius.” Regulus confessed, “You’ll always be my brother. The one who held me during thunderstorms. The one who sewed up my teddy bear when it had gotten ripped. The one who took the blame so I wouldn’t get punished.”
Sirius was gripping the back of his shirt tightly, “That stuff doesn’t just go away.”
They parted, and Regulus smiled, “Get some sleep. I’m sure you’d like to see the boys tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d like to meet my nephews.” Sirius admitted smiling brightly.
“Get some sleep, Siri.”
“You too, Reggie.”
#regulus black#regulus x reader#regulus x you#regulus x y/n#regulus black x reader#regulus black x y/n#regulus black x you#sirius black#sirius black imagine#sirius black x reader#Sirius Black x you#Sirius Black x y/n#the noble house of black#remus lupin#remus fluff#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin x reader#james potter#james potter x reader#Harry Potter#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter imagine#marauders#marauders fluff#marauders imagine#marauders x reader
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5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,
+1 time he could start on the road to helping.
TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.
1)
Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.
It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.
The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.
Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.
Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”
The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:
“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”
Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:
“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”
Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:
“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”
Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.
Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.
He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.
2)
The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.
When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.
Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.
The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.
Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.
Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.
The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.
Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.
As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.
The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.
Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.
It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:
“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”
Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:
“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”
Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.
From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.
3)
The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.
Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.
Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.
But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.
The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.
Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.
A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.
Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.
Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:
“Arthur? You with me?”
Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:
“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”
Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:
“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”
It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.
Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:
“What happened?”
Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:
“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”
Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:
“Leon’s in charge!”
Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:
“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”
Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.
Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:
“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”
Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:
“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”
Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:
“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”
He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:
“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”
He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:
“Overtired... yeah, probably.”
He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.
4)
Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.
He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.
It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:
“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”
Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.
The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.
Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.
They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:
“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”
Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:
“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”
Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:
“What makes you say that?”
Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:
“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”
The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:
“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”
The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:
“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”
Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:
“Arthur?”
He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:
“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”
The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:
“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”
Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:
“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”
Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.
He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.
5)
Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.
Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.
It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).
The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.
The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:
“You alright? Hit a snag?”
Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:
“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”
Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.
Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:
“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”
At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.
“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”
Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.
He doesn’t react.
Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.
Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.
Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.
The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.
He waits.
After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:
“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”
Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:
“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”
Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.
The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:
“Arthur?”
His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:
“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”
Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:
“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”
For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.
Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.
Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:
“What’s bothering you, my boy?”
Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:
“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”
Gaius raises an eyebrow:
“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”
Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:
“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”
Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:
“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”
Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:
“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”
Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:
“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”
Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:
“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”
(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)
“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”
Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:
“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”
Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:
“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”
Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.
+1)
A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.
He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.
Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.
Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.
They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.
Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.
Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.
Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.
Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:
“How fucking DARE you?!”
His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:
“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”
His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:
“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”
The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.
Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.
Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.
Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.
Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.
After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.
Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:
“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”
Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:
“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”
Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.
After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:
“Feeling better?”
Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:
“The boy?”
Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:
“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”
Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:
“And his... father?”
“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”
The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:
“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”
He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:
“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”
Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:
“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”
Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:
“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”
Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:
“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”
Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:
“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”
Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:
“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”
Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:
“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”
Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”
Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:
“Kiss-ass.”
Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:
“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”
They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:
“Merlin?-”
The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:
“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”
Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:
“Excuses?”
“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”
Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:
“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”
He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:
“Merlin?”
Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:
“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”
Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:
“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”
Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:
“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”
Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:
“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.
Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:
“Ready?”
Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:
“Ready.”
~
THE END!!!
As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D
I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!
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#bbc merlin#merthur#merlin#good mordred#good morgana#tw abuse#tw: abuse#child abuse#abuse#tw child abuse#arthur#arthur pendragon#angst#angst with a happy ending#5+1#merlin/arthur#leon#protective leon#protective merlin#sir leon#sir percival#percival#sir gwaine#gwaine#sir elyan#elyan#lancelot#sir lancelot#uther#uther pendrgaon
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point of no return | PJM
Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.
WC: 10.2k
Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.
Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend. Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.
AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness!
This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party!
©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.
point of no return
“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.
Nothing would turn it on.
You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.
“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”
Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.
When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.
With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.
A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.
“Is that—”
“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”
“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.
“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”
He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.
“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.
As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.
“Give me a minute to put something on?”
“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.
You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—
“Turn around, I’m done.”
You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.
You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.
“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.
“I’m too cold,” you whine.
“Come ‘ere—”
And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.
“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.
“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.
“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.
“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.
You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.
Trapped.
You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.
When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.
And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.
All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.
Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.
Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.
Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.
“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.
“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”
Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.
All there is warmth.
Too much of it, actually.
As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.
The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.
You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.
You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.
Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.
It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.
This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.
Except for now.
As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.
Are you in love with your best friend?
However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.
Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.
He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.
Not any name.
Your name.
You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.
Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?
His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.
“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”
You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.
You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.
The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.
Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.
As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.
“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.
“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.
“Got it,” he grins.
“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.
“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”
“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”
“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”
You panic.
“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”
You smile as sweetly as you can at him.
He blinks back.
“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”
“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.
“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.
“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”
You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”
It hits harder than you want it to.
“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”
You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.
“I don’t want to go!”
“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.
As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.
"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.
"You wanna wear them?"
"Pfft, no," you lie.
“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”
“No.”
"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."
What he pulls out is not what you expected.
It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)
"That one? Really?"
"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.
"No." You pout.
"Then what's the problem?"
"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.
"What?"
"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.
"Did you just call it a slut dress?"
You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.
"Yes."
"What does that even mean?"
"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."
Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.
"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.
You gape at him.
Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.
But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.
"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"
"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.
"Of course," he says softly.
Your mouth drops.
Of course? Of course?!
"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"
"You said yes," you say slowly.
"What! No! I did not!"
Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.
"You did!"
He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.
"Did not!"
You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.
"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.
“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.
“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”
The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.
By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.
You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.
As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.
He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.
Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.
“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.
The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.
Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.
He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.
And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.
As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.
Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.
It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.
You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.
He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.
His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.
You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.
“Why not?”
“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.
“You’re not messing up. I like this.”
As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.
You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”
Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.
“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”
“You don’t want to dance with me?”
“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.
“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”
“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”
You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.
“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”
“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”
“Alright?”
You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?
However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.
“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”
Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.
You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.
“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.
The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.
“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”
You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.
“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”
You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.
He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.
Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.
It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.
As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.
“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.
“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”
“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”
You nod.
“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”
“What?”
He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.
“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”
“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”
“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.
“Go for it?”
“Go for it.”
“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.
“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”
“We weren’t—”
“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”
You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”
“Okay…”
“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”
He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.
Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.
“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”
“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.
“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.
“Why would I?”
“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.
“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.
He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”
“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.
“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.
You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t be jealous.”
“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”
Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.
And still, he avoids your question.
“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”
“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”
“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”
“My heat is still out,” you call.
You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.
But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.
“Jimin!”
You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--
“Oh no—”
Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.
You’ve already seen it.
It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.
“What the fuck!” he yelps.
“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.
“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.
“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.
He wipes a hand wearily over his face.
“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”
“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.
“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”
“You got a point there.”
The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.
“You can take your hands away now.”
Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.
“Welp, I better be going—”
“I thought you said your heat is still out.”
You turn back around slowly.
“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”
“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”
“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”
“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”
You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.
“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.
You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.
You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.
“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.
He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.
Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?
“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”
It slips out before you know what you’re saying.
He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.
“What?!”
Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.
“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”
He gapes at you.
“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”
“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”
“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”
It’s your turn to gape.
“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”
He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.
“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”
You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.
“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”
Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.
You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.
“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”
“Do they?”
“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”
“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.
“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”
“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”
“And I didn’t want to push.”
“Push me? Into what?”
You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”
“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”
“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”
Jimin is silent for a moment.
“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”
“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.
You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.
“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”
“What is it that you want?”
His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”
“Jimin, I want you.”
The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.
“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”
Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.
“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”
“Then don’t.”
“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.
“Simple as that,” you repeat.
The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.
Simple as that.
“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”
“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.
And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.
It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.
As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.
“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.
“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.
He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.
You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.
He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.
“I never thought I could have you like this.”
“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”
“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”
You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.
His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.
Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.
He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.
As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.
“Can I touch you?” he asks.
“Please,” you gasp.
His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.
You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.
“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.
“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”
“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”
“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”
When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.
“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”
As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.
“You thought about this?”
“Of course I thought about it.”
“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.
“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”
“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”
And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.
“Wha--”
“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”
Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”
“You can?”
“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”
Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.
As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.
Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.
He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.
“I want it more than anything.”
The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.
“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”
“Please,” you gasp.
“Please what?”
As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.
All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.
“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”
He chuckles.
“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“Want you to fuck me.”
“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.
When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.
Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.
“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”
“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”
As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.
His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.
“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”
He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.
“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”
He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.
“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.
Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.
When he growls, you clench at the sound.
Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.
He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.
“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”
You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.
“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”
You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.
The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.
When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.
“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.
“Come inside, Jimin.”
“But--”
“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”
He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.
He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.
Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.
“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.
“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.
That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.
You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.
“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”
“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.
However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.
He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.
It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.
“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.
“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.
His eyes shoot up to yours.
“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”
You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.
“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,
“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”
You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.
But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.
read more: masterlist
Taglist: @taestannie @thatlongspringnight @spicykoreantatertots @usuallynervoussheep @hesperantha @myimaginationsrunningwild@lucedelsole97 @heichooou @jiminskth
#ficswithluv#bantanarmynet#bangtanhq#btscreatorscorner#btsgoldnet#btswriterscollective#ksmutclub#jimin x reader#jimin smut#bts smut#jimin roommates au#roommates au#roommates!au#jimin roommates!au#jimin f2l#jimin nonidol!au#nonidol au#jimin fluff#jimin angst#jimin fic#bts fluff#bts angst#bts fic#bts f2l#bts roommates au#bts x reader#jimin fairytale#park jimin#bts#bts fics
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stargazing
pairing: katsuki bakugo x gn!reader
warnings: none
a/n: jus sum incredibly self indulgent fluff bc fuckkk i wanna go stargazing w someone so bad </3
wc: 0.9k
you sighed as you turned off your phone and threw it to your side where you sat on your bed, eventually getting bored of the mindless scrolling. you knew it was late but you weren’t even the tiniest bit tired, so you decided to give the blond boy you called your boyfriend a visit.
bakugo was somewhat of a light sleeper so it only took two knocks before you heard the muffled sounds of shuffling feet on the other side of the door. you waited, rocking back and forth on your feet with a smile on your face, already knowing exactly what you were planning to do with him.
“what the fuck do you want? i’m trying to sleep,” he grumbled, his voice slightly scratchy from not hydrating in a while. he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, not even bothering to check who it was that knocked.
“we’re going stargazing together since i can’t sleep,” you answered while grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers to pull him out of his room. his hands were always warm due to his quirk; you forever cherished this because it meant you didn’t have to ever worry about your hands being cold when you’re with him.
“do you even have any idea what time it is? you’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.” he rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him, still holding your hand.
the walk outside was quiet as to not wake anyone up and avoid getting scolded by aizawa for being out so late. not only for that reason, but also because you and bakugo just enjoyed being in each others company, no words needing to be exchanged. it was a comforting silence that you both loved.
the sun had already set, yet it was still slightly light out. the stars shone so brightly they could have replaced the sun, and along with the slight summer breeze the atmosphere was perfect.
you lay down in a random spot on the grass, pulling bakugo down along with you. instead of looking up at the stars like you had originally planned, you turned to your side to look at your boyfriend.
“the fuck you lookin’ at? i thought you wanted to stare at the stars. if you wanted to look at me we could’ve stayed inside in my dorm or somethin’,” bakugo also turned to look at you, the air ruffling his hair ever so slightly.
“you’re so pretty kats, you know that right?” your voice was just above a whisper; if you were any quieter he might not have heard you.
he didn’t respond for a short while after those words left your lips. you assumed he hadn’t heard you until he suddenly spoke up, “don’t fuckin’ call me pretty.” his voice was quiet and gruff as he had now turned away from you, a slight blush on his cheeks that he would never let you see.
bakugo wasn’t one to get flustered very easily, in-fact he was usually the one making you blush. but you calling him pretty — that awoke something inside him. if it were anyone else who said that, he would have threatened to blow them up, but hearing it come from his significant other just made it feel so much more special.
you only laughed a little at that, knowing he didn’t really mind it. plus, he was constantly saying those types of things to you, so what’s so wrong with reciprocating them?
after that neither of you spoke for a while, opting to just laying on your backs staring at the stars in that comforting silence you both loved.
unsure of how long you’d both been outside for, bakugo decided it was time to head back in. he sat up and grabbed ahold of your hand, pulling you up as he stood to his feet.
“c’mon, we’re going to my room, i can tell you’re getting tired and i don’t want to have to drag your sleeping body back indoors,” he subconsciously squeezed your hand as you made your way back indoors — one of his ways of saying ‘i love you’ because god forbid bakugo actually communicates with his words.
its very rare that bakugo actually uses his words and tells you straight up that he loves you. though, each time he does is just as flustering as the first time he ever muttered those words to you.
“thank you,” you squeezed his hand in return, as if to also say ‘i love you’.
“huh? for what?” he turned to glance at you for a split second before realising you had finally reached his room. he pushed open his door and you both walked into the almost pitch black room, only being slightly lit with the streaks of moonlight pouring through the open blinds.
“for coming stargazing with me, and for just putting up with me in general,” you began to get undressed as bakugo threw you the pair of extra clothes you left from the last time you slept there; they smelt of him since he had stuffed them into his drawer along with his clothes.
“whatever, you’re welcome i guess. shut up and get into bed, i’m tired.” he mumbled as he got into bed and lifted up the covers for you to crawl in with him.
so with that you joined your boyfriend in bed, him immediately wrapping you up in his arms. the last thing you remember was the comfort of his breathing and the warmth of his body as it slowly lulled you to a peaceful sleep.
#🎧.asks#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugo x you#bakugou x you#bnha imagines#mha imagines#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha x you#mha x you#bakugo fluff#bakugou fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugo imagine#katsuki bakugo x reader
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Life Was A Willow [Part 2]
Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader
Part 1 Part 3
Summary: It's always been hunters vs. witches, right?
Word Count: 3.6k+
Warnings for Part 2: violence, mentions of death (familial), swearing
A/N: part 2 !!!! thank you so much for the support and feedback from part 1, omg thank you !! well, i hope you enjoy part 2 ahhhhh !!
It’s 9 pm and Y/n still waits for the signal. She looks in the direction of the Castle and swings her feet back and forth from where she sits on the cottage’s roof.
The air is cold and the trees continue to rustle, the same way they do every day, but tonight, she has an eerie feeling about it. Regret slips into her mind sometimes, telling her that she is foolish for even accepting such a vague invitation by someone she doesn’t even know—but it was so intriguing and she trusts them (she doesn’t exactly know why).
Suddenly, a large pop startles Y/n out of her daze. Sparkles dance in the sky as fireworks burst from the land below. She quickly notes that the explosions are coming from the West side of the Castle and takes that as the signal. Very grand indeed.
Y/n jumps from the roof, landing gracefully on the dirt, and takes off running through the forest. She misses tree roots emerging from the earth and ducks under low branches from the undergrowth. The only thing that lights her path is the moonlight and at this moment, Y/n is thriving. The full moon allows her abilities to heighten and she places her full trust in her instincts.
The fireworks continue to explode and Y/n fills with more adrenaline, the sound making her scream out in joy. She’s excited about the meeting, and she doesn’t even know who it is. And maybe that’s what she’s eager for; the unknown.
The entirety of the concept scared her before, but now she’s exhilarated. And as the show comes to a close, Y/n nears the East side of the Castle. It’s completely silent at this end and the eerie feeling she had before creeps back. It’s not a feeling of uncertainty but one of opportunity and her instincts are telling her to take it.
When she reaches the abandoned cottage, Y/n inhales sharply. There’s no light coming from the house and the door remains closed. As she steps onto the stairs in front, the wood creams beneath her and she scolds for giving away herself to the person inside. Instead of sneaking around, Y/n stomps towards the door and swings it open.
She sees a man in the corner and makes her way towards him, her hands out and ready in case this interaction goes south.
“Who are you? And how do you know me?” Y/n calls out. The man jumps slightly and lifts his head. And in the moonlight flooding in through the window, Y/n recognises him as Dream, even with his mask off. He stands in a white button-up and brown pants, his hunter boots on and a newsboy hat sat on his blonde hair.
“Dream?”
“Hi, Y/n. I knew you would recognise me.” Y/n doesn’t want to look away from him. This is the first time she’s seen his face, and despite the darkness, she sees how handsome he is.
“Why—how? Why did you want to meet me in such a creepy way?” Y/n asks in disgust, picking a cobweb out of her hair and then off of her shoulder; they seem to be everywhere. Her expression falls back to one of admiration when she looks back at him. However, the moonlight lacked the light Y/n needed to see him properly.
Dream laughs slowly. “I forgot to bring a lighter for the lamp. Do you think you could, uh—maybe,”
“Glady,” Y/n sighs and flicks her hand towards the candle in the glass encasing. It immediately comes to life and the room becomes brightly lit. Her eyes fall onto Dream again and she finally sees him; his piercing green eyes and the scar that runs from the top of his left temple to the corner of his lip.
“Wow,” Dream mumbles under his breath. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, and I know that everybody I know would, just, obliterate me for even thinking about doing this, but I needed to talk to you about—“
“You’re rambling.”
“Right, right...”
Y/n squints at the man and then tilts her head. “Whose C?”
Dream’s eyes widen as he nods. “Yeah, uh, that’s me. My name’s Clay.”
The witch doesn’t say anything as she stares at him. “So why do they call you Dream?”
This isn’t where Dream thought the conversation would go, but he’s happy they’re not fighting.
“My mother came up with the nickname when I was born. I nearly didn’t make it and then through some miracle, I did. So, she called me her Dream.” Y/n can tell the story makes him emotional, so she doesn’t push any further.
“That’s really sweet, Dream.” And at the sound of his real name, Dream perks up slightly before he cracks a smile. Y/n grins back at him; a real genuine smile. The pair stand in the low lit room in comfortable silence, until Y/n’s curiosity gets the better of her.
“What did you want to talk about?” She asks. Dream nods once and continues from where he was cut off before.
“I wanted to discuss the possibility of a truce between witches and hunters,” Dream isn’t smiling anymore, instead his lips are screwed up and his hands fidget in front of him. Y/n, however, grins even bigger.
“I’m all for that, honestly. I’m tired of being on edge every day and being scared for my life. If we can find a way to create peace, even for a little bit, I’m on board.” Y/n keeps it short for now, not wanting to scare him off by how passionate she feels about the situation.
Dream’s eyes light up at the sound of her agreeing. “Really?” Y/n nods and becomes surprised when she feels Dream’s arms wrap around her. “Thank you, thank you.”
“No, Dream, thank you! I’ve been trying to convince people of this for years. I’m really glad that you feel the same way.” The pair pull apart and Dream flicks his eyes down to Y/n’s lips for a split second.
“You’re so pretty,” Y/n nearly chokes at his comment. Dream feels his cheeks burn when the words tumble out and soon they’re both flustered. “Sorry! Oh my, I’m sorry, that didn't mean to slip out—”
“Dream, it’s fine. I think you’re pretty too; especially without the mask.”
The hunter swats the witch’s shoulder playfully. “Stop~” The pair laugh together, and then proceed to stand in another comfortable silence. The wind howls and whistles outside and makes the cottage creak, adding to the eerie aura that surrounds it.
“What’s with the hat? It’s nighttime.”
Dream plucks the accessory off of his head and runs his opposite hand through his hair, the soft locks falling back into place when his hand returns to his side. “Part of the disguise, duh.”
Y/n squints at him, her expression morphing into one of mischief. “Isn’t the mask a disguise in itself, though? Also, put the hat back on, you look handsome with it.” It’s time for Dream to blush now. He covers his face with his hat and scoffs softly. “Y/n!”
The girl slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle her embarrassed laughs. “It’s true!”
The man rolls his eyes before placing the hat back on his head. “Happy?”
Y/n nods before telling him to answer about the mask.
“Well, no, nobody at the Castle actually knows what I look like—except for my best friends, Sapnap and George.”
“George? As in Prince George?” Y/n is shocked, to say the least. She now understands why Dream is so passionate about the peace between the Hunters and Witches. Prince George is known for his differing morals and ideas from his family, which makes him stand out from the other Royals. Y/n admires his bravery and courage to do so.
“Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were young. I’m jealous that he can be so open with his opinions in that Castle—Lord knows if I was, I'd be executed,” This makes Y/n’s stomach drop. “But, it’s okay, with your help, hopefully, we can convince humans and magical-kind alike, that there can be peace. A—And we can live together in harmony, without being consumed by the overbearing thought of death every moment of our lives.”
Dream stops his tangent, his face flushed and his eyes pleading. Y/n feels like crying; she has waited years for someone to be as passionate as her about this topic. “I’ll help you, Dream, no matter what; because I wholeheartedly believe we can do this. I trust you.”
Y/n shocks herself with this statement; she’s never trusted a human before.
“And I trust you Y/n.” The pair stare at each other, smiles spread across their cheeks as the night outside slips away, and then it’s just them; standing in the main area of a small, abandoned cottage that sits East of the Castle, lit up with a lantern that casts a warm glow over the pair. Y/n can almost say it looks and feels magical.
“Ok, enough flirting, let’s get planning on the truce. Sounds like a plan, doll?” Dream gives her a lopsided smile and Y/n feels her heart rate increase at the sight of him.
“Where were you?” Wilbur says. His voice is deeper than usual and fits in perfectly with the way he’s sitting ominously in the dark. Y/n stops tiptoeing towards her room and turns to face him; defeated that she got caught. However, she still remains giddy and her heart beats faster for other reasons.
“I was meeting with Schlatt—I need more toadstools for a potion I’m making.”
Wilbur squints at her, his lips curling into a frown. “I know you’re lying, and so does Niki.”
Y/n sighs and starts walking towards him. “I’m sorry—“ She pauses when she sees Wilbur shake his head.
“Don’t.”
Y/n screws her lips together and nods once. Her once excited demeanour fading away when she sees Wilbur’s look of disappointment. “I was meeting one of the new hunters, Dream.”
Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, “What? Why?”
“We’re formulating a truce amongst witches and hunters.”
He raises his eyebrows in both surprise and suspicion. “Okay? And why are you doing this? We don’t need peace.”
“Uh, so we’re not in danger every living second?” Y/n’s nerves grow into anger. “Why are you so against the chance of maybe, finally getting this?”
Wilbur shakes his head and stands up, the chair screeching against the wood floors as he moves. “Haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds?”
Y/n is at a loss for words while the tall man rolls his eyes and leaves, avoiding her as he circles around her to walk down the hallway.
His abrupt exit confuses Y/n. Why is Wilbur so against peace with the Hunters?
—
Dream manages to sneak into the Hunter’s Wing before they lock the front doors for the night. He sits silently on the bench in the training room and slips his boots off, making sure to place them on the floor as quiet as possible. He takes his hat off of his head and holds it in his palms, smiling stupidly at the inanimate object. The flame in the lantern next to him is fizzling out and it's hard to see 4 feet in front of him.
“Dream?” Even in his daze, Dream can sense the anger and fear in Sapnap’s voice.
