#and i was like 'look father the envelopes have been sealed' n he was like 'HAAAH? ...aiya...' and my mom was like '幹嗎? 她做甚麼?'

[drunk-person]

Leather gloves, jealous and dragons

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After the moons pass and Aemond and Lady Y/n's marriage becomes increasingly stronger, there is only one creature capable of keeping the prince away from his wife for more than a few hours, Vhagar. Sometimes Y/n cares, sometimes she doesn't, but if there's one thing she never cares about, it's the thick black gloves that her husband wears when he goes flying.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, gloves being used inappropriately (a lot of things have been used inappropriately on this blog lately, I'm talking about you training yard), fingering, clothed sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, no description for reader.

Word cont: 2.900 k

Author's note: Okay, I was just casually scrolling through Aemond's tag when this idea came up, and yes I was writing the bottom half of the fourth chapter of The Gossip, but I HAD to write this story! @peachysunrize I hope you like it, I added some inventions from my head in the middle of it 💕💕. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.

Y/n Arryn was a respectable and well-regarded lady, throughout Westeros there were men fighting for her hand as soon as she was old enough to marry. Proposals came from the North, the Rech and even Dorne, but the one that was of most interest to Lord Arryn was the one that came in a black envelope with red edges sealed with the Targaryen family crest.

The hand of the king had proposed marriage between Y/n and his grandson Prince Aemond Targaryen. The young woman felt her heart come to her mouth as soon as her father told her what he had decided, she would marry Prince Aemond in two moons.

The first time Y/n set foot on Kings Landing she was terrified, the idea of marrying a man she barely knew making her thoughts cloudier than water. And when she met Prince Aemond, this terror increased even more, something she didn't think was possible.

He was as scary and taciturn as they had told her, he barely gave her a look and only said two words of courtesy, other than muttering every now and then while looking down on everyone as if he were from a race superior to mere mortals.

Y/n's fear became even more overwhelming after she met Aegon, Aemond's older brother. Her heart ached as she listened to the gossip around the fortress about how he cheated on his wife, how he was always drunk, and how he spent more time in the brothels than in the fortress. Sadness took over her, and she imagined how terrible life itself would be from now on.

How wrong she was.

Things began to change on the night of the wedding when the prince vehemently denied a bed ceremony. Y/n was so nervous, the fear of the nuptials was already consuming her, combined with the fact that other people would be watching it made her tremble, until Aemond denied the ceremony and ripped that fear out of her.

The remaining fear was quickly extinguished when Aemond gently laid her on the bed and made her cry with pleasure in a way she never thought possible. Her hands tangled in his silver strands of hair as he touched her in places that made her blush with embarrassment as she remembered the other day.

From then on, little by little, she got to know her husband and every day she became more grateful for that. He still had that stoic and arrogant air, but now Y/n could see behind it, she saw the small acts of importance he gave her daily.

How he made a point of having at least one meal a day with her, how he asked how her day had been, how every now and then she would wake up after a passionate night and find an arrangement of beautiful flowers on the table in her room. And each of these things from the smallest to the largest warmed her heart until it was completely melted by her husband, to the point where she couldn't wait to be with him.

Little by little Aemond spent more and more time with her, and when they weren't tangled in the sheets so close together that you didn't know where one began and the other ended, they were sitting in the gardens talking, or reading together in some quiet place, or even just quietly enjoying each other's company. At a certain point, the only one who could receive more attention from Aemond than Y/n was Vhagar since he almost always went on long flights with the dragon.

That afternoon in particular Aemond was taking much longer than usual and Y/n was waiting for him impatiently as she walked around the room. He had promised to arrive before sunset so they would have time to walk around the garden, but now the sun had already set and the maids had even lit the candles.

The loud noise of the door suddenly invaded the room and Y/n promptly got up to wait for her husband, as soon as he entered her field of vision Y/n arched her eyebrows ironically.

-Did you decide to show up, husband? - Moons ago Y/n wouldn't have spoken to him in such a way in her wildest dreams, but now she was so familiar with him that she often didn't have as much politeness when speaking.

-I'm sorry, wife. - He said, removing the belt with the dagger and sword and throwing it on the couch. -Vhagar was a little sensitive this afternoon, she tends to want to fly longer distances when she is like this.