“Sapnap? Why are you awake?” The younger boy walks out from the hallway and towards him.
“Me? Where were you? It’s midnight.”
Dream sighs and rests the hat on the bench next to him. “I was out.”
“Out? You mean meeting with the witch?”
Dream’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”
“Fireworks don’t just go off for no reason, Dream. And I found the note in your room.” Sapnap says, ripping the letter from his pyjama bottoms pocket.
“Just say you have a crush on her, Dream!” Sapnap yells, throwing his arms up in defeat.
“I don't—I promise, Sapnap.”
“Fine, if you don’t like the witch, then kill her.” Dream’s dumbfounded. He stares at his best friend with such bewilderment that even Sapnap feels a twinge of guilt. Dream sighs, carding his hand through his hair in frustration and confusion.
He doesn’t reply, even when George arrives in a hurry, still in the process of wrapping a dressing gown around his body.
“What’s happened? I heard yelling.” The pair remain frozen, refusing to meet the Prince’s glare as they avoid eye contact.
George shakes his head, “Has this got to do with Dream meeting with the witch?”
“George! How do you know, too?”
George huffs. “I know everything that happens in and outside of my Castle. But, fireworks? Really?”
Dream throws his hands down in frustration. “Yes, fireworks! It was a good distraction and it was a signal for her anyway.”
George eyes the blonde before he crosses his arms over his chest. “As much as you hate to admit it, it's obvious that you’re fond of her, Dream. And no matter what happens, I’ll be by your side, okay? You know that.”
“What the fuck?” Sapnap spits. “You have his back? George, I can tolerate your ideals about the magical kind, but this is the witch who killed half of the hunter population.”
Dream stills. “What?”
“You’ve gone and done it now, Sapnap!”
“Y/n killed people?”
“Dream—“ George goes to speak, but he’s cut off by Sapnap.
“Yes! That’s why I’ve been trying to warn you! Why do you think we got this job so easily?” Dream stares at the concrete floor, his heart dropping into his stomach. He can’t believe it, he refuses to.
“Sapnap!” George snaps. The younger boy cowers away slightly, his once confronted facade crumbling at the sound of the Prince's tone. “Stop it, right now. You are in no place to tell him this, okay? You may be my best friend but that doesn’t excuse you from doing this.”
Dream chews on his bottom lip quietly as he watches Sapnap turn around and stomp out of the training room, but not before he scrunches up the letter and throws it on the floor. “Thanks.”
George’s gaze remains on the door. “Don’t thank me. He should know better anyway, considering his last relationship.”
The blonde nods once, reminding himself of the youngest boy’s past relationship with a fairy from the kingdom next door. Dream lets out a laugh at the thought.
For the next few days, Y/n hears nothing from Dream. She worries for him, has he been caught?
She stands on the porch of her cottage, hoping, begging for a sign that he is okay. Clouds plague the blue skies above and Y/n knows the bad omens swirling around the kingdom are the cause—and the inside of Niki’s crystal ball had burst with black and dark red clouds which had only confirmed her suspicions.
The wind howls through the trees and calls to her, speaking words of concern under its tongue. Y/n rolls her eyes and sighs, she knows to be careful, especially with the humans inching closer to their world.
However, a faint voice draws Y/n’s attention away from the wind and to the well in the corner of the garden. The sound confuses her at first, and then the wind’s guidance is forgotten as she makes her way towards it. The short fence around the area is still broken from the fight with the hunters weeks ago, and nobody has had a chance to repair it yet, so Y/n takes it upon herself to fix it.
The whispers from the well become a string of mumbles and are impossible to decipher as Y/n kneels with her back towards the forest—and for the first time, she is anxious about what lies within it.
But, before she can even begin picking up the pieces of wood, the sound of someone approaching her at a fast pace alerts Y/n immediately. She spins around with her hands out and is shocked when she sees Dream with his sword raised. The ground moves beneath her feet as she uses the earth’s power to aid her in meeting his strength.
“Dream?” She screams, her body struggling to resist the force of his weapon. Sparkles fall from her fingertips as she pushes back.
“You killed an entire army of people, Y/n!” Dream’s tone is low and angry and Y/n knows he would have found out eventually.
“Dream, I didn’t do that!” Y/n exclaims and Dream swings his sword backwards.
“How can I trust you? Hm? After all, you’ve killed people!” Y/n could cry at his utter naivety. She drops her arms by her sides as Dream glares at her in pure disgust.
“Instead of fighting, can we talk about this?” Y/n pleas. Her feet move swiftly beneath her, maneuvering her body away from Dream’s sword.
Suddenly, Dream brings the sword down to slice into Y/n’s arm, but a force pushes it back towards him, making the blade fly high into the air before it clatters onto the ground.
Y/n stands with her hands out, remnants of glitter falling around her fingers. “I told you! I’d never do that, and I have proof.”
“Proof?” Dream still stares at his sword, unable to meet Y/n’s eye.
“Proof. Now, how about we calm down and I’ll show it to you. Okay? Sounds like a plan?” Dream nods slowly, turning his head to face her. Finally, his green eyes soften and the raging fire that burns within them fizzles out.
“Okay.”
Y/n sighs before she begins. “When a witch kills an innocent; a human, they gain a marking on the back of their neck to signify the betrayal of the harmony between the two. However, since King James, that peace has been terminated; hence his need for hunters, like yourself.
“But, anyway, everybody in this damn kingdom thinks I killed those hunters, but I don’t have the mark,” Y/n turns around, her hand going to lift up her hair from her neck. The skin is clear, with no markings, nothing.
Dream nods, furrowing his eyebrows. “How do I know you didn’t just cast a spell to make it disappear?”
Y/n rolls her eyes. “There’s no way to cover up the marking; it’ll just shine through whatever you put over it. It’s permanent and very obvious.”
“I told you, Dream, I didn’t kill them. I’d never kill an innocent.”
“Why didn’t you show them, then? You've had proof this entire time and never thought to actually show anyone?” Dream is bewildered. Y/n nods slowly, understanding his argument.
“I don't need to prove myself to your kind.” Is all she says. Dream waits for her to continue but soon realises she's not going to. “Fair point.”
“So, why did you come at me swinging? Did you really believe I would do that?” She whispers and Dream feels his heart sink. He is speechless for a few moments—did he really think that? Or was he feeding into Sapnap’s ideology of witches?
“S—Sapnap convinced me of things. I didn’t believe it at first, but the more he went on—I guess he got into my head.”
Y/n cocks her eyebrow and scoffs out a laugh. “Yeah, he did. You could’ve easily killed me with the amount of anger you had.”
This makes Dream’s breath catch in his throat. “I—I’m so sorry, Y/n. That was never my intention—”
The witch shakes her head and holds her hand up. “It’s okay, Dream. You didn’t offend me. I’m still here, with you, right? Isn’t that enough to tell you that I’m not angry?”
“Yes! Yes, sorry—”
“Stop saying sorry, it’s annoying.” Y/n giggles, holding her hand out to grasp Dream’s.
“So—”
“Dream!”
The cottage is quiet, too quiet, and Y/n walks into the small kitchen, hoping to bake a cake to cure her boredom. But, Wilbur sits at the round dining table, his beanie and a sewing needle in his hands.
“Wil, I wanted to talk to you,” Y/n mumbles, pulling out a chair. Wilbur doesn’t meet her eye as she does so, continuing to patch up his beanie that got ripped on a tree last week.
“Why are you against harmony with humans?”
Wilbur sighs softly. He places the beanie on the table and turns to face Y/n. “Y/n, when I was young, I lived amongst the humans in a town not far from here. We tried as hard as we could to mix in and not draw attention to ourselves.”
The girl listens intently, both curious and scared for his answer. She can tell the story makes him anxious so she reaches for his hand that lays on the wooden table. “Go on, Wil. I’m here.”
Wilbur nods, his eyes already full of tears as he continues.
“However, one day, my family decided to move to a more secluded area within the town, so my father could teach me more about magic without the risk of being caught. When we entered our new cottage in the forest, we were ambushed and they killed my entire family, leaving me, the only child, alone. I was left there, with my parents' bodies for weeks. I was made to fend for myself until I found Niki in a cave several years later. I was only 7, Y/n.”
Tears cascade down both of their cheeks. Wilbur takes in a shaky breath before he collapses onto the table out of grief. Y/n immediately leaps into action, wrapping her arms around the older man and letting him use her for support. His broken sobs and heart-wrenching cries stab Y/n all over, and she immediately regrets asking him about it.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Wilbur,” She didn’t push anymore, and that was all Wilbur needed.
#life was a willow fic#lwaw#dream x reader#dream imagine#dream imagines#dreamwastaken imagine#dreamwastaken x reader#dreamwastaken imagines#mcyt x reader#mcyt imagine#mcyt imagines#dream smp x reader#dream smp imagines#dream smp imagine#dream x fem!reader#dream x female reader#dreamwastaken
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What do you think first kiss with skz be like?
aAWH SOME FLUFF T-T OK BUT KEEP IN MIND- fluff is not my strongest pursuit hence why im not a fluff writer hahsah but HEY ITS CUTE!! and anon,,, im so sorry this took such time IM SO SO SORRY AAAAAAAAH-
also this makes me wanna know my anons first kiss story, AAAH SPILL THEM
warnings; none?? fluff,,, wow,, rare to say that LMAO- also gn!reader and also suggestiveee??
Bangchan
~gentleman~
will only kiss you if you are REALLY ready for it and if the two of you are dating
doesnt want to rush you into things (even if its just a kiss) because he doesnt know how comfortable you are and such
basically a sweetheart
i imagine its like a cute little date
night where you guys are stargazing, lying on a blanket on a grassy hill with his arm as a pillow for your head
“chan, look! its a shooting star! make a wish” you giggle to which he smiles, looking at your pretty features that are lit up by the moonlight
“hmm,,, dear star, i wish that y/n would kiss me” he says, laughing directly after but soon being interupted as you attach your plushy lips against his
its probably the most romantic event in your life
him smiling into the kiss as your tongues danced around softly
when you pulled away you laughed, saying; “wishes do really come true, huh?”
poor baby is blushing, his ears red but thankfully for him its too dark for you to see
Minho
the “evil roommate that secretly has feelings for you”
“lee minho i swear im gonna rip your hair off if you touch my plants again”
minho got out of his room, looking at you standing in the living room and rearranging the plants on the windowsill
“they are all scattered, it’s ugly” he says rudely
“dont call my children ugly” you spit back at him
there was always a weird tension between you and minho. you were glad to have found a roommate that made a good friend eventhough he was a pain in the ass sometimes
minho liked you,,, and therefore he did everything the opposite of what he felt. if he wanted to compliment you on your outfit he would instead say that you looked “overdressed” or “too much” but you always rolled your eyes towards his snarky comments
you pecked your plants, giving them the love they needed and minho just stood frozen in the doorway, without thinking he spoke
“how come you never do that to me?”
silence
you sneered, placing down the plant you held and streched out your arms
“c’mere if you dare” you said jokingly, not expecting the boy you always thought was so devilish to run into your arms, lips touching and your eyes widening at the unexpected action
the two of you held each other, breathing shaky as wet tongues collided, the sun beaming upon your figures
“m-minho,,, it was a joke!” you laughed, slapping his arm playfully as you pulled away
“but to me it wasn’t” he remarked cockily, licking the inside of his cheek
Changbin
very much giving me like “we dont like each other but we have to work with each other”
like you two are co-workers, working in a boring office and you were assigned to put together this one report and,,, lets say Changbin wasnt your favorite in the office
there was nothing wrong with him,,, its just his vibe that was off putting but sigh,,, work is work
you started compiling information, sitting in a seperate room and drawing graphs on the whiteboard, projecting some other type of research onto the board
“do you think we will need to stay late?” he asks, ruffling his hair in frustration
you sigh and nod, this wasnt going to get done anytime soon.
dawn set on horizon and the others workers packed up their belonging one by one and left until there was only you and changbin left in the now quiet office
you sat next to him, yawning as you typed something as you felt him looking at you
you looked back with a questionable expression, confused when he uttered his words
“do you hate me, y/n?”
“i mean,,, you are a dick sometimes but i dont hate you, at least you do your work”
he shrugged his shoulders, loosening his necktie as he leaned back into the office chair
“a dick, huh? maybe i try to push you away so you wont catch the same feelings i have for you”
you snapped your head towards him. you couldnt lie, he was attractive and at this point you were desperate
“kiss me then” you said simply causing the boy to immediately cup your cheeks, latching onto your lips as if he’d waited for this moment for forever
more tongue, wants you to feel him ;))
lets just say,,, he made it up to you
Hyunjin
i get this like,,, youthful vibe,,, like the two of you were childhood friends
and,,, eventually you catch feelings for him which you hate because,,, you dont want to ruin this friendship
every time somebody mistook you for a couple the both of you would make retching noises, mocking each other
“you think my standards are that low?” hyunjin says pointing at you to which you raise your fist
“hwang hyunjin, you’re dead meat”
but,,, he was only in denial, it was his childhood friend afterall
probably happened at one of those night where your mom was working late and you invited hyunjin to keep you company, him bringing kkami as well.
“dont fucking burn the pizza, hyunjin” you say, petting kkami until the little rascal ran away from your lap
“if you helped it wouldnt be burned” he replies as he comes out with two plates with the pizza burned on the edges
“but if they taste bad you can always taste my lips” he jokes and you look at him with a disgusted facial expression before laughing
“i bet they taste even worse then your mess of a pizza, i would like to see you try to even get me to peck you” you scoff and hyunjin rolls his eyes, sitting next to you on the sofa
“try it then” he taunts but is taken aback when you actually kiss him, your nose accidentally brushing against his as you purse your lips, hyunjin timidly using his tongue to test the waters
he wanted it so bad and he finally got it >:(( he could swear that he heard fireworks going off in his brain
a moment of silence appeared until hyunjin cockily uttered:
“so,,, did they taste better?”
Jisung
the “i met you at a party and made out with you drunk”
he stared at you the entire night, catching glances while you looked away and the music blared in the nightclub that was packed with people.
you ordered a drink at the bar, tapping your fingers on the oak surface where you rested your arms, suddenly somebody bumped into you
turning around you saw jisung and you sighed, thinking his behaviour was starting to get annoying
“oh its you again” you said loud for him to hear as he sat down next to you, having a annoying smirk plastered on his lips
“looks like you are having fun, let me guess,,, you’re trying to get over your ex” jisung says, leaning his elbow against the bar and you glared at him because it was true
you scoffed, avoiding his question and instead sipping on the sour drink you had in your hands, trying to forget everything
he was attractive which only pissed you off even more, as if you hadnt had enough pretentious assholes in your life
the glass slammed against the table as you put it down harshly, gazing into the boys dark brown eyes
“alright, deal. make me forget then since you think you know everything about me” you stated to which jisung raised his eyebrow
the palm of his hand was firmly placed on the bar as he leaned in to kiss you, feeling the bitter liquour hitting his tastebuds as your tongues crashed against each other
it felt,,, freeing. you swung your arms around his neck, wanting him closer to your body
by the way he was kissing you, you could tell that he was there for the same reason as you. a sloppy and heated kiss to fill your thoughts with something other than your ex
safe to say that the kiss progressed ;))))
Felix
aaah cutie boyfriend that is just too shy to even give you a kiss like 3 months into the relationship (OK DONT ATTACK ME NOW, TAKE YOUR TIME, NO RUSH YOU GUYS)
he is shy with pretty much everything, it was only recently he could hold your hand without his heart jumping out of his chest.
it was a simple date night! takeout and games at his place
you layed your head in his lap as you watched him finish up the game that you had given up on a long time ago
he shifted awkwardly in his seat, not used to being so close to such a pretty person before
“ah- fuck! i lost again,,,” he says in defeat, his head rolling backwards before a frustrated sigh escaped his lips
“you did well felix! look how far you got!” you say, pointing towards the score on the screen but not getting his attention.
you sat up, looking at him for a moment as his eyelashes lightly draped over his closed eyes, cheeks speckled with freckles
you couldnt help yourself, he looked so angelic despite being defeated and so you leaned in, lacing your fingers with his and softly placing your lips against his
he opened his eyes in panic before being swallowed by the fluffy feeling of having your lips to himself, he giggled before stroking your cheek as he tilted his head, almost setting a rhythm to the sweet kiss
felix started laughing shyly, cheeks tinged with red as he hid his face with a pillow
“but you won my kiss!” you said through a smile causing felix to blush even more
Seungmin
its like,,, maybe,,, your third or fourth date??
this one is more chill than the previous ones that were at like some fancy restaurang because hello dandy puppy boy wants class
but this one was like a stroll down the night streets and eating ice cream in the middle of the summer
both of you were casually dressed, holding hands as butterflies bubbled in your stomach from the contact
his hand is all warm and it engulfs yours >:(
you look at all the pretty sights of the night, eventually climbing up to some like high point and looking down at all the lights that blinked
after a good 1 1/2 hours of walking your legs were starting to ache and so you both sat down on the swings of a desolate playground, swinging gently with your legs dangling
“i dont understand how you’re able to,,, even be friends with me,,, or whatever we are,,”
seungmin hummed, looking up into the night sky
“i promise y/n, i will be your,,, friend but,,,”
you looked at him as he said “but”, imagining the worst
“i dont wanna be friends, i wanna be more than a friend to you”
his eyes twinkled as he stood up and stood infront of you, grabbing your hand
you slowly looked up at him, his figure standing in the way of the moon as the two of you shared a long gaze, his eyes as sweet as honey, dripping with pure adoration
you pulled him closer by the hand and slowly he inched to your lips, the distance between you minimizing as his face tilted to the right, a delicate and sugary kiss landing on your tastebuds from the ice cream from earlier.
your heart skipped a beat, the slightest sound of lips smacking
“i think i love you y/n” he whispered close to your lips after pulling away.
Jeongin
like,,, uni buddies!
both being med students meant late study night, usually in school
there’s papers and diagrams laid out all over the tables and floors along with a bunch of energy drink cans, some scribbles on the whiteboard
the two of you were friends and met in uni and everyone had always nagged at you for not going after him since he was everything someone ever wanted
you always said that you were friends and that you couldnt imagine being in a relationship with jeongin
but studying with him alone into the deep night felt different, many times you couldnt concentrate when he looked so cute sitting right beside you
being close friends, there was nothing weird about hugging or leaning against each other and so you leaned against his shoulder and yawned as the cozy boy was rewriting some notes.
“one hour left y/n and then- then we can go hoooome!”
you giggled as you looked at him and he diverted his attention from his papers to you, his lips only mere inches from yours
you didnt know what the fuck you were doing and neither did jeongin, it was late and the both of you were tired from studying for finals
and so your lips drew closer until they clashed, feeling a tension that you’ve never felt with him before
he’s definitely a shy,,, kisser?? not too much tongue since he doesnt know how LMAO so its like soft >:((
didnt know what to do when he pulled away, looking around the room or covering his blushing face with his hands but when you hug him he hugs you back
maybe even coming to terms that he does have feeling for you,,, and so do you~
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Unexpected - an Oberyn Martell oneshot
Summary: After spending one night with Prince Oberyn Martell, Cecilia returned to her father’s castle with every intention of pretending she hadn’t had the best night of her life. That is until she discovers she is with child, just in time for Oberyn Martell to pay her family a visit.
Warnings: None, really. Just a feeling a worthlessness, pregnancy if you are triggered by that.
{A/N: I got the idea for this from a dream I had, figured I should write it out. It is VERY long, I apologize. This could also potentially become a series if people want it to.}
It had been a bad idea, of course it had. On the list of bad decisions she’d made in her life, this one may have just beat them all. But she had been mistreated her entire life, made to feel like she was nothing and would always be nothing…and he had treated her like she was something so precious. Gods, she had felt so much better in his presence for one night than she had felt with her family her entire life.
But it had only been one night, and she had returned to being nothing the next morning, her little secret tucked away in her mind to think about only when she was in her chambers late at night.
Secrets found a way of coming to light, though, and hers decided it would make itself known in such a cruel fashion.
She had thought she could put it behind her, go back to living a meaningless life as if it had only been a fantasy, but then she realized she had missed two of her cycles. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with a child, or how she would even manage; her family would surely use this as more reason to torment her. Worst of all, they probably wouldn’t even attempt to marry her off to save her honor because she just wasn’t worth it.
Her already insignificant name would mean even less once it got out.
So, she hid it away, just like that night, and for another missed cycle it seemed like a decent plan, but she knew there would come a time when she would not be able to hide it anymore. She needed to do something, needed to help herself the way no one else would help her.
She planned to run away to a place where no one knew her. At least if she was on her own, she could lie and say her husband had perished and left her to raise the child alone; on her own she could attempt to save her reputation.
The morning of the day she planned to leave, he arrived.
Her father had announced as they were breaking their fast that they would be hosting the Prince of Dorne and some of his people as they passed through on their way back home. She had nearly choked on her food when she heard.
She had never thought about seeing him again, never imagined that was a possibility. The racing of her heart was not enough for her to give up on her plan of escape, however, she would never assume a prince would want anything to do with a child he had sired one night in a city that had not been either of their own.
There was to be a feast in honor of the prince’s arrival, she would simply slip out while her family was distracted.
~~~~~~~
That evening, the festivities had begun. She had already packed a small bag of only the things she thought she could not live without and stashed it somewhere close to the servants’ entrance; she would wait until the right moment and slip out through the many passageways she had played in as a child. She knew the castle like the back of her hand, it would be easy.
She had not expected how seeing him again would make her feel. As she stood with her family waiting to greet the prince and those traveling with him, her heart was pounding in her chest. When she spotted him, walking forward with a beautiful woman on his arm, she felt her knees might buckle.
Oberyn was still as handsome as he had been that night, more beautiful than anything that deserved to be within the walls of a home she had grown to hate so much. Her father was first to greet him, but she could hardly hear the words he was saying with the rushing in her ears. It wasn’t until her father began to present her sisters that she focused.
As he introduced the oldest, Rosalia, and the middle child, Emilia, he boasted about each of their talents in whichever hobbies they had taken up as Oberyn simply nodded in acknowledgment from where he stood.
“And, finally, my youngest, Cecilia.”
Her father didn’t brag on any of her accomplishments, though she had just as many as her sisters, and it didn’t surprise her in the least.
The prince’s deep, brown eyes, eyes she could remember above her so clearly, were on hers, and if he remembered her, he did not indicate it in any way. His expression flickered briefly at her father’s lack of words following her name, and the lips she knew too well parted.
“I’m sure this one has talents of her own, as well.” He said simply, that accent washing over her.
She hoped he wouldn’t notice her blush, but naturally he did.
“We have prepared your rooms, as well as a feast for this evening.” Her father ignored the comment.
Oberyn nodded. “Ellaria and I should like to settle in after a long journey, but a feast sounds wonderful.”
Servants were ushered forward to lead them away, and Cecilia tried not to think too much about how his eyes lingered on hers as he moved passed her, Ellaria’s eyes also studying her curiously.
She wondered if she knew about that night.
~~~~~~~
The festivities were in full swing, and Cecilia found herself nervous. She watched people dancing from her seat at the end of the table, far away from her father and their royal guests, and waited for her moment.
She hoped nobody would notice, that she could escape before she had to look Oberyn in the eyes again. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it if he approached her.
The time came once her sisters were asked to dance by two men from a neighboring family that had come for the feast. With the two older women away from the table, it was acceptable for her to stand as well. She moved slowly, skirting around people in the room until she reached the doors.
The final glance she took wasn’t hesitance to leave this place, she had left it a long time ago, but to make sure there were no eyes on her. As usual, she was forgotten by everyone.
At least that’s what she believed.
The hallway was dark, the torches not having been lit yet since everyone was in the great hall. She didn’t need light to find her way, though.
There was a large portrait hanging on the wall that looked like an ordinary painting of one of her three times great-grandfather, but behind it was a passageway that had been used long ago for allowing servants to navigate the castle easier. It hadn’t been used for that purpose in many years, but she had found herself in it several times.
Before she could so much as slide the portrait aside, a voice stopped her.
“I thought you might save me a dance.”
She stiffened, heart suddenly racing in her chest at his voice. It had haunted her dreams in the best way for many moons. She faced him, knowing this would either delay her escape or stop it all together.
“Your Highness.” She addressed him, dropping into a curtsy quickly.
Even in the hallway only lit by moonlight, he was beautiful.
He stepped forward, a playful smirk on his lips. “I thought I told you to call me Oberyn?” he mused. “Your Highness is so formal, especially for someone who has known me so closely.”
Gods, he must know what his voice did to her, there was no way he didn’t.
Cecilia took a steadying breath. “I did not think you would remember someone like me. I thought it best to pretend formalities were still necessary.”
He was still moving towards her slowly, eyes raking her frame in a way that almost made her shiver.
When he reached her, his hand lifted to brush her hair off her shoulder, the tips of his fingers ghosting against the skin of her neck and setting her on fire. “How could I forget someone like you?”
He said ‘someone’ differently than she did. She did not put much value in it, while he seemed to make the one word seem like everything.
“Will you join me for a dance?” He asked, those haunting eyes flickering over her face before locking on hers.
Her father would certainly love to see his least favorite child dancing with a prince instead of her older sisters, he would be most displeased with her. If only he knew how she had done much more than dance when she had met him, that she carried the proof of that inside her.
As much as she longed to show her family up by dancing with him, she knew she couldn’t if she wanted to leave. Fortunately, she had spent her entire life saying just the right words to placate those around her, to keep them happy enough to leave her be.
“I would love to,” she told him with a small smile. “I just need a moment alone, away from all the noise.”
Unfortunately, he had more to say. “Your father has spent the entire night trying to push your sisters on a prince, and yet he has not said a word of his youngest.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead offering him a small smile. She was sure it didn’t meet her eyes. “My father would never wish to push me on anyone, least of all a prince.”
Oberyn frowned, brows furrowing at her words. He looked confused, even a bit concerned, and he glanced back towards the great hall for a moment before his eyes were on her again. “And why is that?”
Cecilia shrugged one shoulder, trying to fight back the sudden nausea; whether it had anything to do with her condition or with the thought that she had just exposed her father’s hatred towards her to Oberyn wasn’t clear.
“Ask him yourself and I am sure he would have plenty to say about it.” She replied quietly, feeling small even under his warm gaze.
He seemed to notice her change in mood, the frown on his face deepening with worry, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Cecilia—"
She needed to leave, she didn’t have much time and her window was closing. She interrupted him, even though it would be improper in any other setting. “I would very much like to dance with you, Your Highness. Would you wait for me in the great hall?”
Though he had more to say, and still appeared concern about her words, he seemed to understand she wished to be alone. And maybe he sensed something else, because his hand slipped into hers and he brought her knuckles up to brush his lips against them.
“I will wait all night if I have to.” He told her softly, accent lilting and warm eyes caressing the features of her face once more before he backed away. His eyes stayed on hers a moment longer, and then he turned and disappeared back into the party.
She moved quickly, slipping through the opening behind the portrait and letting it fall back into place behind her, a tear slipping down her face as she realized she would never see his beautiful face again.
~~~~~~~
Many moons later, Cecilia was settled into a village a long journey by sea from her own home. She found herself happier around the people in the village than she had ever been at home, and they treated her better than she probably deserved.
The story she had spun, of a husband who had passed and left her with nothing more than the child growing in her womb, was believed by everyone she had told it to. The elderly man and woman she lived next to took good care of her, doting on her the way she had always dreamed her family would. The only thing she hated was the looks her swollen stomach received from those around her, the pity for a woman alone with child. She was close to having the baby, it would only be two more moons if her calculations were correct.
One day, she was returning from the river with a wooden basket of linens when her neighbor approached. The elderly woman gripped her arm firmly, leaning in close to whisper to her.
“There’s a man in your home.” She told her, causing Cecilia’s heart to drop. “I offered him tea at our home while he waited, but he insisted. He seems awfully important.”
Her first thought was that it was her father. While he would not care she was gone, he might care about the way her disappearance had no doubt tarnished his reputation. If he had come to collect her, she was not sure what she would do. Or what he would do when he saw she was with child.
She thanked the woman and waited until she disappeared into her home before she looked down at her stomach. Her dress was a little loose, but not loose enough to hide the roundness there. She held the basket in front of her and hoped it would be enough to conceal it.
But when she entered the house, she was surprised to find it was not her father who had come for her.
Her shock at seeing a prince of all people sitting on the old furniture that he been gifted to her by her neighbors was almost enough to make her drop the basket, but the idea of him knowing was enough for her to tighten her grip.
“Your H-Highness?” she choked out. “What are you doing here?”
Oberyn motioned for the guard that stood on the other side of the room to leave them. Once the man had stepped outside, Oberyn’s eyes were on her. “I waited for our dance, but you never came back.”
She felt only a slight hint of shame. “Is that why you are here? To dance?”
He stood from the dusty lounge and stepped towards her. “I am here because I heard some rumors that concerned me.”
Cecilia gripped the basket tighter.
“The servants at your father’s castle have a hard time keeping their mouths from running. Ellaria heard something quite interesting about you.”
He was stepping closer, and she moved backwards for every step until her back hit the wall and she felt trapped. He knew, how could he know? How could anyone back home have known?
“Your handmaid mentioned that you had not had your cycles in several months. That you had returned from your trip to a neighboring country with something more than what you were supposed to.”
Gods. Why had she not thought of that? She should have pricked her finger and smeared blood on her sheets to hide it. How had she been so stupid? And now what? Would he be angry at her? Would he want to hide her away so nobody would know of his indiscretions?
Her throat was tight, she could not even bring herself to respond, not even to try and deny it.
“If that is true, then you have taken something very important to me, and hidden it away.”
Important?
He was in front of her now, and he reached forward to grasp the basket, pulling it from her arms despite her reluctance to release it. As he placed it on the floor, his eyes were trained on her stomach, where his suspicions had been confirmed. His face didn’t appear to be angry, but perhaps he was just good at hiding his emotions.
“Did you know that night? Is that why you left?” he finally asked, eyes meeting hers once more.
She blinked her burning eyes, a couple of tears dropping down her cheeks as she swallowed. “Yes.”
He studied her for a long while, his face remaining the same as it had been when he had begun speaking. Finally, his hands raised towards her face, causing her to flinch hard. He froze.
“I would not harm you.” He assured her, eyes softening before he brushed the tears off her face gently and cupped her face in his hands. “Why did you run?”
His gentleness was startling and unexpected. “My-My father, he would have been angry. He would have hid me away in some far tower, at least if I hid myself away I could be free.”
Oberyn’s thumb brushed the apple of her cheek before his hands dropped from her face. “I am sorry you had to leave your home because of me. Why did you not tell me that night that you were with child?”
She swallowed, and found her face felt cold and lonely without his hands there. “You are a prince and I am…nobody important. I did not want to ruin your reputation. And I did not think you would care.” She said honestly.
There was a small grin on his face. “You do not know much about me, do you?” he wondered in amusement, turning to wander back to the lounge, although he did not sit. “In Dorne, bastards are cherished as much as those who are born within wedlock. In fact, I have eight bastard daughters of my own, and I love them each very dearly.”
Cecilia tried not to show her shock too much, for fear he might mistake it for something else. Eight daughters? And he genuinely loved them and cared for them? Raised them and acknowledged them as his own? Maybe she had been really wrong about her idea of him.
“I would like for you to come back to Dorne with me.” Oberyn continued.
She finally found her voice. “Y-You want me to go to Dorne?”
He nodded. “I will care for you and the child. A new baby would be very welcome, my youngest is already on her fifth name day.”
“Y-You want me to go to Dorne?” she repeated, still in shock.
Oberyn offered her a gentle smile, returning to stand in front of her and taking her hands in his. His eyes were warm and welcoming. “I would never force you to join me, but believe me when I say that I would very much like to know you. And to know our child.”
It wasn’t what she was expecting when she had found him in her home. She expected anger, expected him to disown the child immediately and never wish to see her again. She did not expect him to clearly love the child so much already, to want them in his life.
She stopped thinking about it and nodded. “O-Okay. I’ll go to Dorne with you.”
#oberyn martell#oberyn martell imagine#pedro pascal imagine#oberyn martell x reader#oberyn martell x oc#oberyn martell smut#pedro pascal smut#mywriting#pedro pascal
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Detention - D.M.
Detention- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (gryffindor)
Warnings: none! just more fluff <3
Word Count: 2.9k
A/N: A fun Draco fic with an enemies to lovers type of situation! I’m really happy with how this one turned out and I hope you guys enjoy it too! I’m definitely going to make a Seeker part 2 so don’t worry, but I also have a George Weasley x Reader idea in the works too! Please feel free to send me your feedback (and you can always send me an ask or message for the taglist).
Just a Reminder: Y/N is Your Name
----
“Detention! For both of you!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang loudly through her office. The countless living paintings that speckled the candle-lit stone walls shook at her declaration.
She disappointedly looked at you before marking your name on a piece of parchment that lay on the desk in front of her. You felt guilty that you had forced your favorite professor (and the head of your house) to give you a detention. Especially detention in the Forbidden Forest with none other than Draco Malfoy.
You couldn’t even bear to look at the pouting Slytherin’s face beside you. It was his fault that you now had to spend your Saturday night roaming through the eerie trees of the Dark forest. If he hadn’t snatched your Charms essay mid-sentence then maybe you wouldn’t have shot a hex in his direction! Fortunately for him, however, your clever hex missed the mischievous Malfoy by a single blonde hair, and now poor Neville’s shoes are glued to the worn hardwood floors of the library.
Your forest escort arrived promptly. You were thankful Filch was busy with other duties, so one of your Gryffindor prefects was chosen instead. McGonagall sent your prefect a nod and as he signaled for the two of you to follow him, you finally made eye contact with Malfoy, shooting him a murderous glare. He quickly responded with a scowl before walking out the door and into the familiar hall towards the forest.
After several minutes of awkward silence, the three of you finally reached the inviting entrance of Hagrid’s hut. The warm glow emitting through the windows of the stone shack contrasted greatly against the clear, pitch-black sky.
Judging by the disgusted expression on Malfoy’s face, it was clear that he wasn’t fond of the half-giant or his home. Maybe Hagrid would be a little sympathetic for your cause, and you could get away early.
After a few moments, Hagrid emerged from his hut, a homemade wooden crossbow strung across his chest and a woven basket in hand. Fang sat lazily at his side, drool dripping from his snout. The groundskeeper tiredly said, “Tonight, you two’ll be searchin’ in the forest for some knotgrass. Once this basket ‘ere is full, yer free to go.”
Draco begrudgingly took the woven basket from Hagrid’s large hands with an eye roll. Shortly after a bit more detailed instructions from Hagrid, you and the blonde reluctantly embarked towards the winding dirt path leading into the woods. The only thing illuminating your late-night journey was the pearly full moon overhead and the small beams of light emitting from the ends of your wands.
You two walked through the spooky trees in silence, annoyed looks plastered on your faces. Once the both of you had been walking around with the irritatingly empty basket for a while, you finally asked with a grimace, “Do you even know what knotgrass looks like?”
“Of course, I know what knotgrass looks like. Do you take me for an idiot? Do I even have to remind you that I’m top of the class for Potions?” he spat, defensive and rude.
“How is your expansive Potions knowledge going to help us here in the middle of the Forbidden Forest? It’s your fault I’m even here in the first place!”
“My fault? Says the girl who nearly killed me after I so much as glanced at your pitiful Charms essay! You’re a bloody psycho!” His over-exaggerated recounting of what happened in the library would surely be a hit with his Slytherin worshippers, but not with you.
Instead of disputing his accusations, you tore the straw basket from his ring-adorned hands, hissing, “Fine. If I’m so insane, just leave me alone and let me collect it myself!” You turned the opposite direction, speeding up your pace, leaving Malfoy alone in the dark.
Draco stood, mouth agape, for a moment before quickly dashing up behind you, grabbing hold of your wrist. “Where do you think you’re going. I’m not gonna die in this stupid forest because of you! Give me that basket.”
He spun you around to face him, his grip on your wrist as tight as ever. His hand was cold and strong; the silver snake rings that wrapped around his fingers dug into your skin. You looked up into his captivating silver eyes, and for the first time, you didn’t see pure malice. The starlight made his eyes shine nicely, which you hated to admit.
Your gazes were interlocked for a few electric seconds, which felt like hours, before Draco raised his eyebrows in shock, realizing how close his face had gotten to yours. In one swift motion, he freed your arm from his grasp, and the basket was now in his control. He awkwardly turned away from you, simultaneously wiping his palm up and down his black robe. You caught a quick glance of his face, which was a pronounced shade of pink, visible even in the dim moonlight.
You noticed your breaths became heavier, and your cheeks were scorching hot. What just happened? you thought, why did that feel so… strange? Nothing should’ve felt different. It was just another irritating interaction with your Slytherin enemy. He’s just the same old spoiled brat.
You tried to get the intrusive thoughts of your strange interaction with Draco out of your head by focusing on finding the elusive plant. You weren’t too sure what it was supposed to look like, so after minutes of searching, you were left with a fistful of mismatched stems and leaves.
Once you couldn’t hold any more of the mismatched plants you had collected, you silently stepped behind the bent over Draco, reaching down to dump the stems in the basket which he firmly grasped at his side.
Draco, who was lost in thought, didn’t realize you were right behind him until a loud twig cracked right under your shoe as you were mere inches from the back of his head and the basket.
Frightened by the sudden noise, he hastily turned around with his hawthorn wand ready. Only, instead of being face to face with a rabid werewolf, his elbow was met harshly with your nose. You immediately recoiled from the Slytherin with a roaring yelp. You instinctively reached for your nose, where blood was slowly dripping out and onto the ground. Great.
While you were tilting your head back to alleviate the blood flow, Draco stared at you dumbfounded. The situation at hand eventually sunk in, and he ran to your side, his hand on your shoulder, concernedly. After you groaned in annoyance for a few seconds he asked, “Are you okay?”
You cocked an eyebrow, taken aback by his oddly sympathetic question. He quickly realized the tone of what he said, withdrawing his hand from your shoulder. With a significantly icier tone, he said, “You should’ve been more careful, Y/N.”
You embarrassedly turned away from Draco, ready to wipe off your blood-coated hands on your robe when you felt a timid tap on your shoulder. Draco stretched his arm to you, a white silk handkerchief with the initials D. L. M. embroidered in emerald green between his fingers. He kept his head turned sharply away from you, his nose in a scrunch.
You eyed his handsome punchable face suspiciously before you slowly accepted the handkerchief. Before you put it to your nose, you bluntly stated, “I’ll get blood on it, you know.”
“I’m not stupid, I know that. I gave you my cheap one, so keep it. Don’t want your filthy germs anyway.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t hexed your brains out yet,” you said with a sly smile.
He mimed himself looking mockingly scared at your comment, but a satisfactory smile soon crept onto his face at the sight of your nose softly pressed into the ivory silk. He was probably just glad to not hear you complain anymore.
----
The basket was nearly full of what you hoped were knotgrass stems, though it seemed your “expert Potions student” also couldn’t pinpoint the plants. Both of you had also grown very tired, out for what was probably hours. At long last, Draco plucked one final handful of leaves, making the basket full enough to your standards. You and Draco simultaneously let out a sigh of relief, finally being done with this grueling punishment.
Normally, post-detention, you would attempt to send Draco some of the Weasley twin’s dangerous concoctions for extra revenge, but he was being abnormally kind to you tonight, in his own Malfoy way. Plus, this night had taken a huge toll on you both; you don’t even know if you had the energy to still be mad at him.
The two of you slowly trudged back to Hagrid’s, a joyful feeling in your chest since this strange night was finally over. As you continued down the dimly-lit path, the platinum blonde who was previously at your side was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he had snuck up ahead, ready to jump out at you from behind one of the towering black trees. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d try to scare the hell out of you, to say the least.
You kept following the path, your eyes darting around at every noise. You were on high alert for your Slytherin rival, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of scaring you. The further down you went without seeing Draco though, the more nervous you got. Not just for the possibility of him scaring you, but for his safety. You’d heard so many horror stories about the Forbidden Forest you could probably write a book.
Finally, you mustered the courage to call for Draco. You repeatedly yelled “Draco!”, slightly louder every time you didn’t receive a response. Now you were really worried. He was your sworn enemy, sure, but you didn’t want him dead in the forest.
After more minutes of shouting and worrying, you heard some rustling around you. “Draco? Try and scare me! Don’t think I won’t hesita-”
You were quickly cut off by the noise you dreaded the most: the piercing howl of a werewolf. You, and seemingly the whole forest, froze within an instant. You rapidly placed your hand over your mouth, hoping that even your breaths couldn’t be heard.
Your thoughts immediately went to Draco, alone in the forest, with a werewolf on the prowl. While you should have been much more worried about yourself in such a vulnerable position, the blonde Slytherin couldn’t seem to leave your brain.
Your head was so clouded with Draco that you didn’t pay attention to the sound of claw-steps growing closer to you by the second. By the time you realized that you should shoot some crimson sparks up for help, a loud and intimidating growl emitted from the shrubbery right in front of you.
Without hesitation, you bolted away from the bushes as fast as your feet would take you. You couldn’t get far though, as the silver, moonlight-drenched werewolf stood ahead of you once again, this time on full display.
Its sharp, horrendous fangs resembled the pointed stalactites of underground caves; its violent yellow eyes were a match for Hufflepuff robes, though Hufflepuffs were probably slightly less vicious.
The werewolf stared at you, almost mockingly. The snarl of its mouth could almost be described as a smirk, similar to the one which your blonde detention-mate often wore. Your final thoughts before death at the hands of a werewolf would be, of all things, Draco.
The werewolf reared its arm back, ready to claw you to death, and a single tear ran down your face. It was too late to run, too late to hide, too late to do anything but die.
Draco Malfoy, however, had other plans. He bolted between you and the werewolf, rapidly pointing his wand out at the beast. He yelled “Stupify!” at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse and his lungs out of breath.
You were too shocked by Draco’s sudden reappearance and act of heroism to notice the protective and caring grasp Draco had around your hand. His touch felt different than when he held your wrist, his hand was now warm and soft.
Your eyes were blurry with tears, and coupled with the dark night sky, you could barely see. The only thing guiding you was Draco’s hand, pulling you towards the outskirts of the forest.
You were too scared to look back in search of the werewolf, but Draco didn’t express worry that it would come back. Instead, he pulled you closer to him, your head leaning on his chest. His chest rose and fell quickly, his heartbeat rapid and quick.
After what felt like hours upon hours of running in the pitch black towards nothing, you and the not-so-bad blonde were back safely in front of Hagrid’s hut. The tears in your eyes had finally dried, though you definitely weren’t looking your best.
Under the light from Hagrid’s windows, Draco could see your matted hair, smudged mascara, and a bit of dried blood under your nose. He could have easily made a snide comment at your expense, but instead, he reached to your face, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your eyes.
You looked up from your feet at the handsome blonde in front of you. He held a guilty smile on his face, but he seemed to be okay. You’d been so terrified these past few hours that all you could think to do was practically jump onto Draco, giving him a tight hug.
At first, he didn’t know what to do when you latched your arms around his chest in a tight hug. The last hug he ever got from someone was his first day of Hogwarts, at Platform 9 ¾. His mother tightly embraced him before sending him off to proudly strut onto the train.
His body apparently missed the feeling more than it let on, for butterflies exploded in his whole body the moment your soft skin wrapped around him tightly. He could faintly smell your shampoo as he hesitantly latched onto you.
The feeling of his arms around you was like nothing you’ve experienced before. Sure, you’d hugged people in the past, but this felt different. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and your whole body felt warmer. You felt secure and comfortable.
Little did the two of you know, Hagrid stood in the doorway of his humble abode, a knowing smile painted on his lips. He let out a small “ahem” before the hug was broken. You and Draco swiveled to face the half-giant, who reached out his arm expectantly.
Only then did Draco realize that he left the basket behind after the werewolf encounter, and a look of shock and embarrassment coated his face.
“I must’ve left it back in the forest. I’ll come back tomorrow night to regather the knotgrass. Just let Draco off the hook, please?” Your face had a pleading expression, a slightly pained look in your eyes.
“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Y/N. I know all ‘bout yer werewolf encounter, I’m ser Snape can live without a bit of knotgrass fer a few more days.” Hagrid warmly smiled at you.
The castle felt miles away from the outskirts of the forest. Draco was back to being his usual cold self, facing away from you as you both trudged to the school.
Eventually, you finally stood at the large wooden doors of the main entrance to Hogwarts. Within moments, you would be back within its comforting walls, which would surely soothe the new pounding sensation in your head.
You reached for the large, rusted metal doorknobs, ready to be greeted with the castle’s uplifting energy, when Draco grabbed your free hand, pulling you away from the handle.
You couldn’t bring yourself to be rude to the Slytherin, after all he did for you, so instead, you asked calmly, “What is it?”
The glow of torches which adorned Hogwarts’ stoney outer walls made Draco’s hair look magnificently golden, contrasting the way the pale moonlight made his locks seem almost silver. His silver eyes stared into yours, and for a moment you swear you saw his gaze flicker to your lips.
Your face heated up at the sight of his charming gaze and smile. You hadn’t even noticed how close his face was to yours until you felt the heat radiating from his pale cheeks. He quickly closed the minuscule gap between the two of you by passionately connecting your lips.
The electricity in the air was hard to ignore. The late hours of the night just added to the rush of feelings you got when your and Draco’s lips touched. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer; one of his warm hands cupped your cheek and the other sat around your waist.
After several moments of slow and loving kissing, your lips disconnected. Your lips missed the feeling of his’, but you were still satisfied. Draco pulled the large wooden door open, stepping inside with you, your fingers intertwined.
“I might just have to steal another one of your pathetic essays soon,” Draco said, a genuine look of love in his eyes accompanied by his signature smirk.
“You’re such a git, Malfoy. Though, I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with you, as long as there’s no werewolves involved, okay?”
And with that, you pulled him closer for another quick, affectionate kiss before giddily walking up to the Gryffindor common room.
#draco fanfiction#draco#draco fluff#dating draco malfoy#draco malfoy#draco malfoy fanfic#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy imagine#draco lucius malfoy#draco fuckingmalfoy#draco x reader#draco x y/n#draco x you#draco x gryffindor!reader#hogwarts#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#draco headcanons
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apricity pt. five
apricity- the warmth of the sun in winter
warnings: angst, violence
pairing: bucky barnes x female oc
word count: 3,556
A/N: yes, I did purposely reuse the flashback sequence lol enjoy! feedback is welcome! 💕
MASTERLIST
The air held a palpable tension, red lights reflecting off of the walls and casting red-hued shadows. Florence’s footfalls were quiet, stepping with precision and purpose. Steve and Sam stalked behind her, their eyes ghosting over the path of bodies the Winter Soldier left in their path.