Y/n just made a humming sound with her mouth instead of responding, a habit she had picked up from Aemond without even realizing it. However, Y/n couldn't help biting her lower lip lightly when she saw him still wearing his riding clothes, she had never said anything to him, but seeing him returning from the flight always affected her mood and it was almost automatic so that she got excited.

-Wife… - Aemond murmured, approaching Y/n from behind and holding her firmly by the waist. -Are you by any chance jealous of Vhagar… a dragon?

His voice was incredulous and Y/n burned with embarrassment. Before she could respond Aemond laughed, something that rarely happened, which made her blush even more as she tried tried to free herself from his arms.

-You don't need to be embarrassed, I find it very flattering that you feel such appreciation for me to the point of feeling jealous. - He arched his eyebrow, still smiling. - No matter how unreasonable it may be.

-Husband.. - Y/n complained grumpily looking at her feet.

At that point she was no longer red only from the small misbehavior, but also from the thin, rough texture of her husband's riding gloves against her sensitive, soft skin. That was always a problem, she couldn't help but sigh every time she saw Aemond arrive wearing those damn gloves. And when he ripped them off and threw them haphazardly on the table? She felt a pressure between her legs that made her want to jump on him.

-What is it? Why are you all bristling, wife? - Aemond rubbed his hands against her arms and Y/n shivered even more making him arch his eyebrows again.

-They're your gloves, husband. - She said looking at the floor. – They are rough.

-I can take it off if you want. - He spoke, still gently stroking her arms, but after speaking he noticed that his wife lowered her eyes and didn't respond and then, approaching her lips to her ear, he spoke in a low voice, almost making her sigh. - You don't want me to take it off, do you?

-Do you like rougher things, dear wife? - And with the question he ran his hands down Y/n's body and slowly pulled the fabric of the dress up and accumulated them on her hips, making Y/n gasp as she felt the rough gloves passing over her thighs and squeezing them. slowly. Aemond couldn't help but smile when he noticed his wife's reactions to the roughest touch.

-Come here my dear, I'll show you how much I missed you. - He said, pulling her more and more towards him, sitting in one of the armchairs in the room while he placed her on his lap facing the large mirror and guided his hands to his wife's knees, slowly separating her legs, now being able to see the moisture that had formed in her intimacy.

-I haven't even touched you yet, dear wife, and you're already so wet for me. - His delicious voice sounded in her ear as he slowly moved his hands up her thighs, making her desperate for him to get to where she needed him most. The sight of his gloved fingers running up her legs made her roll her eyes with desire.

Aemond smiled mischievously and Y/n held her breath, not knowing where to look. His smile intensified as he brought his fingers to her cunt and at this point Y/n was barely breathing with desire.

Slowly he guided two fingers to her entrance and rubbed gently, pulling some of the moisture concentrated there and taking it to the pearl, which he began to rub languidly, eliciting sighs and moans from Y/n.

-You look so beautiful when you open your legs for me. - He murmured, brushing his lips gently against the shell of her ear, making her let out a louder moan. - So beautiful making these perfect sounds when I've barely touched you yet.

He then moved his fingers down and with a smooth movement that made Y/n roll her eyes, he penetrated just one gloved finger into her cunt. The sight of his finger disappearing inside her as he admired her with that look of pure adoration made her want to cry with desire.

-Very good beautiful girl. - He sighed as he slowly moved his finger teasing her, knowing very well that she needed more. - You always welcome me so well. How about another one?

He had barely asked and Y/n was already nodding her head practically begging for him.

-Such a needy lady my wife is. - He murmured as he inserted another finger inside her, making her moan his name with praise. - I can't leave our bed for a few hours because it becomes a meaningless mess.

Aemond guided his free hand to the front laces of Y/n's dress and pulled them tightly, loosening her wife's neckline more and more until her breasts were exposed to his pure delight, who guided his gloved hand to her erect nipple. of her gently pinching him as he admired her reflection in the mirror.

Meanwhile he moved his fingers slowly inside her and the feeling of the rough fabric of her husband's gloves against her own soft and wet insides made Y/n see stars and sigh in contentment with the double stimulation. As Aemond fucked her with his fingers he found that spongy spot that took her body out of orbit, and when she moaned uncontrollably he smiled even more mischievously against her neck, leaving kisses and bites there, pinching her nipples even more.