Florence was trained for this: the moments of chaos. She knew how to disappear, how to take out any threat without a trace. She knew the art of managing her emotions, how to go cold like a switch. Yet all of the training that was beaten into her flew out of the window the second the lights went out. Bucky was her number one priority. She was scared, terrified of what awaited her, her heart hammering in her chest as she ran down the dimly lit halls.
The self-proclaimed therapist laid on the floor in front of Florence, anger swimming in her eyes at the sight of him. She grabbed him by his collar, hauling him against the wall with force, face inches away from his, a snarl on her lips, “What do you want?”
“To see an empire fall.”
Florence shoved the man against the wall harder, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt, opening her mouth to speak again. Movement behind her made her turn, seeing Bucky throw Sam down the hall. Steve threw a punch to his ribcage, the soldier barely feeling it and throwing his own. As Bucky stalked him like a wolf hunting its prey, Steve jerked backward, a dangerous look in his eyes. Florence looked down the hall at Bucky and Steve, watching as Bucky threw Steve down an open elevator shaft. She bolted to Sam, her fingers meeting his neck, making sure he was alive before she took off running up the stairs after Bucky.
She found him in the open seating area of the building, fighting off Sharon’s flurry of attacks. He took the blonde down easily, tossing her head over heels into a table, splintering off. Florence threw a punch to his abdomen, Bucky doubling over before moving to tackle her. She used their height difference as an advantage, moving behind his outstretched arm and flipping over him onto his shoulders, thighs around his neck. Her elbow struck his head repeatedly as he tried to throw her off to no avail. Bucky stumbled forward, his hands grasping her waist and throwing her onto a nearby table.
Bucky's metal hand found Florence's throat in an instant. The Winter Soldier showed no mercy, squeezing his hand tighter and tighter. Florence felt her face heat up, her blood vessels threatening to burst if the soldier continued to apply pressure. She writhed in his grasp looking up at him with pleading eyes, black dots dancing across her field of vision. Tears stung her eyes, her throat burning from the crushing weight of his hand, feeling her windpipe constrict as she rasped out the only words she could muster up, "You could at least recognize me."
Florence wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to look at her as Bucky, but also as the Winter Soldier. The soldier was looking at her, her legs wrapping around his neck, not giving him any way to not look at her, but he wasn't seeing her. Not in the way Florence needed, otherwise he was going to kill her.
In the clutches of HYDRA, Florence was the only one that could calm the soldier down when he would have a panic attack or had an episode of anger brought on by the confusion, brainwashing, and torture of their captures. Even in the moments when Bucky was the farthest thing from himself and became the dark machine HYDRA created, he immediately softened at Florence. He would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be loosening his grasp around an agent's throat or dropping his aimed weapon, his eyes would soften and he would become putty, only made to be molded by Florence. Even in the moments where Bucky’s attack was set on her, metal and flesh hands clutched around her throat, a flash of recognition would always wash over his face and immediately let go, falling to his knees at her feet in forgiveness.
HYDRA caught on very quickly about the Soldier's fondness of the redhead and used that to their advantage; always looking for a way to control. If only they had learned of the relationship the two assassins had before the war and before Florence slipped away into the winter night.
Bucky wasn't seeing what he was really doing to her. He was causing her the most imaginable pain, and in turn, hurting himself. She needed him to see her, really truly see her. She needed him to see her as Bucky, the love of her life and not the machine he was made out to be, otherwise, this was all for nothing.
The Soldier's hand left Florence’s throat, being thrown off her by the Black Panther. Florence gulped in air, her throat burning in pain, her windpipe bruised from the weight of Bucky’s grasp. She laid on the table she had been thrown on by Bucky, taking a minute to collect herself and her breath, gasping for air as tears unwillingly fell down her face and into her hairline. Years of emotions threatened to spill, the dam threatening to burst completely. She couldn't do this.
Florence could barely handle the constant up and down of adrenaline anymore, every day was a gamble whether something was going to go wrong or not. Lately, every day had been hell, each passing minute worse than the last. She needed a minute to breathe.
By the time Florence had made it to her feet without falling over, both the soldier and the king had disappeared up the staircase. Florence bounded up the stairs two at a time, a loud commotion outside accelerating her heart rate. Her hand threw the door open, bouncing back against its hinges. She rushes out of the building, eyes locking on Steve who had an iron grip on the helicopter Bucky was attempting to take flight in from the helipad.
Before she could move, Bucky slams the chopper into the helipad, Steve flipping and dodging the attack narrowly. Florence ran towards the scene, hand reaching for Steve’s bicep to help him up as Bucky’s metal hand flew through the windshield and grabbed Steve’s throat. The girl pries at Bucky’s hand around Steve’s throat to no avail, the helicopter tipping further and further over the edge towards the water below. Feet skid against the concrete as Florence and Steve were continuing to be pulled. Bucky’s grip remained on Steve, Florence trying her best to do anything to get him to let go, her hand going from the metal to reaching into the glass towards the brunette, flesh hand finding her outstretched one easily.
Florence squeezed the flesh tightly in her hand as they continued their slow descent towards the edge, her voice betraying her by cracking, “Bucky, please. Let go, we’re trying to help.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was yanked forward by Bucky, her body colliding with Steve as the helicopter finally tipped over. The trio dived into the icy water at the same time, Florence’s vision blurring and fading at the impact.
The redhead was vaguely aware of the arm around her waist and the warm body next to her. Steve secured both Florence and Bucky in his grasp, pulling them out of the frigid water. Her legs kicked helplessly in the water, failing to ease Steve’s rescue swim. Once they made it to dry land, Florence coughed up the water in her lungs, eyes trained on Bucky’s unconscious body on the ground. Neither of the two friends spoke, too preoccupied with moving Bucky to a secure location.
Along with Sam, Steve and Florence secured Bucky in an abandoned warehouse, metal arm braced between heavy machinery. The redhead’s eyes never strayed away from Bucky’s unconscious form for long, wanting to make sure he was okay. Bucky groaned as he came too, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the old building. Sam called for Steve behind Florence, wanting to have a second super soldier in case Bucky remained the Winter Soldier.
Bucky peered at his arm between the vice and then settled his gaze on Florence who stood mere feet away in front of him, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Steve jogged to where the others were, eyes darting to the man in the chair, eyebrows furrowed.
Bucky groaned as he sat up further, “Steve.”
“Which Bucky am I talking to?”
Florence whipped her head to the blonde standing next to her, hand coming up and swatting him on the shoulder, “Steve!”
Bucky made no reaction, instead, he gazed vacantly ahead before he spoke again, “Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Bucky chuckled fondly at the newfound memory.
Steve smiled softly, his lips barely turning up, “You can’t read that in a museum.”
Bucky looked from the ground to Florence, eyes softening as he took her concerned features in, “Your mom was Anya, dad was Viktor. We used to have dinner every Sunday. And you were my best girl.”
Her face broke out in a pained smile. If Steve hadn't been standing next to her, Florence would have been on the ground. Waves of memories washed over her and threatened to pull her in, each one more grueling than the last; happiness, dances in the moonlight at 2 a.m.-, their bare feet barely gliding across the kitchen floor. All throughout time, he called her his best girl. Then there were the darker ones, them huddled together on the chilled floor of a HYDRA cell, using each other for warmth as they whispered memories of their past to one another. Always his best girl.
The memories were fleeting, Sam scoffing behind her, “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Florence turned her head curtly, glaring at Sam. He didn’t know.
The smile fell, Bucky grimacing, “What did I do?”
“Enough.” Florence’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke, she was still drowning in the past, fighting for air before the current took her under, dragging her by her ankle.
“Oh, God,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, greasy hair hanging around his face and shielding his eyes, “I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”
Steve spoke, “Who was he?”
Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know.”
Steve continued to pile on the hurt, “People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” It was Steve’s turn to be glared at by Florence, her ferocity to protect Bucky knew no bounds, even if Bucky deserved whatever it was Florence was trying to shield him from.
Bucky took a moment to think, his words tumbling out before he spoke clearly, “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I- we were kept.” Florence’s heart dropped at Bucky’s correction from singular to plural. Siberia. No fond memories were made in that place, Florence shuttered at the thought of remembering being kept there with Bucky. She listened closely as Bucky further explained, “He wanted to know exactly where.”
Steve wasted no time to ask questions, his invisible clock was ticking, “Why would he need to know that?”
Bucky met Steve’s gaze, “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”
The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.
Florence remembered the screaming. Without fail, HYDRA always made her watch Bucky be reprogrammed, his screams echoed in her brain even days after it would happen. That night was no different, even the cold air from the motorcycle speeding down the road did nothing to numb the pain she felt.
A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.
Florence’s choice of close contact weapon had always been a butterfly knife; Bucky had taught her for hours on end in the Red Room how to use it. There had been a few training mishaps, an accidental slice to Bucky’s rib cage that sent Florence into a fit of fear, her past nursing skills coming to light, her fingers working quickly to bandage the wound all while Bucky merely peered down at her nervous hands with a smile. That had been the first moment the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow were not the machines they were training to be in the Red Room, they were Bucky and Florence. They just didn’t know it at the time.
Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.
Bucky briefly explained the use of the liquid, HYDRA used the serum to experiment and create more super-soldiers; better ones. Bucky’s handler and head of the Winter Soldier Program, Karpov, made sure of it.
Steve stood with his arms crossed over his chest, “Who were they?”
“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”
Sam leaned against a beam, looking to Bucky, “They all turn out like you?”
Bucky lifted his head, eyes hollow, “Worse.”
Steve spoke, “The doctor, could he control them?”
“Enough.” Bucky’s head fell.
Florence took a small step forward, lessening the gap slightly between herself and Bucky, “He said he wanted to see an empire fall.”’
Bucky lifted his head again, “With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.”
Sam steps up to Steve, nodding at Florence to join before he began speaking, “This would have been a lot easier a week ago.”
“If we call Tony-”
Florence cut Steve off, “No.”
Sam shook his head, “He won’t believe us.”
Steve shrugged, looking to Sam, “Even if he did-”
Sam interrupted, “Who knows if the Accords would let him help.”
“We’re on our own.”
Sam thought in silence before looking between Florence and Steve, “Maybe not. I know a guy.”
A few phone calls and a handful of hours later, the quartet was packed into a small car, parked under an overpass. Steve stepped out of the car to greet Sharon, another favor that was called in, retrieving their gear. Sam sat in the passenger seat in silence, while Florence was huddled into the driver’s backseat, knee unwillingly brushing Bucky’s much larger frame.
Bucky had a scowl on his face, whether it was from the seating arrangement or the situation they had found themselves in, Florence didn’t know. Bucky stared ahead at the back of Sam’s head, “Can you move your seat up?”
Sam snapped back monotonously, “No.”
Bucky shifted slightly towards the middle of the seat, further invading Florence’s space. Although she wasn’t complaining, she hadn’t been this close to him in decades.
The trio looks on in a mixture of shock and proudness as they watch Steve and Sharon share a kiss, Steve sauntering back to the car with a smug smile with gear in hand.
A cramped car ride later, they arrived at the airport, Steve’s choice of car rattled and squeaked through the parking garage. They parked next to a van that contained Sam’s favor that was called in. Clint and Wanda stepped out of the van as Florence squeezed out of the car behind Steve.
Sam stepped up next to Steve, conversing with Clint and Wanda, Florence staying by the car with Bucky. They watched as Clint slid the van door open, a highly caffeinated Scott Lang appeared.
Steve stood with his arms crossed, “They tell you what we’re up against?”
Scott shrugged, “Something about psycho-assassins?”
“We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.” Steve was giving Scott his last way out, not wanting him to be involved with something he didn’t want to be.
Scott merely raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, well, what else is new?”
Beside Florence, Bucky spoke as he leaned against the car, “We should get moving.”
Clint spoke, “We got a chopper lined up.”
Speakers began to blare overhead in German, Florence translating in her head as Bucky translated for the others, “They’re evacuating the airport.”
Sam looked to Steve, “Stark.”
“Stark!” Scott looked at Steve with his eyebrows raised.
A frown etched itself on Steve’s face, “Suit up.”
Later, the team took their places around the airport with their gear on. Florence was with Sam and Bucky, watching through the terminal windows as Steve and Tony talked amongst themselves along with Natasha with Rhodey.
Florence shifted uncomfortably, standing between Sam and Bucky. She was nervous for what was about to happen, antsy to get Bucky out of here. She knew he was a wanted man, both by the government, T’Challa, and now by Tony. She didn’t want to have to fight her friends, but for Bucky, she would do anything.
Sam was busy using Redwing to find their Quinjet, Bucky standing in silence. Neither Florence nor Bucky have had an opportunity to have a proper conversation, too busy not getting captured or killed.
Chaos ensued below, various Avengers fighting amongst themselves. Florence took off with Bucky and Sam running through the hanger. Spider-Man appeared on the window, Bucky turning in confusion as he ran, “What the hell is that?”
Sam groaned, strides falling behind slightly, “Everyone's got a gimmick now.”
The spider swung through the window, breaking it as he kicked Sam. Bucky and Florence halted, turning to the attacker. Bucky threw a punch, the spider’s red-gloved hand catching it with ease. Both Bucky and Florence stared in horror at how was able to easily stop Bucky’s punch.
“You have a metal arm? That is awesome dude.” The spider was taken down by Sam, grabbing him and flying up with him. Bucky and Florence resumed running, watching as Sam dropped the kid as he webbed himself up. Bucky threw a beam at the spider, trying to knock him down. He and Florence took cover, weighing their options of escape. Spider-Man throws the object back at Bucky, Florence yanking the man away from the crash.
They take off running again, Sam temporarily distracting the attacker. The distraction is short-lived, Sam being webbed down to the balcony railing. Bucky and Florence run across towards Sam, the spider crashing into both of them and sent them crashing through the glass railing to the floor level below. Florence, Sam, and Bucky land with a thud, the spider quick to web their hands to the floor with no chance of escaping the unusual restraints.
The spider sat on top of a kiosk, looking down on them, “Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today, and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, I’m really sorry.” Sam managed to tap a button on his suit, Redwing appearing and dragging the spider through the air and through the window.
Bucky groaned, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”
Sam snarked back, “I hate you.”
Between the two men, Florence could only laugh. The situation wasn’t funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry and her training made crying a weakness. Neither Sam nor Bucky commented on the redheads' theatrics, only looking at her oddly. Bucky couldn’t help the minuscule smile he had as he watched her laugh.
They eventually freed themselves from the webs, jumping to their feet and outside to join Steve, along with Wanda, Scott, and Clint. The group ran toward the jet as fast as they could, impending doom settled itself in Florence’s chest as she ran between Bucky and Sam.
Vision hovered overhead, casting a line of heat in front of the running group, causing them to come to a halt.
Vision remains in the air, speaking, “Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you’re doing is right.” Tony and Natasha joined below him, “But for the collective good, you must surrender now.” Black Panther, Rhodey, and Spider-Man join, all standing together across from them, divided.
Both groups faced off against one another, Sam breaking the tension, “What do we do, Cap?”
Steve took a breath, “We fight.”
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog!
Tag list: @tanyaherondale @lilyviolets @jckie94 @badgernix @geek-and-proud @ginger-swag-rapunzel
#bucky barnes#steve rogers#captain america: civil war#bucky barnes x female oc#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#winter soldier#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#natasha romanoff#sam wilson#tfatws#angst#bucky barnes x reader#sebastian stan#sebastian stan imagine#my writing#apricity
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my only friend
kira yoshikage / reader ;
rating: mature, no 18+ content yet ; kira & reader are portrayed as 18 years old
hey my fellow gamers, i realized that i did not post this on tumblr yet. here is chapter 1 to this fic! it’s also cross posted on ao3 here.
here is a spotify playlist to go with this fic.
"believe the lies that people tell you you've lost your battle and vines and tiny thorns inside your wound,"
Kira made a mistake. He came to you, begging for you to run away with him.
You did.
chapter 2
The stars glittered against the deep blue of the night sky, reflecting softly against the stark ocean waves that licked against the calm beach. It felt so serene-- so gentle, and still. Like time had stopped or slowed, your breath just barely ghosting over your lips.
It was nice.
Metal pressed against your back, warmed up by your body heat, stiff and hard but yet still so soft. It felt almost too good to be true-- a beautiful night like this. No kids and families stomping all over the delicate sand, interrupting the sound of the waves crashing against rocks.
A small sigh lifted you from your thoughts.
Glancing over, you carefully eyed your companion. His blonde hair tousled and glowing in the moonlight-- ice blue eyes cast out against the sea. He was truly something of beauty himself, had you not known what he was really capable of.
“What’s on your mind?” The words fell from your mouth without a second thought, almost dropping to a whisper. He shook his head lightly, his eyes being torn away from the water to look at you.
Such a pretty shade of blue. Pale and glistening-- like a fresh dew on the first day of spring.
A light drizzle against hard asphalt, pooling and shining-- only to be gone in a second’s notice.
“Just-- A lot on my mind.” Ah, so it’s like that.
Yoshikage never dared to tell you what he was thinking upfront. He didn’t want to seem-- vulnerable? Is that the right word? Weak. Docile. Bound to break. It didn’t seem fair. You were always so-- Strong. Incredible. Someone to look up to. Someone who could clean up his mess.
Sighing softly in response, you leaned back against the cool glass of the windshield. Shuffling through your pocket, you pulled out some cigarettes and a lighter you had managed to pick up from the corner store, thanks to Killer Queen.
Carefully snatching one out of the pack, you quickly lit it and took a long drag. The smoke filled your lungs, heavy and harsh, causing a small shiver to run down your spine. Nicotine was the best way to end a long day.
“Those are awful for you.” Yoshikage’s words drifted to your ears, and you blew the smoke in his direction. He flinched and coughed, using his hand to try and maneuver the offending cloud away from him. “Hey! That was uncalled for.”
“Don’t tell me things I already know, Yoshi.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm, and you shot him a sly grin. “Besides, can’t I have a little break once in a while?” As soon as the words left your lips, Yoshikage slumped in his spot.
“Where are we going to stay tonight?” The question drifted to your ears, his voice soft and oh so gentle. You shifted your leg up to press against your chest, letting your arm wrap around it. “I dunno. I saw a motel back in town, looked decently cheap.”
Your partner nodded his head in agreement. “Looked kinda dirty, though.” You had to hold back a laugh at his comment, bringing your cigarette up to take another drag instead. “We’ll be fine. Killer Queen can always just kill any unsavory guests we encounter.”
His eyes drifted back out to the ocean, and his hands twitched in his lap. “I can feel another urge coming on.” Blinking at his words, you let your head sit on your knee, nursing the smoke you had in between your fingers. “Think you can wait until tomorrow?” You asked calmly.
Yoshikage nodded quickly, bringing a hand up to run through his hair, pulling his bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah. I could also use a hair cut.” Grinning against the fabric of your jeans, you laughed. “I’m sure we could find a barber shop. Unless you want me to do it.”
His eyes opened wide, and he snapped his head over to you. “I’d never let you near my neck with a pair of scissors.” You laughed at his comment, shaking your head just slightly. Taking a final drag from your cigarette, you put it out against the side of the rusty car.
“Are you ready to head that way then?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
The drive to the motel was quiet, much like all of the other drives you took together. The radio softly played in the background-- some upbeat song that you couldn’t really catch the lyrics to, but it seemed like Yoshikage enjoyed it. His fingers were tapping against the passenger side door, in tune with the beat.
You tried to remember where the motel was, only catching a glance of it earlier. It was on the main road through the town, so it wasn’t hard-- ah. There’s the sign.
Pulling the car into the parking lot, you parked in a lane that was a decent amount away from the lobby. Yoshikage looked up from his seat, glancing at you. He knew what to do-- it was always like this. Opening the car door and stepping out, he began to slowly walk towards the building.
The air was blowing softly, causing a shiver to run across his arms. Pulling the sleeves of his sweater down, he clutched them to his chest. It was definitely a lot cooler now than it was at the beach. Reaching the door fairly quickly, he pulled it open and stepped inside the dimly lit room.
The man sitting at the counter was elderly-- heavy set, reading some sort of newspaper, his glasses practically falling off his nose. Yoshikage cleared his throat softly, moving closer to the desk. “Excuse me,” He stated quietly, “Do you have a restroom open to the public?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Killer Queen materialized behind the man. The stand’s eyes were trained on the set of keys hung up on the wall, trying to decide which one it would take. The elderly man barely looked up from his paper, blinking slowly at Yoshikage.
“Did you not read the sign on the door?” His voice was harsh, somewhat irritated. It made the younger boy’s nerves tingle, and his hands twitch in his sleeves. “Oh- I suppose I must have missed it,” Yoshikage answered, trying hard not to let his voice quiver.
Killer Queen had successfully grabbed one of the keys from the hooks in the meantime-- pulling it off carefully, and holding it in it’s hand. After the task was done, it’s eyes went to a stack of magazines that were sitting on the other side of the desk. Kira mentally tried to get it to stop-- “No! Killer Queen--!”
The magazines flew to the floor in a rush, and Queen quickly deposited the key into Kira’s pocket. The man at the desk jumped in shock, looking around for what could have possibly knocked the papers over. “Er-- I’ll just--”
Yoshikage made quick work of turning around and leaving. He mentally scolded Killer Queen for causing a scene, before pulling out the key from his pocket. Room 312-- it must be on the other side of the motel. He can at least thank his stand for that.
Quickly sliding into the passenger seat, the blond sighed quietly. “Our room should be on the other side.” You nodded, pulling the car around the building. The parking lot was beat up, it was obvious that the back of the motel didn’t get as much work as the front would. Successfully avoiding some potholes, you managed to park the car a good distance from the rooms.
Turning the engine off and sliding the keys out, you looked over at your companion. He still seemed to be cold-- shivering just slightly, his hands buried in the sleeves of his sweater. It was cute. “Hey, let’s hurry and get inside. You look like you could use a warm shower.”
His eyes met yours for a split second.
They were soft-- delicate, almost. Frosty blue dancing along in the shitty light of the lamp posts.
But there was something else there.
An emotion-- you didn’t quite know how to describe it.
He looked away as quickly as he had looked at you, just barely nodding his head. “Yeah,” His voice was small. “Let’s go.” With that, Yoshikage opened the door and got out, walking towards the staircase on the side of the building.
Huffing out a breath, you just shook your head. Always so secretive-- everything must be so hidden with him. You understood that he liked privacy, maybe more than the average 18 year old boy would, but still. Weren’t you his closest friend?
His only friend?
Shuffling out of the car, you made sure that the door was locked behind you. Speeding up your pace, you managed to catch up with Kira, walking beside him in silence. At times like these, you really wondered why you let yourself get into this mess.
You could have left Yoshikage on his own. You could have refused his plea, and stayed in Morioh. You might have actually finished high school.
You might have had a different life.
But no. You decided to be a good friend, and try to help him escape his consequences. Murder, your mind screamed at you, He killed someone.
Was it worth it?
Was it worth dropping everything to help him?
Kira stopped walking, finally finding the door to your room. Being so deep in thought, you accidentally walked right into him, stumbling back slightly and losing your balance. Just when you thought you were about to hit the cold concrete of the floor, something caught you.
Yoshikage was looking down at you, Killer Queen holding you against his chest. Sometimes, he really wondered about you.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t sound angry or upset-- genuinely concerned. That snapped you out of your thoughts within seconds, looking up at him like a deer in headlights. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you.” He just shook his head, a dumb little smile playing against his lips. “C’mon. I think you could use a shower too.”
Ah.
That’s right.
Despite whatever crime he may have committed-- Yoshikage Kira is your friend. He has been since elementary school, playing with you and only you. He’s been the only steady companion in your life-- and for that, you’d do anything for him.
Even if that meant dropping everything.
Fumbling with the key, the blond managed to open the door with minimal struggle. The room was small-- one king sized bed pushed to one corner, a dusty TV on an equally dusty entertainment center, and a small grimy bathroom. It definitely wasn’t any 5 star hotel-- but it would do for tonight.
Walking in, you kicked off your shoes by the door, and flipped on the light switch. It flickered for a few moments, before finally setting the room in a hazy yellow light. Yoshikage followed behind you, kicking off his own busted chucks and shutting the door behind him. He glanced around the room, before settling on the bed.
The one bed.
It wasn’t much of an issue for either of you. Kira didn’t shy away from giving you physical affection-- it wasn’t uncommon for the both of you to cuddle up in the same bed after a long day of driving. It was nice, in your opinion.
You walked over to the bed and sat down, stretching out your arms, and yawning slightly. “Do you wanna shower first? Or should I?” Yoshikage smiled at you, before moving to sit beside you. “Go ahead. I think I’ll just get up and take one in the morning.” Shaking your head at his response, you grinned. “I dunno, you kinda smell.”
Mocking offence, Kira glared at you. “Hey! I do not!”
“Stinky boy. Fine, I’ll go shower. Find something good to watch before we go to bed, then.”
Getting up, you grabbed the remote on the TV stand and threw it towards the bed. You shed your jacket on the way to the bathroom, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud.
The bathroom wasn’t the cleanest you’ve seen, but at least the water in the shower ran. As the stream warmed up, you took a minute to look at yourself in the mirror. Kira mentioned something about getting a haircut at the beach, and it seemed like it wasn’t a bad idea. Less hair to have to deal with, the better.
Shedding your clothes, you stepped into the shower. The water was nice and hot, hitting your skin and letting all the stress of the day melt down your back. It was a great way to recharge, and calm yourself down before going to bed.
Using the cheap soap that the motel provided, you washed your hair and body, revelling in the basic smell of mint and lavender. It was nice that Kira had Killer Queen-- it gave you guys the opportunity to not have to sleep in the car, as well as giving you both basic hygiene.
You kinda wished that you could see it. A “Stand”, as he had once called it, was supposedly your embodiment of a fighting spirit. You weren’t sure where he had learned that, but you chose not to question his sources. From the way that Kira described Queen, it seemed to be a big cat.
Almost like a sphinx, pink in color, wearing only a small blue skirt with gloves and sandals. If Yoshikage was to get any animal to be paired with, you were happy it was a cat. It mirrored him so well-- calm, quiet, with the occasional thirst for chaos.
As you slowly got out of your thoughts, you realized that the water had started to turn cold. Quickly shutting off the shower, you stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying yourself off. Bed sounded absolutely amazing right now, and you wondered what Yoshikage had managed to find on the TV.
Slipping on your pants and shirt, you stepped out into the room.
Kira was laying on the bed, tucked under the covers, his button up and khakis discarded on the floor next to your jacket. Glancing at the TV, it was some form of late night sitcom, with boring characters and an uninteresting storyline. Dropping your other clothes into the pile, you walked over to the bed.
“Want me to turn the lights off?” Yoshikage nodded his head just slightly, his eyes already dipping with sleep. “Yes, please.”
Walking over and flipping the switch, the room was cast in darkness, aside from the low brightness coming from the TV. Moving back over, you slid under the covers, making yourself comfortable. Yoshikage practically latched onto you the second you joined him, pulling you close and settling his head against your chest.
You sighed slightly, letting a smile run along your lips.
“Good night, Yoshi.”
“Mmm, night.”
#Yoshikage Kira#Kira yoshikage#kira yoshikage x reader#yoshikage x reader#yoshikage kira x reader#yoshikage kira imagine#kira imagine#kira yoshikage imagine#chaptered fic#my only friend fic#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure#jojos bizarre adventure#Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken#jojo x reader#jjba x reader#jojo imagine#jjba imagine#jjba#jojo#jjba part 4#jojo part 4#Diamond is Unbreakable#jjba diamond is unbreakable
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Not the End | Kuroo Tetsuro
Pairing: Kuroo x Reader (female)
Genre: heart warming fluff tehe
Author’s Note: Literally one of my most favorite things I have ever written so I really hope you guys like it too~!! 🥺🥰🥰time to embrace canon kuroo and make more fluff, even if it means breaking a 4th wall or 5th wall- dedicated to haikyuu, thank you for everything
He knocked repeatedly on the door as clouds casted by in the sky, blocking out the sweltering summer sun
He wore a white oversized t-shirt with the periodic table on it and black jeans
“Where is she?” He thought to himself as he spammed your doorbell, hearing the chime echo inside yet there was no movement to be seen
He glanced at his watch seeing the time
He fortunately came early but if you didn’t come out now, the window of extra time would be shutting
He was growing just the tiniest bit antsy since he had been dreaming about this date for so long and now that it was summer and volleyball was over, he had the time
Tickets were hard to get for these museums he had planned and he had a whole day planned down to every hour
It was early in summer so it was perfect, not too scorching hot
He couldn’t wait anymore and pulled out your spare key from your flowerpot, putting it back neatly as if it was never touched
“Y/N?” He called, his strong voice echoing into what seemed like an empty house
He slipped out of his shoes and made his way upstairs, almost always finding you there if you never answered the door, his calls, or anything
Your bedroom was like your sanctum having all that you needed- an air con fan, tv, surround sound, and most importantly, your bed that you had all to yourself
approaching your bedroom, the door cracked open, he could hear the faintest sound of music playing
“Oya?” He knocked on your bedroom door as he pushed it open, relieved to find you
But he didn’t know how to feel seeing you curled up wearing his stolen hoodie, still in bed when you knew about the time for today’s events
“Hey, what’s up? We have to get to the station-“ he paused when he saw you look up to him, uncurling your face from your pillow
Your eyes were red and cheeks tear stained, matching your pillow cover that you hugged
“K-Kuroo...” you sobbed, inching yourself in your little ball form toward him as he sat on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight
“W-what is it?” He was surprised as you laid your head on his lap
His mind went frantic as he went through your messages in his head, trying to remember if it was a certain day he missed- it wasn’t anyone that he knew of’s birthday, not an anniversary date or anything
Why were you so heartbroken?
Your eyes glistened from the sunlight in the room as you teared up once again, little wet drops forming on his jeans
“R-remember that manga and anime I was watching?” You sniffled as you sat up, your pillow in your lap and your fingers playing with the hem of it. “The volleyball one?”
“Yeah, did a character die or something?” He tried to make light of the situation and it worked, just the slightest but your emotions were getting the best of you
“No, but the last chapter of the manga came out…” tears dripped off your chin as you swallowed a hardened lump in your throat, the words aching as you spoke
listening carefully, he could hear you were listening to a slowed down version of one of the opening themes- he only knew this because of how many times you would put on the themes while riding in the car
but this was the slowed down version, or as you called it the “moonlight version,” and it was setting the mood for you, making you more sad
Kuroo remembered the day back in junior high/ end of grade school when you started following this manga about volleyball
“You need to stop listening to this, it’s just making you sadder,” he laughed awkwardly, pausing the song that was playing on loop. he knew this volleyball anime/manga meant the world to you, but not like this
Your eyes lit up when you read or talked about it to him and he asked you why not play for the girls’ team but you settled on being the manager for Nekoma instead, wanting to cheer them on and also being with kuroo and kenma and all your other close friends on the team
It made him feel like you loved the show and manga more than him sometimes and it kinda hurt since they were fictional characters and he was your boyfriend, a real life actual volleyball player
“All the characters got their story, they grew above and beyond, and the main character was finally able to make it to the world stage with his partner from the high school team and- “ your voice cracked as you spoke, the wound reopening, fresh in your chest as everything you read, everything you watched, all the glorious moments came rushing through your mind
Everything you fell in love with for the past eight years came rushing back and you loved it all so much, it made you so warm but it also hurt thinking about how there wouldn’t be any more to it
You wanted to curl into a hole and rewatch and reread everything as much as you could
No more chapters, most likely no more official arts- all you had left was the animated show that would be continuing and finishing in a couple months
“Kuroo, I don’t want it to end,” you sobbed, your hair falling, hiding your face
He didn’t miss how your knuckles turned white as you gripping your pillow, only able to imagine the heartache you were feeling
he knew very well how much this all meant to you, all the rants and extensive conversations you had with him, begging him to watch the show- especially because of a bed headed character that was just like him
you reminded him so much of kenma- you talked, read, and watched everything about this story like kenma when he got a new game or was watching hinata play volleyball
You want to see more, hear more of the voice actors, the characters growing. You want to be beside all of them and see their story to the very end
All the antics between the characters that made you break into a smile or fits of giggles, all the cheers made for the different teams in your manga/anime- all were so addicting
“Hey, shhh,” he pulled you gently into his embrace, one hand holding the back of your head, the other rubbing down your back. “I know you don’t but all good things must come to an end, right?”
He glanced at his watch just the slightest bit, seeing the time, relieved to know he still had enough
“Look on the bright side; you were able to read and watch it while it was still being made, you got to anticipate the next chapter and episode, seeing all the characters develop and become great people who’ve had such a great impact on your life.”
He pulled you back and wiped your tears away on your cheek
“This may be the end of the story, but it’s not the end for you; everything will live on inside of you, right?” He held your face in his hands, making sure his words got to you
“It won’t be the end of your life, or any of your favorite characters’. The story you were presented with came to an end but their lives are still going, just like yours.”
You buried yourself into his arms, muffling your cries into his neck as he chuckled, holding you
“Come on, get dressed and I’ll make sure all this sadness you’re feeling will go away. I’ll be the wind that’ll shift the storm cloud brewing above your head,” he stood up, still holding you and setting your feet on the ground
“I won’t let you be sad, not on my watch, chibi-chan,” he looked down to you with a smile as he pat your head. “Your body won’t even realize L-trytophan’s being converted into L-5OH-trytophan, converting serotonin by an aromatic L-amino acid decarboxylase.”
The gawk you had made him let out his hyena laugh, just hurting his pride ever so slightly that he had made one of the smoothest lines in love-history and you didn’t even swoon
“I’m gonna make happy chemical in your body make your heart go doki doki,” he put simply to which you nodded, breaking in to a laugh, calling him a nerd under your breath as you changed
But he was your nerd, and he was right
No matter where you were in life, you got to have this special manga and story in your life and experience it first-hand whereas others were missing it
Everyone lives on, even if you can’t see them
Thank you, Furudate, for bringing Haikyuu into this world <3
~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!
Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00 @kara-grayson04 @fortheloveofbakugo @tsumtsumsemi @osamuonigiri @sam-ate-giorno @1-800-wholesome @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi @pink-panda-pancakes @differentballooncollection @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction @euphorihan
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#kuroo#kuroo tetsuro#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu scenariis#kuroo fluff#kuroo imagines#kuroo scenarios#kuroo x reader#kuroo headcanons#kuroo tetsuro imagines#kuroo tetsuro scenarios#kuroo tetsuro x reader#luroo tetsuro fluff#kuroo tetsuro headcanons#dokifluffs#nekoma
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Like a Moth to a Flame- Pt. 2
It’s been way too long since I’ve been motivated to work on this piece. But at last… at long last… part two is ready for takeoff! Once again I thank/blame @miscellaneous-bnha for inspiring this piece of monster fuckery (even though there’s no fuckery in this story… yet).
Enjoy!
Part 1
•••••
You become more distracted and nervous than usual over the next week or so. The slightest sound nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you keep making careless mistakes at work. Even your boss checks in with you to make sure you aren’t sick or losing your grip on reality. You assure him everything is fine and blame your poor performance and skittish nature on a made-up relative’s failing health. In truth, you can’t go for more than a few minutes without thinking about the blonde beast, his beautiful yet terrifying presence seeming to loom over you wherever you go. But you don’t dare tell any of your friends or coworkers about what you saw.
Who would believe you? At best, they’d think you were telling a bad joke and at worst they’d try to cart you off to the nearest mental hospital. So you keep your thoughts private, suffering in silence and staying up late to research who or what you saw that night.
And it's during one of your late-night Internet searches that you stumble across a forum dedicated to winged, humanoid creatures known as “mothmen.” 
While the stories mainly originate from the Eastern United States, there have also been purported sightings as far as Japan. And though details may have varied slightly, the key features of the monsters always remain the same: massive height, glowing eyes, and of course the moth-like wings. You’d spent hours poring over your laptop that night, reading the information and accounts posted by other “mothman survivors.” Some stories were rather nice. One woman claimed the mothman she encountered was gentle, bordering on intelligent. She wrote about the gifts and trinkets it brought from time to time and it’s attempts at communication. But the majority were horrifying, with several people posting tales of the beasts attacking without provocation, leaving them injured and afraid. Someone even posted a picture of the deeply scarred claw marks on his chest and arms, claiming them to be the work of a particularly savage mothman. Regardless of their validity, one thing was for sure: the mothmen were unpredictable.
By the end of the second week, you’ve grown so desperate to stop the near constant waking nightmares that you decide to take a proactive approach to the matter. It’s a simple plan: set a trap, wait for the monster to reappear, and collect photo evidence. Even if it’s only to soothe your own self-doubts, you need to have definitive proof of its– of his existence.
On Friday night, you come home late from work, so late the sun has just barely set over the horizon. After a hot shower and a quick meal of instant noodles, you grab a shallow bowl from the cupboard and fill it with lukewarm water. One of the contributors to the website claimed that mothmen like sugar water, much like the insects they resemble. Another had proposed they might even enjoy the taste of cloth or fiber, but you weren’t about to sacrifice one of your favorite sweaters on a wild hunch.
You spoon in a generous amount of sugar into the bowl, mixing well to create a saccharine slurry before heading for the farthest living room window. Unlike the one you’d spotted the mothman from, this one is partially obscured by a rickety fire escape, the metal encrusted with decades worth of rust and snaking up the side of the building. Opening the window and leaning out of it, you place the dish of bait on one of the steps before hauling yourself back inside. You shut the window and settle yourself on the couch, a blanket and book in your lap and your phone’s camera at the ready. Hours tick by, the waning moon slowly creeping by in the night sky as you hold your silent vigil. As you wait in suffocating silence, you start to feel foolish and begin to think your “mothman” might have been nothing more than a product of an overactive imagination and one too many late nights in the office. Even with all your research, all you had to go by was a few wild stories posted by Internet strangers and a missing frying pan. You finally nod off around two in the morning, unable to keep your heavy eyelids open.
•••
WHAM!
A noise from outside jolts you awake from your spot on the couch, followed by the sound of creaking, groaning metal. The whole apartment seems to shake and an unearthly screech accompanies the final creak as you hear the fire escape give way before clattering into the alleyway. Other tenants on all floors start opening their windows and doors, shouting and swearing about the noise and the landlord “not keeping this shithole up to code.” It’s utter chaos for a few minutes and then silence falls once more, your neighbors still grumbling as they retreat back into their homes. You scramble off the couch and to the window, gazing into the alley for any sign of life. The moon isn’t as bright as last time, but you can just barely make out the mangled remains of the fire escape and the faintest glimpse of gold. Throwing caution to the wind, you grab a well-worn hoodie, your phone, and the kitchen knife. You make your way down the three flights of stairs to the alley door, opening it cautiously should you encounter an angry cryptid on the other side. But there’s no one there, so you take a deep breath and head out into the apocalyptic looking alley. Metal is strewn everywhere, with part of the railing still clinging to the side of the building like a deranged centipede. Snapped metal bars jut out at odd angles, creating a maze of twisted, rusty spikes and sharp edges. You slowly pick your way over and around the wreckage, using your phone’s flashlight as a guide so you don’t end up tripping and accidentally impaling yourself.
“Hello?” You call into the darkness, “Mothman? A-are you there?”
Your call is rewarded with a shuddering groan and the sounds of scraping metal. You shine your light on the biggest tangle of steel, watching as something large moves underneath it. The pile of metal shifts upwards and falls away, while a large, dark figure rises from the shadows. They’re silhouetted against the dim moonlight but just as intimidating as before, hunching over as the appendages on their back shake and rustle. You turn the flashlight on and find yourself looking into a familiar pair of glassy, blue eyes. The mothman stares back at you, folding his wings against his back and cocking his handsome head from side to side.
“You- you’re real.” You breathe, feeling your heart jump into your throat as you surreptitiously pull up your phone’s camera. The monster chitters in response as he sniffs at the air, stepping over a piece of rusted debris to get closer to you. You quickly snap and picture... and the alley is suddenly lit up with blinding light.
You’d forgotten to turn off the flash!
The mothman blinks in response and lets out a groan, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. You drop your phone and crouch down, knife forgotten as you cover your head with your hands and prepare for him to lash out. But no claws come to tear at your flesh nor are there any angry roars or shrieks. Instead the beast starts to emit low, rumbling noise, like a growl but far less sinister. You hear metal being dragged across the concrete followed by the sound of heavy footfalls. You cautiously open one eye to see a pair of clawed feet and muscular calves, only to squeak in alarm when his face abruptly appears in your field of vision. You fall backwards in surprise, landing heavily on your rump while the mothman squats mere inches from you. His eyes are fixed on the ground, gently running his nails over the now cracked screen of your upturned phone. Even in the dim lighting you can see his curious, wide-eyed expression and it suddenly dawns on you what that noise he’s making is: he’s purring. Or near enough to it.
“W-What do you want?”
The monster looks up when you speak, cocking his head slightly before turning back to paw at the phone once more. He’s more insistent this time, his swipes becoming bolder as the phone scratches across the concrete. He gives the device a few well-placed taps before making eye contact once more, his brow furrowed as he briefly switches from purring to a chittering cry. With a gulp, you gingerly set down the blade, reach across your body and flip the phone over, the still lit flashlight illuminating the alley once more. The beast’s eye’s blow even wider, enchanted by the light shining upwards into the starry sky. You sit in silence for a few seconds, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and the guttural purrs coming from the mesmerized mothman. As your heart rate slows, you begin to notice more intimate details about the creature before you.
For one, his wings are covered in the same fur that rings his neck and, though it’s shorter and more fine, they look just as soft.
Second, he’s incredibly warm. A steady heat rolls off his body in waves that seem a stark contrast to what one might expect from a bug-centric cryptid.
But most noticeable of all is his smell.
It’s not a bad smell by any means; in fact, it’s downright pleasant. The odor is a cross between lemonade and petrichor, a soothing blend of sweet citrus and earthy musk. You find yourself unconsciously breathing more through your nose, feeling lightheaded as his scent floods your senses and making you relax into the cold pavement. As your eyes lazily drift over his naked form you see he’s holding something in his other hand, protectively clutching it against his chest. You tilt your head to get a better view, the subtle movement getting the monster’s attention and causing him to drag his eyes away from the light and focus on you again.
“What’s that?” You ask softly, almost dreamily, and point to his chest. The mothman’s eyes follow your finger down to his right hand, pulling it away to reveal your (still remarkably intact) bowl. It’s largely empty of its contents, but some of the sugar water has stuck to his fur and cooled into sweet, matted clumps. He squeaks at the sight of it, almost like he’d forgotten about the bait and dives into it to eagerly lap at the ceramic bottom. When it fails to yield anything substantial he huffs and turns his attention to his dirtied mane. He dips his head as a long, pink tongue slithers out of his mouth and curls around the largest tangle, laving over the sugar-crusted mat before quickly retreating. He chitters in satisfaction at the taste, barely glancing up at you before diving back down for more.
“So you do like sugar.” You mutter under your breath, a small chuckle bubbling up in your chest on the exhale. The mothman pays you no mind, too engrossed in his work to notice how you shift your body into a more comfortable sitting position to watch. After a few minutes, the creature stops licking at himself and looks back up at you, eyes still wide and expression almost curious as he cocks his head to the side once more. Tentatively shifting his weight forward, he extends the empty bowl to you.
“I don’t have any more.” You whisper softly, confused yet intrigued by his gentle actions. The mothman grunts and takes another shuffling step, hand still outstretched and his brow softly furrowing. He seems insistent, almost annoyed that you won’t accept his generous offer. Not wanting to anger him, you gingerly extend your own right hand, pinching the rim of the bowl between thumb and forefinger before carefully pulling it from his grip. Holding the bowl against your own chest, you take a stab at what he wants from you and raise the ceramic dish to your lips to give a noisy, pretend slurp. You feel like an adult humoring a child in a game of “tea party,” offering him a cheesy smile and an “mmm” of satisfaction as you pull the empty bowl away from your face. The creature’s own face splits in a too-wide grin, wings flapping excitedly and chittering happily at your display. A quiet gasp is ripped from you throat as you finally get a good look at his teeth.
They’re practically perfect; two rows of pearly white, blunted incisors frames by sharpened, too-long canines on either end. And the smile he’s giving you is nothing short of exuberant, beaming like a drop of sunshine made incarnate. You find yourself returning his smile with a genuine one of your own, amazingly unafraid in the face of this otherwise inhuman beast. But your relief is short-lived as the monster suddenly shifts onto his knees and bounds towards you on all fours.
“Woah, woah, woah!” You squeak, scrabbling backwards and nearly skewering yourself on a jagged piece of wreckage in an attempt to get away. “Take it easy! Down, boy!”
The mothman stops with his face mere inches from yours, clawed hands planted on either side of your hips and still grinning from ear to ear. Carefully, he lowers his golden head to rest against your left shoulder, nuzzling into the sensitive flesh and purring softly in your ear. It’s an act of unbelievable tenderness, of affection, and it stirs something deep within your jackhammering heart. Moving slowly so as to not startle him, you relinquish your hold on the empty bowl and raise your right hand to his head, gently placing it against his temple. At the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the creature freezes for a second and you suck in a quick breath, prepared to pay the price for your boldness. But simply leans further into your touch, closing his eyes contentedly and pushing against your palm like an obedient pet as his purring reaches a fever pitch.
“Good… good boy.” You exhale slowly, thumb brushing across the apple of his surprisingly warm cheek. “That’s a good boy.”
You stay locked together for what feels like ages, the only sounds your own heavy breathing and the monster’s soft purrs of pleasure as you stroke him. Finally you finds your voice again and you softly stammer out, “Do you– do you have a name?”
His eyes open slightly at your question, briefly raising his head with a small chirp. Removing your hand from his face, you splay your palm across your chest and give it two quick pats.
“Y/N.” You say slowly, enunciating each syllable, “I’m Y/N.”
The creature cocks his head for a second and pulls away from you to get into a kneeling position. You pat your chest and repeat yourself once more. The mothman then takes one of his own massive paws and places it on his own chest, mirroring your movements.