-So good husband. - Y/n sighed, leaning on his shoulder.

-You don't know how much I want to fuck you right now. -He murmured, biting her ear and sucking it while he nuzzled his nose in her hair.

Aemond penetrated her third finger making her whimper, but unlike before where he caressed her gently, he now started to get into a rougher rhythm, still slow but with force. And Y/n in turn just clung to his arms as she threw herself back, leaning against her husband's clothed chest, and moving her hips in search of more friction.

-So desperate my wife, throwing herself against my fingers like a beautiful filthy whore. -He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face when he said that, so that Y/n could see herself better in the mirror, and the sight of her made her moan even louder.

His gloved fingers moving in and out of her cunt, his palm firmly massaging her mound, the fabric of the gloves slightly moistened and a white ring forming at the base of the fingers contrasting strongly with the dark color they possessed. The contractions of pleasure of her cunt crushing Aemond's skilled fingers as he smiled and bit her neck working even harder to coax pleasure out of her, he loved the feeling of her silky walls squeezing around him.

The way he curled his fingers and then moved them in and out made every nerve ending in Y/n burn. The roughness of the fabric was driving her crazy and she wanted so much more, she wanted to be set on fire.

-Husband. - She moaned, arching her back and pressing herself even more against him while turning her neck slightly to face him, taking one of her hands to his hair and removing the eye patch in the process. - I'm so close… so close. Please.

-I like it as much as you implore my dear. - He guided his other hand to her chin and squeezed it tightly, forcing her to keep her eyes exclusively on the mirror's reflection, the rough fabric of the glove making her gasp, while the sight of Aemond's now uncovered sapphire eye made her moan. - But I want you to keep your hungry little eyes on your pussy.

-See how wet she is for me, how well she takes my fingers, you are dripping my dear wife. - The movements became faster and stronger and Y/n felt some tears run down her cheeks as she moaned uncontrollably at the sight of Aemond's gloved fingers buried so deeply in her soaked cunt.

And when he accelerated the movements of both his fingers inside Y/n and his palm against her sensitive pearl, Y/n cried and screamed as she came against his hand, shuddering with pleasure.

Aemond was lost at that scene. He couldn't take his eyes off his wife's cunt writhing against his fingers as her juices oozed out between his fingers. Her face full of pleasure as she screamed and begged for his name was another thing that could easily kill him in that instant, he would certainly die happy with that scene.

-Look at the mess you make, my dear. - He said after removing his fingers from her trembling cunt. - Clean up for me like the good wife I know you are.

Aemond guided his hand to Y/n's lips and she lazily sucked on his gloved fingers. The taste of the fabric mixed with her own taste further numbing her mind, still clouded by the orgasm.

And Aemond could no longer contain himself when he saw that expression of contentment on her face as she sucked on his gloved fingers. And he quickly took her off his lap and bent her over the carpet, still facing the mirror, making her gasp from the abrupt movement.

Y/n had barely balanced herself and Aemond had already undid the laces of his own pants and guided his cock to her sensitive pussy. They both moaned senselessly as soon as he penetrated her completely. And he quickly brought his hands to the top of her dress, dragging it down and leaving her breasts completely free for him to massage and squeeze as he pleased.

He fucked her so well, and Y/n lost her breath with each firm thrust from Aemond and panted with pleasure as she whimpered for more with tears in her eyes.

She raised her head, looking towards the mirror again, and the sight of his hand massaging her hips and squeezing her nipples as he fucked her while still wearing those damned riding gloves made her eyes roll with pleasure, and she begged for him with Even more willing looking into his eyes and sighing when finding that blue glow that she had learned to love so much.

-I love that look you have when I'm inside you. - He groaned, rolling his eye with pleasure as he fucked her, and Y/n lowered her face once again. Aemond then guided his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at the mirror again, he wouldn't miss a second of that passionate look that his wife directed just at him and that made Aemond's heart race.

-No my dear, you keep those shining eyes on me while I fuck you like you deserve. - And removing his hand from her chin, Aemond went up to her hair and pulled it back, holding her firmly and keeping her gaze fixed on the mirror.

-Aemond, please. - She whimpered, enchanting him with those eyes that made him lose his head, and once again he guided the tips of his gloved fingers to the top of her thighs and caressed her forcefully, making his wife gasp and moan as she collapsed in front of him, who held her. by her hips as he fucked her with abandon looking for his own climax, which didn't take long to come when he came deep inside her.

The two remained motionless, their bodies pressed together and their breaths labored. Y/n brought her own bare hand to her husband's gloved hand and caressed it with gentle circles still completely lost in fleeting pleasure.

-You look even more beautiful when you're cumming all over my cock. - He murmured, still lost in pleasure against her hair, making his wife smile.

Y/n in turn, faced the mirror and sighed with contentment when she saw their reflection. Aemond behind her still panting with his usually stoic face relaxed in pleasure as he held her against him still holding her thighs firmly to keep her in contact with him as she squeezed lightly every now and then.

-Love you. - She said tiredly, still with her head lying on his shoulder, looking at him through the mirror.

Aemond didn't respond with words, he just mumbled like he always did. But Y/n no longer needed words, she had learned to distinguish every look, every touch and every sigh of her husband to know that he was also in love, especially when he pulled her even closer and left a soft kiss on her neck .

Tag list: @slut-for-m3 @fallout-girl219

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Pyrite - Chapter 2: Gold shrouds

Pt 1 here! 

Chapter summary: Daemon gets a letter and Aemma drinks her tea. Both events are not as unrelated as they should be. 

Warnings: Swearing. Abortion. Death (Of an irrelevant character, just to complicate things) 

A/N: Yes, I know what I’m implying between Daemon and Viserys. Sue me. Also, Aemma just knows things. Royal wombs anyone? 

If there was one thing Daemon despised, it was answering letters. It was not that he hated to write, or that he disliked corresponding with others. As a child, he had often hoped a more effective means of communication was invented for the realm. He hated waiting for news. Ravens took ages to cross the country and were often unreliable. They could be tampered with, and there was no reliable way of actually knowing who was sending the message. It was an insecure means of communication. 

Growing up, he had realized his feelings were paranoia and impatience. But as he was faced with an ever-growing pile of letters, Daemon once again remembered his longing for a more effective way of doing things. Many of the requests he was answering were delayed, and whatever he could do about it would probably be an even more delayed response. 

It would be even worse when he was Hand. Even more letters and petitions to oversee, and that was not considering the ones directed to the King that he would answer in his stead. Already, he had noticed Viserys slipping a few of his letters in Daemon’s pile. It was bound to be good practice. 

Daemon skimmed the news from his informants. His grandmother seemed to be doing better, which gladdened him. The death of his aunt and uncle had hit her hard. It was good to hear she was regaining her strength, although Daemon would much prefer it if she was not dining with Corlys Velaryon or the Hightower cunt. 

His father did not look at the meetings with good eyes. Nor did the King. The three of them had started corresponding a while back, trying to protect Viserys’ interests. As always, the man himself remained oblivious. 

It was how it was meant to be, Daemon mused. Viserys could be the crown, but Daemon would always be the sword. His sword. To aim at his enemies, known or not.

His grandfather couldn't be too obvious and show his favor directly, after all, he was to call a council to settle the matter of the succession. But his actions showed who he favored. 

Viserys remained oblivious. Or so he liked to pretend. Most of the time, he was too busy being in love with Aemma. 

This particular season was proving to be intolerable. Finally, after years of trying, Aemma was pregnant again. Both of them were overjoyed at the thought of getting to be parents, yet they were cautious of announcing it. 

Aemma had trouble making her womb quicken, and when it had before, she had lost the babes before they could come to term. She had stated it was not time to celebrate yet, not knowing if this would be the time the babe survived. Viserys, though, was behaving as if the child were already born. 

He stares at the pile of correspondence left, and stops right in his tracks. In the middle of it, there is an unmarked envelope. It's not sealed right. The wax looks like the one from a cheap candle, like the ones used to light up lanterns. Not at all like the ones used to sealing letters. Has anyone been tampering with his correspondence? 

Daemon reaches for the envelope. It feels rough in his hands, made of the cheapest paper. No noble would be caught dead sending their letters like that, not even if they were trying to be not conspicuous by not putting their seal on it. 

He starts breaking the seal apart, when there is a sudden scream of his name. Aemma. Are they being attacked? Is this a product of Corlys Velaryon scheming? 