“M-Mir…” He chokes out, voice raspy but surprisingly human, like he hasn’t used it in a long time. “Mir… io. Mirio.”
“Mirio?”
Hearing his name fall from your lips elicits another bright smile from the mothman, wings giving a single flap as he curls his hand into a fist atop his sternum.
“Mirio!” He says more boldly, giving his chest two hearty thumps for emphasis.
“Mirio.” You repeat softly, “That’s a nice name.”
His eyes soften at your words, almost as if he understood the compliment. He opens his mouth once more, but before he can speak, a new voice cuts through the night air.
“Hey! What’s going on over there?”
You whip your head towards the source of the noise, moments before you feel a rush of cold air accompanied by a sharp hiss. Someone is picking their way through the wreckage to your location, their own flashlight sweeping over the heaps of rusted metal until it lands on your startled face. Squinting into the light, you can barely make out the silhouette of a man and you feel a bolt of panic shoot through you. You turn back to face Mirio only to find him gone.
“Mirio?” You speak into the darkness, as if uttering the word might make him reappear. But there’s only empty space and silence, punctuated by the heavy footfalls of the stranger coming ever closer to you. It’s only when he’s within a few feet that you can make out the telltale flash of gold on his chest: an officer’s badge.
“Are you alright?” The man asks of you, still shining the flashlight directly into your face. “Are you hurt?”
“Huh? Oh! Yes. I’m fine, sir.”
“Are you sure?” The officer asks quizzically, extending a hand for you to take. You graciously accept his offer, retrieving the forgotten bowl and phone from the concrete with your free hand before hauling yourself back onto your feet.
“Y-yes I’m sure.” You stammer out, “I just, uh… I heard a noise outside my apartment and came to investigate.”
“Awfully late to be investigating strange noises in an alley.” He says incredulously, cocking one eyebrow and shining his light over the ruined fire escape at his feet for emphasis. “Especially in this part of town.”
His light catches on something glinting at your feet and your eyes follow it to land on the forgotten kitchen knife on the ground. His own eyes snap back to you and narrow suspiciously, free hand slowly moving towards the holster resting against his hip.
“Are you alone out here?”
“Yes, sir!” You squeak back automatically, “I swear it’s just me. I live in this apartment complex.”
You gesture to the brick-fronted side of the building to your right as proof of your innocence, praying to all the powers that be that he buys your story. The officer narrows his eyes at you, muttering a quiet, “Huh. Could’ve sworn I saw someone…” before clearing his throat and straightening his posture.
“Well in any case, you should probably head inside now, miss. There have been reports of criminal activity in the area as of late and I wouldn’t want you getting hurt. What with all this rusty metal lying around.”
“Yeah, no use getting a tetanus shot over nothing!” You say jokingly, giving a nervous chuckle as the officer nods solemnly. You don’t dare go to pick up the knife, deciding it’s better to lose another kitchen utensil than land yourself in any more hot water. With a few more parting words, and a declined offer to let him walk you back home, you quickly skirt around the remains of the fire escape and into the safety of the stairwell door. Your mind and heart are racing as you plod up the stairs to the third floor, buzzing with questions without answers as you finally enter and lock the door to your one-bedroom sanctuary. Exhaling a breath you don’t know you were holding, you walk silent over to the living room windows and cast a final glance into the alleyway below. You can see the officer’s flashlight bobbing along as he makes his way around the scattered remains of the fire escape, only to switch off once he reaches the end of the alleyway and resumes his patrol of the neighborhood. But you still wait by the window for a few more minutes, wondering (and perhaps hoping) if you’d catch a final glimpse of flaxen hair or hear the steady beat of wings.
Silence reigns above all, the soft glow of the moon your only companion now.
With a heavy sigh, you peel your eyes away from the wreckage and plod off to your bedroom, stripping off your hoodie and sweatpants as you go. Curling up under the covers, you grab the pillow closest to you and hug it to your chest. If you close your eyes, you can almost believe you can still feel the warmth of his face on your neck, or smell the aroma of him lingering on your skin.
“I hope you’re alright… Mirio.”
#bnha mothman au#mothmanmirio#mothrio#togata mirio x reader#mirio x reader#mha#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha#like a moth to a flame
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Opposites Attract: Part 2
Request: hey may I request a one shot for your Peter Pan story if yes can you, use my real name (Zai) instead of Y/N if you please and can you have me pans total opposite like sweet, shy everything he would hate but in the end he falls for her and becomes really protective
Pairing: Pan x Zai
Warnings: Cliffhangerrrr
< Part 1
Heavy, gloomy, and dark atmosphere swept through the camp, the boys quite obviously upset but too afraid to show any grievance in front of their ruthless leader as they held tears back behind their eyes. It had been like this for a week now, but somehow I couldn't seem to share the same sadness with the boys, I didn't feel bad, I hardly knew the boy and what I did know about him I didn't like.
The loud cracks and pops of the fire pulled me from my thoughts, snapping my head up to watch the orange and red flames dance with each other. The golden glow spread across the camp, painting it, contrasting with the dark gloomy sky.
A familiar pair of green eyes were caught staring at me from across the way, meeting my brown ones. I would say it bought a light blush to spread across the King of Neverlands cheeks, but as quickly as it came it left again. It was probably a trick of the light but this wasn't the first time I had noticed him watching me, observing me. Probably wondering if I was worth keeping around or not.
I found myself spending more and more time with the cold leader of the lost boys, not because I wanted to, just because he always seemed to be around me like a phantom slowly stalking me in the night. Never leaving, never straying from the path that I created, always watching, lurking, creeping. It seemed like he kept track of my every word, making notes of where I went and what I would do, who I spoke to.
Sweat trickled down my fare skin, the sudden feeling of grease and muck made my whole body tense up in disgust, I needed a wash and soon. Rising from the makeshift bench I was sat at I began to walk out of camp, I felt his eyes following me.
Stepping over the threshold of the Lost Boys territory I released a breath I didn't know I was holding in.
It was so peaceful walking through the forest at night, there were no animals or birds to be heard as they were all sound asleep by now, there was nothing but me and the trees. They silently watched as I passed them by as if they were guiding the way to the waterfall for me, mapping out the path I would take, making sure I didn't stray, and get myself into trouble.
The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder in my ears, indicating it was a step closer to becoming clean once more.
There it was, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen before. Clear, clean water running down cliff face basking the glory of the pale moonlight causing it to glow with a powerful silver shimmer. Everything surrounded it seemed to glow too, as if this tiny part of the island was untouched by the boy's wicked ways and remained pure, holding the power of a Goddess. The flowers seemed to dance in the moonlight stretching towards the starry night sky to drink up its silver shine. The scene before captured my gaze, refusing my eyes from averting themselves. As if possessed, I stalked forward ever so slowly, scared that the delicate scenery would be ruined by my presence. It was so beautiful, I was terrified I would mess it all up it like throwing a bucket of water over a freshly painted canvas, but it was like the spirits of the water pulled me in closer and closer, beckoning me to come in and be purified by the magic it supplied the island.
Slowly, the top part of my dress slipped off my shoulders, revealing the nape of my neck to the onlooking moon. I had no reason to hide or cover myself, for I was loved, the moon welcomed me, hugging me with its beaming silver light. It continued to fall, showing the beauty of my back which connected to my behind, the cold air was not a problem for the giant in the sky protected me from any harm such as the harsh cold. White cloth that once covered me tumbled down, leaving my entire body exposed to the wilderness. Next to flee my frame were my boots, feeling my feet meeting the grass, letting it rub in between my toes, and grounding me.
I stood, completely naked and free, praising my imperfections. Smiling down at every stretch mark, kissing every scar, appreciating my moles, befriending every freckle that resided on my skin, grasping the love handles at either side of my body and giving out a giggle of happiness.
I felt like I was a child once more, so innocent and carefree. The love that poured into my heart was overwhelming, calming, freeing. As I got closer and closer to the healing water of the waterfall, my appreciation for myself only grew more and more intense. Beautiful roses seemed to empower me, tall trees gave me the courage I needed, the small koi fish which swam around in the clear waters supplied me with the grace I always knew I had. A single tear slipped down my rosy cheeks soon being washed away by the remedial waters the island gifted to me.
Drops slide over my skin, healing me from the toxicity of my old mindset. I was free, happy, cleansed, and totally whole. There is no reason for me to hide myself anymore, there was no reason to hide myself in the first place for we are all perfect no matter what we look like. Bliss consumed me, bursting into every cell in my body, flowing through my veins as I laughed and smiled, cupping the beautiful water, letting it pour through my fingertips.
I danced and cheered, this was the first time I had felt like this and no words could describe how amazing it is. I had been holding onto society's idea of the "perfect" body for too long and now I see we are all perfect, every single being in the universe is totally and utterly beautiful. All of us, children of the moon, stars, and sun as they lend us their beauty. We are pure. We are whole. We are loved.
It was only then that I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, perfects poised, leaning against a tree. Vibrant green eyes stood out the most in the dark forest, reminding me of the Cheshire cat lurking in the shadows. His arms crossing over his broad chest, veins almost popping out of them, his shirt hugged his frame nicely as if it were made for him.
I felt proud, not feeling the need to cover up, not like it matter to the king much anyway for his eye didn't scan over me as I had expected them to do. They stared deeply into mine, not moving, a smile played on his lips but there was something about it that was different. It wasn't an act of lust but rather one of amazement, as if I had taken his gaze as a hostage much like the way the waterfall had mesmerized me.
As quickly as the boy appeared in front of me he left again, surrounding himself in a cloud of dark green smoke, leaving nothing but the air in his wake.
Bright stars shimmered in the sky, lighting the way back to camp. I didn't put my shoes back on but carried them in my hands, the dirt and leaves crumbled below my feet. Camp looked more lively upon my return, the boys were finally up on their feet and dancing around the fire, clashing their sticks together and they cheered and hollered.
A small, tired voice sounded, "Zai~" He spoke, pulling on the hem of my dress.
I smiled down at the sleepy little boy, "What's up Daemon?"
"Can you read me a story?" The glimmer in his eyes made it hard to refuse his request, the little boy warmed my heart, giving his place a sense of hope and innocence.
I nodded in reply and with that his little hand grasped mine, guiding me towards his time tent that was lit with nothing but a candle. Hopping up onto the bed he pulled the cute little storybook out from under his pillow, passing it to me.
I ran my thumb over the cover whispering the title into the cold air of the night, "Peter Pan" I almost laughed at how ironic it was, no wonder the small boy had ended up here.
"Once upon a time..." I began.
As time passed the child's eyes grew too heavy for him to keep open and he let sleep consume his body. Silently, I leaned over his, placing a soft kiss upon his forehead.
"You're good with kid's," A British accent whispered, turning to face him he seemed to stand in the exact same position that he had when watching me at the waterfall, like he is a statue.
"You were watching me," I replied in a hushed tone, more as confirmation to myself rather than a question.
"I was, you're good with him," He said, "Daemon needs someone like you to keep him safe, a mother."
"I am no mother," I whispered to the king of Neverland.
"You're more a mother to him than the woman who birthed him," Pan spoke, "She starved him, beat him, and left him for dead in a street alley."
It pained me to know what he had been through, my heart cried for him. He was safe now, here with his family, here with the lost boys. How could anyone do that to someone so pure, someone so innocent and small?
Pan knew that although I didn't respond, I understood. He could see the pain that I was feeling on the boys' behalf.
"You were also watching me at the waterfall," I said.
"That I was, I admired you. Seeing the way that you danced, you were free and happy. You had the power to turn your weaknesses into strength, you're stronger than you look, little one." With that, he gave me a smile before leaving the room.
I felt a sense of pride swell up in my chest, could this be true? Could the ruthless, cold-hearted, cruel, malicious Peter Pan be proud of me? Could I possibly have earned his respect after so long of being here?
As the days passed by the boys seemed to warm up to me, allowing me to hunt with them, dancing with them around the fire, play games with them. They stopped treating me like an outcast and more like part of their family.
"Listen up boys!" Pan's voice boomed, scaring birds from trees and causing animals to sprint away, "We have some visitors."
The smirk on the boy kings face grew causing a shiver to travel up and down my spine, I felt hot all of a sudden.
The lost boys hollard and cheered, we all knew what this meant, pirates.
Excited and eager we all rushed down to the shore, weapons at the ready. The boys were ruthless and bloodthirsty, looking for a fight, I however was on the more cautious side of things. I don't like to fight, I never did, but if I didn't want to be seen as weak again it would be a smart idea for me to join them only if it is for the time being.
By the time my feet met with the sandy beach, the fight was already in full force, the sound of metal clanking with metal and battle cries filled the crisp air. From where I stood the lost boys all looked so small, like ants fighting against another colony.
Silently, I watched the scene before me unfold. People were getting hurt, boys were getting hurt. Thick red blood dyed the golden sand with no remorse and I could do nothing but watch.
So wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn't notice the dirty pirate sneaking up behind me, hand covering my mouth as he attempted to drag me to Hook's ship.
I didn't know what to do, or how to react, but I wasn't going anywhere without putting up some kind of a fight.
Wriggling and struggling against him I tried my hardest to keep my feet planted into the ground, my efforts were useless. I bit down hard at the hand covering my mouth, causing him to yelp out and grasp the attention on the others. A sharp, sneering pain exploded in my side as I let out a muffled scream, trying hard to not look weak in front of the lost boys.
My foot came down hard on his and my elbow swiftly embedded itself into his stomach before he fell to the floor with a groan, in an effort to get as far away from him and possible I stumbled to the tree line. A wet feeling covered my hands, sticking to my shirt and sides. Red, that's all I could see.
"Zai" Pan's voice filled my ears, the look of worry was noticble on his face, it was strange seeing him show any emotion other than angry, "I've got you, don't worry I've got you."
Panic flowed through my veins, who's blood was that? His or mine?
My vision quickly became blurred, it was like I was under a spell, stuck in some trance that I couldn't get out of. The king of Neverlands voice echoed around in my skull, I wanted to reply, I wanted to tell him I was fine, but the words couldn't leave my mouth before everything went black.
"Zai!" the angry shout from the leader was the last thing I heard before falling to the ground.
#ouat fanfiction#ouat fic#ouat imagine#ouat#ouat felix#ouat pan x reader#ouat peter imagine#ouat pan#ouat peter#ouat peter pan#felix ouat#ouat fan fiction#ouat ff#ouat fandom#felix fic#ouat felix imagine#felix imagines#felix x reader#pan x reader
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A Place Good Enough
[Read on AO3]
Ship: Kaz Brekker X Inej Ghafa
Summary:
Kaz pays Inej's indenture at the Menagerie and she joins the dregs.
_
A short fic that adds a little more of what happens that night after Kaz takes her with him.
Note:
I'm a new fan and read the SoC Duology this Feb.
This is my first time writing these characters so please excuse anything weird, I tried my best.
Inej may seem a bit scared in this because she isn't the Inej we know in SoC. This will be the first fic of many where I'll try to show our Crows before the events of SoC. A look at their daily lives in the Dregs. And the slow development of feelings between Kanej.
Hope you enjoy this short piece ♥
Kaz
“Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he says, “don't ever sneak up on me again.”
And yet as he ushers the Suli girl out of the salon, the bustling streets remind him how foolish it will be to roam around the barrel at night. Ofcourse a mere glance at his cane and gloved hands is enough to ward people off. No one in Ketterdam dares crossing the young man that goes by the title of Dirtyhands. Even so, it won’t be good for his carefully crafted reputation to be seen limping around at indecent hours with an exotic girl in tow. Dirtyhands doesn’t waste time on frivolous things. He has vengeance to condemn and for that he requires proper focus and meticulous steps. Brick by brick. He reminds himself.
With a quick scan of his surroundings to make sure no one is looking, he removes the deep grey coat he’s adorning and hands it to the girl. He doesn’t miss the way she flinches at the action, probably just as scared of him as the rest of this city.
“Cover yourself.” He commands and continues walking. Thankfully, the girl doesn’t waste time being confused or shocked and quietly does as told. He also notes how she maintains a distance whilst following him but makes sure to stick close enough, her feet soundless despite the bells tied around her dainty ankles.
Inej
Kaz Brekker finally slows his walk as they approach a shabby building in the remote parts of the Barrel. Its lit and noisy but Inej can tell its definitely not a clothing store. And it is only moments later that cold realization dawns on her. There was no release from enslavement to begin with, just a deal struck between a bawd from the west stave and the lieutenant of a notorious gang in the east stave. It was a sham all along. Why wouldn’t it be? Why would one of the most sinister criminals in Kerch buy her out of slavery only to be shifted to an indenture? She should’ve been skeptical. Instead, she had been hopeful because the boy named Dirtyhands is after all, a young one like herself. She thought he may have empathized with her. He had even offered his coat to her. But oh what an utter fool she had been! Everything in Ketterdam comes with a price. Even something as natural as freedom.
Should she sprint away? She can take-off right now. He hasn’t looked back even once to check if she’s there. And he’s a cripple! She can easily outrun him. Yet all these plans formulating in her head are laced around a grim sense of fear. Kaz Brekker doesn’t need a reason. Or so she has heard. He has already earned an ill reputation for being whimsical. She mustn’t start giving him reasons to chase and drag her back down these dark alleys. So she quietly trails behind him as the door opens with a creak.
Men of varying ages who had been busy chatting and drinking, stare at them. His entry seems to raise everyone’s attention as they watch him walk by and approach the staircase. Although that’s all she sees as she continues after the uncaring boy, she does hear numerous brazen remarks.
“Am I too drunk or has Brekker actually brought in a girl?”
“Ghezen! We all must be sloshed.”
“I almost believed something was going on between him and that Zemeni boy.”
“So…Suli huh?”
Some snickers follow this particular remark but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. Does this mean their assumptions aren’t wrong? A wave of panic courses through her but Inej tries to calm herself with deep breaths, tries to focus her mind on the stairs instead. She has faced all sorts of repulsive men in the sheets. Dirtyhands can’t be much different. And even if the rumors aren’t false and he’s part-demon beneath the façade of his sharp suits, she can still push herself to handle anything. If serving as his mistress will warrant her safety from the likes of Tante Heleen, she can do this.
A soft clicking sound pulls her out of her trail of anxious thoughts. She notices they’ve walked past several floors and are currently going up into an attic. The inside isn’t much special but appropriately furnished— an old door placed atop several crates acting as a desk, a big window overseeing the surroundings and a door separating what she assumes must be a storage of sorts or a bedroom.
When Brekker finally turns around, his expression as unreadable as ever, Inej shivers. She takes one last gulp of air in hopes of easing herself. She can do this. She just needs to leave her body like she always does. Let the little lynx take care of such matters.
She begins by discarding his coat. Her eyes are lowered to the floor but she can sense his unwavering gaze. Maybe he’s one of those who take pleasure in watching a woman undo herself for him. Or maybe its something else entirely. His stoic demeanor doesn’t provide much to guess. Her shaky hands reach for the hooks in the back of her purple blouse. I can endure this! She mentally assures herself.
“What exactly are you doing?” comes his low voice, like a rasp of stone on stone.
Her hands fumble and come to a halt. She raises her eyelids to find a barely visible, amused smirk marring his pale countenance. “I..thought..I just–”
“Inej, was it?” he interrupts, leaning his weight on his frightening cane shaped like the head of a crow. Did she do something wrong? Will he use it on her? Her shoulders hunch slightly in preparation of whatever is to come. She hears an audible sigh instead. “I don’t remember us agreeing to such terms back at the Menagerie.”
Now she does look up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh..”
He passes a hand through his hair. “But since you seem eager to–”
“I’m not!” she yells, her cheeks tinted a lovely shade of pink. Frankly she doesn’t know how to react. It’s her first time speaking to a man who isn’t demanding any sexual favors from her but isn’t being very nice either.
He hobbles over to the makeshift desk and settles on a chair behind it. “Let me guess,” he starts, resting his bad leg on the tabletop and the cane in his lap. “You didn’t trust me.”
“I did!” she protests like a child falsely accused of stealing candies. However, the embarrassment of her response follows immediately and she tilts her head down again. “Not truly but–”
“Wrong answer.” His tone is even more gritty now. “Its good that you expected the worst. Never trust anyone in the barrel.”
Inej looks at him again. It’s far too late for that lesson now. She’s learnt it the harshest of ways.
“I may be many things but I keep my word, Inej.” He adds solemnly, then fishes out a lone key from his pants' pocket. “Here” he gestures for her to come forward and receive it.
She scurries to the desk and takes it, her fingers lightly grazing along his gloved ones. Is he sending her on an errand already? Is procuring something important going to be her first task for the Dregs?
“Head downstairs and unlock the room directly below this attic with the key.” He tells simply and starts working on the tall stacks of papers lying on the desk.
She waits for further details but when he says nothing more she inquires herself, “For what?”
He glances at her, a brow quirked as if mocking her obliviousness. “Its your room from now on. Go get some sleep.”
“What about my..services?” she asks.
“We’ll discuss all that tomorrow morning.” He answers and waves her off, willing her to leave already.
Downstairs, upon unlocking an old cream-colored door and switching on the light, Inej is greeted by a tiny room. There’s a window overlooking the barrel, a cot arranged directly below it and an empty trunk lying open. Fortunately, everything is clean and dry and without any trace of smells.
As she steps inside, memories of her old life flash before her bleary eyes. This place is not even close to the large tents she used to perform in with her parents yet for some reason, she feels warm. Its not home but it’s good enough.
Shutting the door, she turns off the light and drops unceremoniously onto the cot. Moonlight illuminates the room- her room- in a dim glow. And slowly it happens. Her tense body relaxes into the mattress and her unshed emotions are set free in the form of tears slipping down her cheeks. Loud sobs rack her small frame as her hands hug the grey coat close to her chest. Amidst her shock and disbelief at actually being saved from sexual exploitation, she must have forgotten to return it. Kaz Brekker’s statement was like a dream she’s had every night since being stolen and shackled. A dream of being saved from the hell that is prostitution. I keep my word, Inej. She giggles at the sound of her real name being called by this stranger, tears staining her lips. She hasn’t heard it in so long that she almost forgot who she was. In letting her body go so as to persevere everyday at the Menagerie, she hadn’t noticed that the lively girl called Inej Ghafa was also withering away. She clutches the coat tighter as if fiercely trying to hold onto her remaining self. And for the first time since an year, she sleeps without the fear of being hurt.
Hope it was enjoyable!
I'm thinking of writing a short sequel drabble where Inej just goes to return Kaz's coat in front of everyone at the Dregs xD
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SoC Masterlist
( divider by @firefly-graphics )
#kanej#kanej fanfic#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#six of crows#kaz x inej#crooked kingdom#shadow and bone#grishaverse#dirtyhands#the wraith#kanej fanfiction
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a world apart. (iwaizumi hajime)
➵ as a knight in the service of the royal family, iwaizumi knows it’s wise to keep his distance from their daughter. but sometimes, it feels like you can reach out to one another. but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a world apart.
wc: 10k (i’m so sorry)
warnings: f!reader, oikawa!reader, angst (on this blog? it’s more likely than you’d think), intoxication, it’s angst fellas
a/n: i’m so sorry lads. also @dorkyama, thank you so, so much for beta’ing this monstrosity :( i love you more than i can put into words
Iwaizumi had always seemed the image of a perfect knight. Reliable, brave, strong. He’d been a protector of the Oikawa family from when he was considered old enough to be trusted with a sword. He had been Oikawa Tooru’s most loyal friend, perhaps the only man who the prince could truly trust.
Iwaizumi Hajime was, it seemed, destined for this.
But he felt like that sentiment was based on myth. If he hadn’t bumped into Tooru on that one summer day, how differently would things be now?
He tried not to think about such things, lest he dwell too long on the impossible. But whenever he was on an evening patrol, his thoughts tended to wander westwards, to his birthplace. A more pleasant place, in his opinion, than the palace.
He hated the castle at night. He wasn’t all too fond of it in the day, but at least there was beauty to be found in how the sun glittered upon grey stone, or in the bustle of life below he could glimpse from the windows.
But the castle at night was cold; a dead thing, heavy with the whisper of wealth, and the danger that brought. It played host to imaginary assassins, to thoughts of catastrophe.
Iwaizumi considered himself a reasonable man, but even he was prey to the tricks of the dark.
So much so that he was grateful to be finishing up his patrol.
That’s when he heard the bustle of cloak against stone.
“Who’s there?”
He knew his voice alone was intimidating. That might give a potential assailant a moment of pause – which gave Iwaizumi time to prepare. He stalked around the corner slowly, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
A figure stood in the hallway, dark cloak pulled over their head. Was this a trick? If they were a villain, should they not be hiding? Or was this supposed to disarm him? His grip on his sword tightened as he instigated a defensive position.
He would have to move forward and get his back to the wall, or else he might be too exposed—
The figure turned to look over their shoulder, wide eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Oh.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
You pouted back at him, turning around to face him and lowering your hood. “Hello.”
Iwaizumi sighed, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. Instead, he opted for a customary half-bow. “Greetings, your Highness.”
The two of you stood there in the dark, a wealth of unasked questions hanging between you.
“So…” You folded your hands in front of you, straightening your shoulders out as if you were greeting a foreign diplomat. “What are you doing on this fine evening?”
Iwaizumi grimaced. There was a playfulness to your expression that he didn’t like.
“My job,” he mumbled. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to go for a walk.”
“Where?”
“Just… around the castle grounds.” You offered him a brilliant smile; the one that usually fooled your father into thinking you were being complacent.
Iwaizumi had known you long enough to see right through that lie. “Unaccompanied?”
“Oh, I will be quite alright,” you smiled, waving a delicate hand at him.
“I can’t let you sneak out,” Iwaizumi said gruffly. He was beginning to lose his footing; if it were Tooru, he’d just need to say a few gruff words and it’d be dealt with. You were a little more slippery. Always had been.
“I thought I could do whatever I wanted,” you huffed, tilting your chin up. You looked the spitting image of your brother in that moment.
“Don’t be such a brat.” It was instinctual, something he’d say to Tooru without even thinking about it.
But you weren’t your brother. And he didn’t have the right to speak to you like that – even if he’d known you for just as long.
You covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, your eyes wide and round. “You dare speak to me that way, sir Iwaizumi?”
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
You giggled. “It was a joke, Iwaizumi.”
Iwaizumi looked like your father had just called for his head.
“If you will not let me go alone, then how about you accompany me?”
Ah. Iwaizumi clenched his jaw. If he told you not to go, you’d go anyway. If he went with you, then he could make sure you were safe – and he could keep you out of trouble, should he need to. That’d help him rest easier tonight. And his post was over, now…
“Your Highness…”
You sighed. “I am aware.” You turned on your heels, looking over your shoulder at him. “Accompany me if you must, but you will not stop me.”
Well, then. There was only one answer to his question.
“Fine,” he sighed, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
You twirled around to face him, your expression bright and joyous. It was such a little thing – just a walk at night, yes? – but you were acting like it was the adventure of a lifetime.
“Really?”
“Just… behave, okay?” Iwaizumi sighed, walking up to you. “Nobody can know who you are. And you shouldn’t be out too late.”
“I know,” you giggled, looping your arm through his.
Iwaizumi froze. This was far too intimate a touch with a potential heir to the throne, and if—
“Now come!” You grinned, dragging him down the hall.
Iwaizumi could do nothing but comply.
✧ ✧
“So…” He sighed, rubbing his chin. “Where do you want to go?”
You were standing in the centre of town, lit by the gentle glow of the oil lamps. Even though you were dressed the part as a peasant, you looked awfully out of place. For one, you didn’t look absolutely exhausted.
“Uh…” You looked around the streets, pouting. “I… have no idea, actually.”
“You’ve got no plan?” Iwaizumi scoffed. “You were going to come here, in the dead of night, unchaperoned, and you’ve got no plan?”
“Well, I’m not exactly up to date on the night-life of the peasantry, am I?” You shot back, but there was no malice in it.
Iwaizumi just sighed, running a hand through his hair. How late was it now?
“Well, what do you think I should do?” You hummed, planting yourself in front of him.
“Why are you asking me?” He murmured, rubbing one of his eyes.
“Have you not been ‘out on the town’ before?” You asked, tilting your head at him. He had no idea where you’d learnt that phrase from, but there was something amusing in how you said it.
“Well, yes, but…” He sighed, fighting back a yawn. “I don’t go often. I’m usually working, and if I’m not, then I try to get some rest.”
Recognition flashed across your face. “Oh, I am so sorry!” Your hands came to your mouth, eyes blown wide. “If you wish to go home and rest, then we can absolutely head back—”
“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi blushed. That was a bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it? “We’re here already, so…”
He’d seen that flint of curiosity in your eyes, the genuine wonderment with which you regarded this little dingy town. You seemed so delighted just to be out of the palace. He didn’t want to take that away from you.
“Surely, you’ve heard of something to do,” he said, trying to divert the conversation back to less awkward territory. “You’re not that sheltered.”
“Right,” you chuckled, visibly relaxing.
Thank the gods, he thought.
“The tavern,” you said resolutely, after a moment of deep thought.
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at you.
You tilted your head at him, that familiar mischievous smile on your face. “Would you rather we go to the brothel?”
Iwaizumi stared at you, caught halfway between shock and exasperation. You really weren’t that different from his brother, were you? Neither of you behaved according to your station.
“You’re just as bad as your brother,” he grumbled. The worst thing one could do was let Tooru have the last word. You were much the same.
“How dare you!” You giggled. “I thought knights were supposed to be polite.”
“We all have limits, your Highness.”
You grinned at that, genuine amusement – and was that gratitude? – in your eyes. “Yes, well… you must take me to the tavern at once,” you nodded, gazing up at him boldly. “Or else I cannot promise that I will continue to behave.”
What was he going to do with you? Tooru was all talk when it came to this sort of thing, but there was something wilder in you. Something more rebellious.
“Are you sure you want to go to the tavern?” He asked, one final time. “I’m not so sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, come now,” you laughed, waving a hand at him. “It will certainly be a delightful experience.”
You took off down the street, and Iwaizumi was powerless to stop you. The best he could do was guide you to the right destination.
✧ ✧
By the time you’d finished your first pint of ale, Iwaizumi was sure you’d changed your mind.
“So?” Iwaizumi asked, peering at you from over his mug. “Was this everything you dreamed it would be?”
You were sitting across from him with an expression of perfect revulsion. “Ale tastes horrendous.”
Iwaizumi covered his snicker with his mug.
“I want wine,” you sighed, folding your hands in your lap.
“Well I can’t afford wine.”
“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “That was not a command, or even a request, I just—”
Iwaizumi chuckled. It was a warm sound, full of mirth.
You visibly relaxed, sinking against your chair. “I will pay you back,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “I am so sorry for being so foolish.”
Iwaizumi still couldn’t believe that you’d failed to bring any money with you. If the tavern had been your destination all along, you would’ve certainly ended up in some kind of trouble. Thank the heavens he was here.
“It’s alright,” he hummed, smiling at you. “Just stay out of trouble. That’s payment enough.”
You beamed back at him, your entire face lighting up.
You looked different than normal. So relaxed. So… normal.
Your hair was purposefully unkempt, and you were wearing a plain navy robe with a batted-looking cloak. There wasn’t a hint of the usual extravagance the royals adorned themselves with.
He was seeing you truly unmasked. It had been a long time since he’d seen you like this. Like a human being.
Not that he had allowed himself to think of you like that, now. You had always seemed so far away. So out of reach. Tooru’s pretty little sister, princess of the realm.
But he hadn’t comprehended that distance well as a young boy of fourteen. He’d comprehended it so poorly, in fact, that he developed an ill-advised crush on you. He liked to think he’d suppressed that now, after several years of hard work, but seeing you like this made his chest swell in a familiar yet unwelcome way.
He blinked himself out of his thoughts, dragging his eyes away from your face. If you’d noticed his staring, you made no sign of it.
Instead, you just let out a heavy sigh, playing with your fingers.
“What’s wrong?” He murmured, placing his mug on the table.
“I find it so… strange being here,” you mused, looking around the room. “I feel… different.”
Iwaizumi frowned. Tooru would say this sort of thing whenever they were in the forest, chasing rabbits and collecting mushrooms and splashing around in streams. He’d told Iwaizumi, once, that he wished he could live this sort of life. Iwaizumi had been quick to reprimand his ignorance.
“You’re not about to be ungrateful, are you?” He grumbled. Nothing was worse than a royal who dared complain about their lot.
“Oh, no!” You shook your head virulently, your eyes wide. “I would never!” You bit your lip, folding your hands in your lap. Even here, you couldn’t relax your posture. “Tooru told me about that conversation, you know.”
“Good,” Iwaizumi grumbled. That cut him the job of explaining why such sentiments were foolish.
“What I meant, was…” You looked deep in thought, eyebrows pinched together and lip caught between your teeth. He might have just been ready to scold you, but Iwaizumi wasn’t made of stone. Even he had to admit you looked quite cute like this.
Alright, he thought. That was enough ale for the evening.
If you’d noticed his untoward admiration, you gave no indication.
“There is a whole world here,” you said, after a long moment. “Many of these people work so they can support my family. And… it is easy to forget that, behind the walls of the palace.” You gazed around the room again, eyes shining with something Iwaizumi didn’t recognise. “I feel that… if the people here knew who I was, I would be met with equal parts spite and respect.” The thoughtfulness in your tone was replaced with a twang of sadness.
Iwaizumi didn’t have the heart to tell you that you might be right about that.
“I know almost nothing about it,” you admitted, smiling slightly. “The most I know is what my maidens have told me, and even that is only a small part of something greater.” You sighed, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “There is so much to know, and I am separated from it all. Even my maidens feel a world away. Every time I try to deepen my friendship with them, they seem reticent. Afraid, even.”
Iwaizumi nodded. Tooru had said much the same thing, once. Told him that he was his only real friend.
“I must admit, I have been awfully bored, of late,” you huffed, but it seemed like an attempt to ease the mood. There was another word you weren’t saying, but Iwaizumi could feel it. ‘Lonely.’
You were lonely.
“If you need someone to talk to, I am willing to listen,” he said with a slow nod.
Your gaze settled on him again, your eyes full of curiosity and perhaps even a touch of relief.
Iwaizumi knew it wasn’t the wisest idea, letting you speak to him so frankly. That could create a sense of attachment that stepped past the acceptable bounds of his station; he was allowed to be so close to Tooru on the merit that the prince had begged for it. You, on the other hand…
“Tooru will become king, and I have no real direction in life,” you sighed. You, at least, had decided to breach this invisible boundary. “I abhor the idea of being married off and sent away to a place I do not know.”
Iwaizumi sat up straighter, his frown deepening. “Is that… on the table?”
He tried to imagine the palace without you. It was a cold place, to say the least.
You bit your lip. “Maybe. No promises have been made yet, but father wants to… extend our reach. Create new alliances. Tooru tries to speak up for me, but…”
Iwaizumi didn’t know what to say. This was a problem so far removed from his own life, so outside his realm of understanding. He didn’t feel as if any advice he could give would be helpful.
“I came here because I wanted to escape,” you admitted. “I know it must be quite rude of me to play at being a peasant, but… I cannot think of much else to do. I always get struck by such dread at night.”
Iwaizumi swallowed. He understood that, at the very least.
“Have you… spoken to your father about how you feel?” He asked. You’d mentioned Tooru speaking up for you, but you hadn’t mentioned anything about yourself.
You tilted your head at him, frowning.
“I don’t want to… give my opinion where it’s unwarranted, but…” He cleared his throat, trying to meet your gaze with courage. “Maybe if you told him you weren’t born to be a pawn, he might listen.”
You smiled. But it was cynical. It looked unsettling.
“I wish it were so simple,” you shook your head. “Each time I try, he brings up politics. The good of the realm. My duty as a daughter.”
Those were heavy words. Even if he could barely comprehend that sort of problem. He felt lucky for that, at least.
“Another pint,” he said, standing up suddenly. The force of it shifted the table a little, making you jump.
You blinked up at him with owlish eyes. “Are you sure? I loathe the thought of draining your pockets—”
“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “You… you just… enjoy the scenery.”
What does that even mean? Are you stupid? He berated himself, but dashed back to the bar before you had time to ask. All he needed to do was get you – and him – through the night without any more melancholy. Or embarrassment, for that matter.
Easier said than done.
He should’ve expected the princess to be a lightweight, seeing as the only alcohol you had access to was the ludicrously expensive shit your family brought out at all their feasts and banquets. Those weren’t for getting you drunk; they were for flaunting your wealth and impressing diplomats. As such, you hadn’t really built up a tolerance.
One and a half pints of ale, and you were a goner. If looping arms with you on the walk there had been too much for him, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive the trudge back to the castle – this time with you resting half your body weight against him. Thank the gods he was still in a full suit of armour. He wasn’t sure how he’d fare without those plates of metal between the two of you.
“But Iwaizumi,” you whined, “I want to stay.”
“We’re already halfway home, your Highness,” he sighed, helping you up each step of the winding staircase in one of the western towers. It was a while away from your quarters, but it was also the quietest. Whoever had taken over patrol duty likely wouldn’t be hanging around that area, giving Iwaizumi a better chance at smuggling you back without getting caught. If you could keep quiet, that is.
“No, no, no,” you shook your head, making yourself dizzy in the process. Iwaizumi’s grip on your waist tightened, hoisting you up a little straighter. “I want to stay with you.”
“Don’t say such things,” he hissed, trying to ignore how such simple words made it feel like his heart was about to ram its way through his chest.
“But I mean it,” you whined.
Iwaizumi shushed you harshly, making you frown.
“Tooru gets you all to himself,” you whined, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. “You never come see me these days.”
Iwaizumi’s eyes widened. You thought about that? Sure, he’d used to visit your quarters more frequently in his youth – especially when he hadn’t realised the dangers of his little affection – but he hadn’t thought you’d noticed that.
“I’m so lonely, Iwa,” you sighed, pulling yourself closer to him. He used both hands to push you away, your eyes wide and unbearably sad as he looked into them. It had been a very long time since you’d used that nickname.
But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting you back to your quarters unscathed.
“Look… if you can keep quiet until we’re back at your quarters, I’ll…” He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think of anything that might seem like a suitable reward. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Within reason, of course.”
You nodded resolutely, pressing your lips together as if to show your dedication to the deal.
By some miracle, you managed to make it back to your quarters with no incident. It had been a slow process – stopping at corners while Iwaizumi listened for noise in the walkway, Iwaizumi having to stabilise you several times as you kept tripping over your dress – but you’d made it.
“We made it!” You gasped. You sounded genuinely impressed.
“That we did,” he chuckled, trying to remove your arm from around his neck.
You stumbled forward, holding your arms out in front of you. You fell to the floor with a soft thump.
“Shit,” Iwaizumi hissed, rushing around to crouch in front of you. “Are you okay?”
His hands were on your shoulders as you looked up at him, beaming. “Excellent!”
He sighed, closing his eyes. “Well… you be careful, okay?”
You nodded again, sitting back on your feet.
“I’m, uh… I’m going to go,” he said, letting go of your shoulders.
For the first time in the last fifteen minutes, you seemed to properly comprehend what was going on.
“Oh!” You clapped your hands together, looking up at him. “I thought of my prize!”
“Prize?”
“For staying quiet.”
“Oh.” Right.
“I want…” You beamed up at him, your stare a little vacant. “I want you… to come visit me. At least once.”
Iwaizumi thanked the gods for the total darkness in your room, or else you would’ve seen his scarlet cheeks in all their glory. “I, uh…”
“Oh, please, Iwa,” you said, clasping your hands together. “It would make me tremendously happy.”
“Alright,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
“Really?” Your eyes were shining in the dark now, not unlike the stars.
“Yes,” he swallowed. “Now… get up off the floor and go to bed.”
“I will.”
“No, I mean it,” he said, clenching his jaw. “I’ll… I’ll feel terrible if you end up sleeping down there.”
“Fine,” you sighed, pushing yourself to your feet. He knew he should’ve lent you a hand, but he wasn’t sure he could handle any more physical contact tonight. “Goodnight, Iwa.”
“Goodnight, your Highness.”
Once sufficiently satisfied with the image of you throwing yourself onto your bed, Iwaizumi left, closing the door behind him.
Gods, you really were too cute for your own good, weren’t you?
The world had not wearied you yet. He wondered if it ever would. For you had not seen the world outside these palace walls. You had not seen poverty at its worst, seen how nature ravaged against humanity. You hadn’t held a crying mother in your arms, mourning the loss of her eldest son to the wolves. You had only ever known the protection only afforded to those with wealth. A protection he played a part in.
But he didn’t want you to experience any of that. He didn’t want you to put yourself through that suffering. You were so wonderfully sensitive; something only achievable because of the veil around you. He didn’t want to tear it down.
And yet, it meant there would always be a distance between the two of you. A gulf he couldn’t cross, even with a leap of faith. But he could see you on the other side, reaching out to him with that expression that made him pitifully weak.
Maybe it was best for that distance to remain.
He was going to have trouble sleeping tonight.
✧ ✧
Another night on patrol. Another night spent thinking about you.
Iwaizumi’s thoughts kept drifting back to you these days.
Ever since that night in the tavern, he’d been keeping a closer eye on you. Mostly to make sure that you were doing alright. Eighteen years as princess had allowed you to develop a marvellous talent for masking your true feelings, but Iwaizumi felt he was getting better at identifying your tells.
The way the corner of your smile drooped to one side. The way you clenched your knuckles just a little too tight. The way your eyes crinkled just a little too much.
The fact that he knew them so well meant he was paying far too much attention. Even if he’d made an effort not to stare.
He’d never made good on his promise to visit you. In the light of day, that felt inappropriate. Ludicrous, even. He might have gotten away with it when you were both younger, but he was a man, now, which gave your father reason enough to distrust him. He got more leeway when with Tooru than most, but when it came to you, he was just another knight. He had to remember that.
But those four words kept hounding him. ‘I’m so lonely, Iwa.’ In the quietest hours of the night, they would return to him, ringing louder than ever.
He was thinking of those words as he collided with a figure in the hallway.
He sprung back, hand reaching for his sword.
You blinked up at him as you stumbled back, hood drawn over your head.
“Wonderful!” You gasped, clapping your hands together. “Just the man I was looking for!”
Iwaizumi wanted to ignore how his heart sped up when you said that. But he couldn’t. He also couldn’t ignore the fact that he had just bumped into you in the middle of his patrol. Where he was supposed to be keeping the castle safe.
What if you’d been some kind of villain? Was he really so hounded by thoughts of you that he wasn’t doing his job properly?
“Well… here I am,” he said. You absolute buffoon, he thought to himself. Could you be more awkward?
“I would like to speak with you, if it is not too much trouble,” you bobbed on the balls of your feet, folding your hands in front of you.
“Uh… can it wait?” He swallowed, looking around the halls. He was still on duty, after all.
“Oh, yes,” you nodded. “I shall wait in my quarters, then.”
You were gone before he had time to protest. What were you thinking? It was hardly appropriate for a man to meet you in your quarters, especially at this hour. He wanted to lash himself for the places his mind was going.
He wanted to ignore your request, every reasonable part of him screaming out to walk away once his patrol was over.
But who was he, to deny you?
Before he could stop himself, he was outside your door, palms sweatier than they should be. He knocked on the door softly, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. What was he doing?
“Come in!” Your voice was like a little chime.
He opened the door with a tremble, overwhelmed by the scent of burning wood as he stepped into your room. He closed the door behind him securely, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.
You were sat in front of your fireplace, the flames casting a soft glow over your face. You looked so ethereal, your skirts spread around you and your hands folded in your lap.
It didn’t escape his notice that what you were wearing was quite… casual. Casual enough to be counted as sleepwear.
He shouldn’t be here. He planted his feet to the ground firmly, a few long steps away from you. At the very least, he could maintain this distance.
“You came,” you said, voice soft as you smiled up at him.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“I almost thought you would not,” you sighed, casting your gaze to the floor.
Iwaizumi frowned. Was he that easy to read? “Is that so, your Highness?”
“You never did come and visit me,” you smiled. But Iwaizumi could tell it was fake. All the tells were there.
“I… didn’t think you’d remember that,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Oh, believe me, I remember far too much,” you laughed, gazing into the fire. “Enough to be embarrassed.”
Iwaizumi cleared his throat, the tips of his ears growing warm. Had that bothered you as much as it had him? Or did you not care?
“How has your work been?” You asked, fiddling with fingers.
The mundanity of the question was almost amusing. It was a question usually asked in a conversation between equals, too labourers catching up in the tavern after a hard day’s work. The illusion shattered.
“Why have you called me here, your Highness?” He asked, ignoring your own question. It would be unwise of him to forget his place.
You bit your lip, still gazing into the fire. “In truth, I needed to talk to someone. And I felt… I felt that you would listen to me.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I am tired, Iwaizumi,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “I am tired of being ignorant of life beyond my own. I am tired of feeling like I only exist as a backup, should Tooru fall before having a child.” You opened your eyes, a bitter glint in them as you stared into the fire. “Not that I would ever be a queen. I am a womb before anything else. A pawn to continue our bloodline.”
To hear those words in your voice… Iwaizumi’s heart broke, in that moment. In his eyes, you were so much more than that. You were so bright, so curious, so full of a genuine love for life.
And yet, this status of yours, this position in the royal family was the very thing that allowed you to develop such a lively personality. The irony that such a status should also restrict you… well, that was just cruel.
It wasn’t even half as bad as poverty, but it did sound lonely.
And he really did hate seeing you so despondent.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Would you… like to go to the tavern?”
✧ ✧
The moment you’d stepped into the tavern, your entire demeanour changed. Your posture had relaxed, your eyes had begun sparkling, and your face had lit up. You were most beautiful like this, Iwaizumi realised.
By the time you’d sat down, a mug in hand, you were like a new woman.
Iwaizumi knew it wasn’t wise to let you play as a peasant, to immerse yourself in this little fiction of yours. He’d never thought of his life as one to romanticise. But it seemed to free you, even if just for an hour.
You rambled and rambled about everything; about Tooru’s last blunder, about the most recent dull suitor you’d rejected, about the gossip your maidens had told you. Your little get-up was a gift from one of them, apparently, but she’d been unable to accompany her here because her parents would’ve been too worried to see her going out at night.
Iwiazumi would have told you that your hair was far too long, a dead giveaway that you weren’t one of the peasantry if anyone bothered to look closely. But he simply couldn’t.
You were positively radiant, as you told him all this. It was like joy had begun to run through your veins again, reminiscent of a time before you really understood what it meant to be a princess. You were smiling like that girl he’d fallen for, all those years ago.
By the time you were leaving, Iwaizumi thought you'd forgotten all about your woes.
You stood in the middle of the street, gazing off into the distance.
Maybe he was wrong.
“Your Highness?” His body curved towards you instinctively, concern threaded through his body.
“I have a lot to learn,” you mused, eyes scanning the expanse of the street. “And my tutors will teach me none of it.”
Iwaizumi blinked. He didn’t quite understand. “I see.”
“I think Tooru should come here,” you said.
“What?”
“I think he would grow to be a better king for it,” you hummed, punctuating your sentence with a resolute nod.
Iwaizumi turned the thought over in his head. Could a few visits to town really capture the struggles of a people? It must be so easy to forget about suffering, locked up in that palace. The tavern and it’s people were only one echo of what it meant to be poor; you hadn’t seen the faces of children during a famine, the stained hands of men and women who had worked endless days in the fields, the graves of people who had barely made it past twenty summers.
What could a tavern teach a royal, really? The tavern wasn’t ugly. It wasn’t brutal. The only wisdom in there was that ale sold better than wine.
But it wasn’t time for that conversation.
“Maybe so, your Highness,” he lied.
“Anyway,” you sighed, clasping your hands together. “I seem to have grown awfully tired.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “Can you walk in a straight line, this time?”
You gasped at him, bringing one hand to your chest. “I will have you know that I learnt my lesson, thank you very much.”
“Good,” he smiled, turning around. “Let’s go.”
“Iwaizumi?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” you smiled, falling in step next to him. “I feel much better.”
✧ ✧
You weren’t a fan of jousting tournaments. They were dusty, sweaty, and on occasion, bloody. Watching men charge at each other with big sticks wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience – nor was having to lavish them with insincere compliments on the command of your father. But, there was little you could do to get out of such things.
As per usual, you were sat in the royal stand, elevated above the more common spectators. Tooru was on your left, looking decidedly bored. The fact he could get away with such behaviour annoyed you – you weren’t granted that same leeway. But, you supposed this tournament was in your honour.
Honestly, you just wanted to go back to your quarters. But most of all, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor knights, trapped in full armour on such a hot day. The least you could do was at least look entertained.
You did as you were told, the picture of grace as you congratulated each and every knight, accepting their favour with almost theatrical gratitude.
But you weren’t paying attention to any of them. No, you were watching Iwaizumi.
He was glowing, the sunlight dancing off his armour. It was less flashy than some of the other knights, the metal a little duller and boasting more scratches and dents. But they looked less like a sign of inferiority and more a badge of honour; those marks were real, earned during actual battle.
The thought struck you like steel – Iwaizumi, locked in real, genuine battle, his sword clashing against that of another. Iwaizumi, with his life on the line, standing amongst a field of mud and corpses.
You banished the thought from your mind almost as soon as it arrived, chasing something brighter. Something about how, even though it wasn’t particularly fancy, his armour represented him; sturdy, genuine, yet striking.
Despite the fact there wasn’t much pomp and ceremony around him, he won every joust. Consistently – not with flashy moves or bravado, but by doing exactly what needed to be done. That was very much his way, wasn’t it? Years of hard work honed into just one minute.
You couldn’t take your eyes off him.
When he came trotting up to you on his horse, wreath balanced on the end of his lance as he held it out to you, you couldn’t help but blush.
You took the wreath with delicate hands, holding it close to your chest. You nodded at him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Iwaizumi caught it, a smile of his own spreading across his own face. Gods, it could rival the sun with how bright it was.
That only served to make you turn redder.
“Oh?” Tooru chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at the wreath. His eyes travelled up to your face – and as you feared, he started grinning. “Got a little crush, do we?”
“I have no clue what you mean,” you grimaced, clutching the wreath as tightly as a child might grip their mother’s hand.
“You have done nothing but regard the other knights at this tournament with a cool indifference,” Tooru mused, scratching his chin. A tell-tale sign he was having far too much fun teasing you. “What could be so special about Iwa, hm?”
You resisted the urge to slap your brother across the face. You’d had your whole life to refine a royal sense of self-control, but it never seemed strong enough.
In truth, your thoughts had been drifting towards him as of late. Ever since that first night at the tavern, really. It was just the first time you’d really felt seen in such a long while. Iwaizumi had actually listened to your silly little troubles. Better yet, he’d cared.
Your gaze would tend to float over to him, standing resolutely in your family’s guard. If he was stealing glances at you, you didn’t know. You could only hope.
Gods, that was embarrassing.
“Look at you!” Tooru laughed, a hand reaching up to ruffle your hair. “Your face is positively scarlet!”
“My ladies took far too long on this updo for you to mess it up,” you huffed, slapping his hand away. “I would prefer it if you respected their hard work.”
Tooru raised his hands in surrender, biting his lip in an effort to control his grin. “Trying to divert the conversation, I see.”
“Tooru, people might hear you,” you grumbled, trying to regain some sense of composure. You father wouldn’t be too pleased if rumour spread that you were involved with one of the royal knights. Especially not the paragon amongst them.
Even if some part of you wished those rumours were based in truth.
“So?” Tooru shrugged. “They should be grateful for such quality entertainment. And without having to spend a penny!”
“You are such a brat,” you scoffed.
“I’m just having a bit of fun,” he snickered, his eyes twinkling. “You know, poor little Iwa has been making moon-eyes at you for the past four years.”
“Shut up,” you hissed, breaking composure as you slapped him across the face with the wreath. You hoped none of the gentry had seen that.
“Oh, but you are getting all worked up,” Tooru laughed, louder than you would’ve liked. “You know, that poor boy would do anything you asked of him.”
You knew he was just teasing you. Tooru liked getting under your skin whenever he could.
But he was right about one thing, at least. Iwaizumi probably would do anything you asked of him. You were the damn princess, after all. Did he not have some obligation to do whatever you wanted? Getting him to escort you around town, coming to your room for an evening to simply talk… were you being selfish? Was this even what he wanted?
He felt so close, and yet a world away.
From your side, Tooru knew he’d said something wrong.
✧ ✧
You hated losing days to your own melancholy. Other people’s, you could handle; if Tooru was upset, you would simply work to make him smile. If your father was angry, you would apply yourself to your studies. If your mother was forlorn, you would take her for a walk through the gardens, pointing out all the beautiful things she reminded you of.
But you? You would just sit in front of the fire, hands in your lap as you tried your best not to think. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking led to fantasising; and there was nothing more deadly than that.
Especially when those fantasies were about Iwaizumi. You had spent all day trying not to think about him, and yet he was the only thing on your mind. You’d spent all afternoon trying to think of anything else as you stared into the fire, but everything led back to him.
Dragons? Iwaizumi had fought a few, in his time. Foreign lands? Iwaizumi had travelled with your family many a time across the border. The kingdom’s finances? Iwaizumi would probably have some pertinent wisdom on how to manage those, given his experience in a poor household.
Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi. He was the only thing you could think about. You were positively bundled up in thoughts of him.
So bundled up in those thoughts, in fact, that you hadn’t heard the door open.
“Your Highness?”
You flinched, head whipping around to look to the source.
Iwaizumi, still in his armour. You weren’t sure how late it was, but chances were that he’d finished his patrol for the evening.
“Hello,” you smiled banally at him. What was he doing here?
“Are you well?” He asked, hands folded behind his back as his eyes flitted to the ground.
“Am I well?” You frowned, tilting your head at him.
“Tooru said…” He cleared his throat, braving a look at you. “Tooru said you seemed… despondent, after the tournament. I… I wanted to see if you were okay. If… if there was anything I could do.”
That little… You sighed, turning back to the fire. Of course Tooru would stick his nose in. He wanted to see if this would lead anywhere. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for a lie. ‘I am quite fine,’ you wanted to say. ‘Just a little tired after watching such revelry.’
But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. There was something else, something pounding in your chest. A little question you were so afraid of that you felt it might force you into silence.
You wouldn’t let it.
“Am I abusing my power?” It was a simple question; so blunt that Iwaizumi didn’t quite know how to begin unpacking it. “Calling you to me, like this?”
You looked up at him, an overwhelmingly sincere look in your eyes.
Maybe it seemed that way to you. Maybe you thought he only came running because he felt a sense of duty.
But Iwaizumi knew that he’d heed your call regardless of your station.
“I don’t know what you mean, your Highness.” He prayed he didn’t sound afraid. He prayed he didn’t sound hopeful.
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “Please,” you murmured, your hands balling in your skirt. “Call me by my name.”
He wanted to. Desperately. He wanted to ram down the wall between the two of you, to speak to you as an equal.
It’s what you wanted, too.
He moved across the room with deliberation, kneeling next to you. He’d never thought that a word could be so scary. Carry such weight.
But he felt it, in every inch of his body.
He said it. For the very first time, he said your name.
As that word slipped past his lips, your self-control crumbled.
You gripped his gloved hand, closing your eyes. It was just a little gesture; nothing to cause a stink over. But it meant something to you. To him.
Iwaizumi wrapped his hand around yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t have the words to explain himself. He didn’t know if he wanted to find them.
But he hoped that you understood.
“Iwaizumi?”
“Yes?”
“Could you… hold me, for a while?” You asked, your eyes a little damp as you gazed at the fire. “Only if you want to, though.”
He froze.
He could pretend, for a moment, that you weren’t worlds apart. That the two of you could walk hand in hand, as equals.
Maybe it was a foolish dream, but he wouldn’t deny himself from indulging in it.
✧ ✧
“Do you not think this is… irresponsible?” Iwaizumi asked, his armour clinking as he walked alongside you.
“Irresponsible?” You giggled, looking up at him with bright eyes. “How so? Is it not safer for me to have an escort?”
“You know what I mean,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
“We can go home, if you would prefer,” you said, gazing at the ground.
“No!” The word left him before he could think.
You blinked up at him. He could see so much in those eyes of yours.
“I… would like this,” he murmured, nodding to you. “Very much.”
You visibly relaxed, straightening up a little. “Well, should we get going?”
Iwaizumi nodded, berating himself for very nearly ruining your day.
When he’d been called to see your family, he’d been gripped with anxiety. Had your father found out about your evenings spent together? Would he be punished for them, even though nothing truly indecent had happened between the two of you?
Instead, he’d been asked to escort you to the forest. Your parents seemed to think nothing of it, really. But he didn’t miss the amused glint in Tooru’s eyes. That seemed like trouble.
He didn’t really know why he felt so guilty about what had transpired between the two of you. It was nothing too serious; a boundary had been crossed, yes, but it wasn’t like he’d ‘ruined your honour’ or anything like that. Gods, he loathed that phrase.
Maybe the guilt came from the fact that he was trusted. Even such a small intimacy was a breach of that trust.
But why should he care for your father’s trust? There were far more pressing matters at hand. Your smile was just one of them.
You looked so out of place, the hem of your cloak richly embroidered with flowers, your dress a vibrant purple. The forest had no chance to compete with your sheer radiance.
But you were smiling. Smiling so freely, so brightly, that Iwaizumi wondered if you might be a star. You were as beautiful as one, by his count.
You were drinking in the forest with your usual curiosity, joyfully asking about each and every new thing you came across. Iwaizumi knew, now, that this outlook of yours was a form of escapism.
“You can eat those,” he said, pointing to a little cluster of brown-topped mushrooms.
“You can?” You asked, tilting your head at him.
Iwaizumi nodded. “You would want to boil them, first. Otherwise their texture is awful.”
You nodded, much like you would in one of your lessons. “For some reason, I thought you needed pigs to find mushrooms.”
Iwaizumi smiled. “Not always.”
You looked up at him, beaming. “What other secrets of the forest do you have for me?”
He felt his chest constrict as he looked at you, gazing at him with such adoration. It was more than he could handle. But he obliged, pointing out all sorts of things to you: how to tell which berries were safe to eat, how to tell how old footprints were, how to find your way towards the river if you were ever lost.
And you listened well, punctuating his little monologues with your own questions. By the time you’d made it the river, your mind was heavy with new knowledge. But, you were happy. Happier than you’d been in a long while.
“Sit with me!” You breathed, settling yourself down by the river.
“Your dress—”
“It will be fine,” you smiled, waving a hand at Iwaizumi. He froze for a moment, an expression of gentle discontentment on his face. “I will wash it myself.”
He moved forward at that, sitting himself down next to you. Close enough that your knees brushed. The thrill that gave you was almost embarrassing.
You took a deep breath, scanning the forest around you. It was very different from the castle. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a forest – you travelled through them all the time, of course – but it was certainly the first time you were paying attention to one.
It reminded you of Iwaizumi, in a lot of ways; beautiful, in a wild sort of way, but calming. Maybe the two of you could come here more often.
But you had to get through today, first.
“Iwaizumi?”
“Yes?”
“Can I hold your hand?” You asked, a flush in your cheeks.
You felt him take a sharp breath next to you, and you almost laughed.
“Yes,” he stammered. “O-Of course.”
Iwaizumi didn’t know if your heart was pounding as fast as his, but you truly seemed more confident. You removed his glove with a gentle smile, pressing your palm against his.
Your hands were those of a princess; small, delicate, soft. His, the hands of a farm boy turned knight; broad, rough, calloused. The contrast made him uncomfortable.
And yet, it felt so wonderful to feel you so close. Just as wonderful as it had felt a few days ago. Gods, he really was just as pathetic as he was at fifteen, wasn’t he? You were just holding hands, and yet it felt like the most exhilarating thing in the world.
And when you looked at him like that while you rambled to him about something? With your eyes shining, your cheeks lifted in a flushed smile? It was as disorienting as it was delightful. For the first time in his life, he was seen. He was just the son of a farmer, and yet you looked at him like he was the most precious gift you’d been given in a long time.
He wanted to lose himself in that. To lose himself in the way you looked at him. But something wouldn’t let him. A quiet murmur in the back of his mind, something dark nestled in his chest.
Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake it.
“We should head back,” he murmured, looking to the sky. He could only just catch a glimpse through the canopy of trees overhead, but it was definitely darkening. Had you really been out here so long?
“Must we?” You whined, leaning against his arm.
“I don’t want to get in trouble,” he mumbled, cheeks darkening.
“Fine,” you sighed, stretching one of your arms above your head. “If we must.”
The walk back was peaceful, the quiet din of the forest making up for the lack of conversation. You had taken the silence as a comfortable one, shared between two people who enjoyed each other’s company enough to not fill it with superfluous chatter.
For Iwaizumi, it was a very different experience.
By the time you arrived back at the castle, you had set an appropriate distance between the two of you. Iwaizumi thanked the gods for it, because waiting at the gates were three very panicked handmaidens. Your handmaidens.
“Your Highness!” One of them came rushing forward, a hand pressed to her chest. “Where have you been?”
“I was out for a walk,” you blinked, tilting your head at her. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s late, your Highness,” she breathed, shaking her head. “We need to get you ready for tonight!”
You gasped, hands flying to your mouth. “Oh dear, there’s a banquet, is there not?”
Your handmaiden nodded earnestly.
And you were off, without as much as a goodbye.
He watched you go, the discontent that had been brewing in his chest all afternoon finally cracked in his chest.
This was where you had to be. This was your world.
You had never known a day of honest work; your life was handmaidens and nobles, pretty dresses and foreign languages. Your hands were soft, smooth, unbarred by the fight for survival.
You could dress as a peasant all you wanted, sneak out to the tavern, play at being poor.
But at the end of the night, you could always go home. Back to a place of security, of prosperity. You would never have to worry about surviving a harsh winter’s night, huddling with your family for a scant sliver of warmth. You would never have to count out the grains at the end of autumn, hoping, praying that there were enough. You would never have to consider which life was worth more than the other during a famine, a winter, a tragedy.
You had never, ever had to worry about any of that.
His life, his experience – it was mere playacting to you. A bit of theatre. An escape from the trappings of privilege.
You were so, so far away from everything he knew. And the two of you would never be equals.
Not unless you ruined your life for him.
And he would not ask that of you.
✧ ✧
“Welcome back!” You threw your arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing your body flush against his. Maybe it was a bit bold, but it had been nearly a month since you’d last seen him. Well, properly, that is. “I’ve not had the chance to say that, yet.”
“Thank you,” he smiled, his arms finding their way around your waist. You tried not to blush; he was rarely so bold.
You let him go, stepping back to give him a once-over.
He looked different. He’d gotten a tan, probably from working morning to evening under the sun, and his hair was a little longer. A little more unkempt, too. There was a new ruggedness to him; similar to the one he’d had as a child.
But his demeanour was completely different; both from when you’d last seen him, and from when he was a child. There was a strange, paradoxical aura to him; like a man burdened with serenity. You weren’t quite sure how, but there was no other way to describe it.
“How was harvest?” You asked, tilting your head at him.
“Fruitful,” he nodded. “We… we were quite blessed.”
You smiled, clapping your hands together. “Oh, now that is wonderful news!”
He gazed at you for a moment, smiling softly. “Quite.”
When he first told you that he was visiting his home, you’d said you wanted to go with him. He had said no. Even when you’d suggested inviting Tooru, claiming that it would be a good learning opportunity for him, Iwaizumi had been resolute.
You’d been quite miserable the entire month long; he’d sent a pigeon to let you know that he was alive, thank the Gods, but he hadn’t sent much else. He’d specifically told you not to write to him, as that would raise too many questions. The most you could hope for was that Tooru would mention him at breakfast, where you could inquire to Iwaizumi’s wellbeing without raising suspicion.
But now, he was home, and your heart was much lighter for it.
“How is your family?” You asked, tilting your head at him.
His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second. But you caught it.
“Is everything okay?” You asked.
“Everything is fine,” he nodded, steel in his voice. “They’re just… getting older.”
You knew little of his parents, and he never offered up any information about them. But the look on his face was enough to let you know he held them dear.
“How are you?” He asked, clearing his throat. Whatever was happening with his family, he didn’t want to say. You could fill this silence, if you must.
“Oh, well, there is much to tell,” you nodded, ushering him further into your room.
You sat him down at your table, placing yourself across from him.
And you talked. About what, you weren’t quite sure. Something trivial; about the little dramas happening between the household staff, about the last embarrassing encounter Tooru had with a prospective bride, about this season’s royal hunt.
It was all menial, but you hoped it would make him smile.
He wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was gazing out the window, the golden light of the sunset dancing across his face. You wanted to tell him that, perhaps, he was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on. But you didn’t quite have the words.
There it was again. The burden of serenity. In that moment, he did not look a man of a mere twenty summers. No, he looked much older. Much wiser.
“Iwaizumi, are you okay?” You asked gently, touching his hand.
He sat there for a moment, completely silent. Still, he did not look at you.
Had you done something wrong? Had you said something awful in your little rambles? Had something horrible happened on his trip home?
“Do you think you could ever grow to be happy?”
What a strange question, you thought.
Something was off. The room felt darker, colder. Like it knew something you didn’t, and pitied you for it.
You stared at Iwaizumi, praying that he’d read between your words. And yet, some part of you knew he’d refuse to. “Well, I… I certainly hope so.”
Another silence. But this one was heavier. This one stuck to your lungs like smoke, choking out your voice. You wanted to shout through it, to be heard. Iwaizumi was sitting right there, just within reach; but it felt like you were all alone.
And yet, it didn’t seem to bother him.
“Well, then…” He took a deep breath, standing to his feet. “I shall take my leave.”
He made his way for the door, his shoulders softer than usual.
He wasn’t going to turn around.
“Iwaizumi!” You gasped, shooting over to him.
You didn’t know what you planned on doing. What you were so afraid of. But you grabbed his wrist.
He turned around in surprise, eyes wide as he looked down at you.
You stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You weren’t sure if you’d done it right. Maybe it was too clumsy. Maybe you’d embarrassed yourself.
But you knew it certainly wasn’t how you’d imagined your first kiss to go. You’d conjured a fantasy of moonlight and flowers, a declaration of love by a glittering lake. Not this. Not an act of desperation, driven by a fear you didn’t understand.
You moved back, looking up at him. What would he glean from your face? Dread? Regret? Desperation?
His own eyes held an unreadable storm within them. You wished he would talk to you, let you help soothe the tempest. But you knew well enough that Iwaizumi would never lay such a burden on anyone, even if they begged him to.
“Goodbye, your Highness.”
Something terrible dawned on you. Something you weren’t ready to accept.
But you let go of his wrist.
He didn’t linger.
You watched him go, your heart beating so fast you worried you might pass out. You didn’t understand what had just happened. But you knew one thing.
He hadn’t even used your name.
✧ ✧
“He’s gone?” You hissed, leaning towards your brother.
Tooru had been positively despondent all morning. He hadn’t even touched his breakfast.
“He said this life was not right for him,” he mumbled, poking at his food with his fork. “I feel awful.”
“I’m sorry, Tooru.” You barely knew how to process this information. But your poor brother obviously needed comfort.
“No,” he shook his head. “No, not like that. Well – yes, I feel awful at having lost him. But… I cannot help but feel as if it were my fault.”
You frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Why?”
“I brought him into his life,” Tooru swallowed. “Maybe if I had not been so selfish, then he would not…”
You didn’t know what to say. Tooru wasn’t one for regret. He preferred to turn that sort of feeling into anger, letting it push him past whatever mistake or failure he’d made. But not this time. Not when it came to Iwaizumi.
But he had been the reason Iwaizumi left home, all those years ago. It had been a family trip the country, just a week or so where your parents could ‘enjoy the scenery.’ They hadn’t expected Tooru to throw such a tantrum at the thought of being separated from the little commoner he’d befriended. He had demanded that the little boy come with him, as a treasured friend.
Iwaizumi’s parents had packed their son off in a heartbeat, urging him to take advantage of the secure future such a friendship offered him. He was much less likely to starve, cooped up in the walls of the castle.
But Iwaizumi had never quite settled, never quite become one with the rhythm of the castle. He had always seemed apart from it all, like he was somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere far away.
Oikawa felt guilty for forcing him into this life. You could tell.
“I am sure he greatly valued your friendship,” you said, hoping the lump in your throat wouldn’t choke your words. “And the opportunities you gave him.”
A long, laden pause. A shift in the air. Things going unsaid.
You’d felt like this before.
“He said he made a mistake,” Tooru broke the silence, eyes flicking up to you.
You had no idea if Tooru knew about you. Knew about your role in all this. How you’d complicated things for the poor boy.
“A mistake?”
“One he does not regret, apparently,” Tooru sighed, laying his cutlery on the table. “But a mistake, nonetheless.”
You bit your lip, looking down at your breakfast. “Well, wherever he is, I hope he’s happy.”
You won’t follow him. You won’t deny him this one chance to escape, to chase after something simpler. He didn’t need you; and you had failed. At what, you couldn’t quite say. But you hadn’t given him what he wanted. What he needed.
The only thing you could do was hope – no, pray for his happiness. For a happiness that you couldn’t bring him.
But years later, as you held your firstborn son in your arms, your mind wandered back to him. To the only man you had ever loved.
And you wondered if it would be remiss to call the baby in your arms by his name.
#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime imagine#iwaizumi x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuucreations#this was Hard to write#but slkdsjdlkj it's done with#sorry lads
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