The unmarked letter falls to the floor in his haste to leave the room, forgotten. Daemon curses Viserys for having picked today out of all days to go pick a dragon's egg for the babe. He has left them undefended. There is only Daemon and a couple of guards preventing Dragonstone from being taken. 

“Daemon!” Aemma repeated. She was not one to call for him, much less so panicked. Whatever was happening, it was bad. Maybe they had her already, and were threatening her at sword point. “Cousin, please!” 

Daemon unsheathed his sword. He worried if the babe would survive. The Maester had told them Aemma was not to suffer through any heightened emotions, and should remain calm and abed. Being held hostage was not exactly in his instructions. 

“Hold on, Aemma!” He screamed. He was a whole floor away from her. Daemon had to move faster, but the crowd of floundering servants were in his way. Aemma would despair if the babe was lost. Viserys had told him once that he doubted she would survive another loss. She wanted to be a mother so badly. 

Daemon had to hurry there, and try his best to get her out, even if he did not get the feeling himself. Children were such irritating creatures. They ruined everything. They were sticky, they bawled, they ruined women's bodies. He didn't see the appeal. But Aemma and Viserys were desperate to have one. 

Viserys didn’t have Aemma's yearning for parenthood. Instead, he had another motivation in mind. He, too, was thinking of what would happen were he to take the throne. 

What a hypocrite, truly. He pretended not to care about getting the Iron Throne, but he thought about it often enough to pressure Aemma about heirs. And now, Daemon could tell Viserys was scared shitless of being passed over in favor of Rhaenys, despite claiming to never wanting the throne.

That was why he was so desperate to get a son. If Aemma carried one, it meant that he was preferable to Rhaenys. There would be no unpleasant floundering about what to do with a Queen if one had an indisputable line of Kings that was assured even for the next generation. 

The babe had to live. Not only for Aemma, but for Viserys’ throne as well. 

“Daemon!” Aemma screamed again. Now that he was closer to her quarters, he noticed that the guards remained on their posts. Only her maids stood near, worriedly hoovering around her door. 

“I am coming!” It was all so very odd. He grabbed one of the maids and shook her. “What in the Seven Hells is going on?”

The woman started blabbering something, but she was too terrified of him to be of any use. Aemma's desperate howls could be heard from inside the room, making every one of Daemon's hairs stand up on end. 

Daemon went for a guard next. He pressed his sword to the man's chin, forcing him to look Daemon in the eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, you piece of shit? Your Princess is being attacked.” 

“The Princess is not being attacked.” Someone cut in. Daemon turned, enraged. In the middle of the corridor stood the Maester. He did not look winded in the very least. If he had hurried here, it did not show. “The serving girls says she is in pain.” 

In pain. In pain, as if losing the babe. Was everyone in this castle a cunt? Daemon fought the urge to scream and grabbed the Maester by the lapels of his robe. He was so enraged that the man was dangling from his grip. 

The Maester's eyes widened in fear. He started muttering something. Daemon did not care. 

“You are going in. Now. Or you will lose your hands. We will see how much you like being a Maester after that.” 

“No!” Aemma screamed, from inside her rooms. “No Maesters! Daemon, please. Something is very wrong.” 

“She doesn't want anyone but you or Prince Viserys, my Prince.” One of the more braver maids spoke. “We tried.” 

“Alright. Alright.” Daemon muttered, but he was unsure of who he was trying to reassure. The maid or himself? He was not good with crying women. The last time he had seen one was when he had taken the maidenhead of a serving girl, after his first time in a whorehouse. Apparently, you weren't supposed to treat virgins as roughly as you treated whores. Well, how was he supposed to know? 

Daemon stamped down his leftover guilt at the memory of feeling even more aroused at seeing the serving girl crying out in pain, and tried to focus. He had no medical knowledge, either. How was he supposed to help Aemma?

“Daemon, by the Gods, hurry the fuck up!” She screamed again. Daemon had never moved faster in his life. A cross Aemma was a fearsome Aemma. 

He opened the door and found Aemma gripping one of the posts of her bed. She was standing, only in her nightgown, and shaking from the pain. Daemon approached her gently, and grabbed her hand. Her skin was cold and clammy. 

There was a teapot on her bedside table. Daemon poured her another teacup and held it to her lips, but she refused. 

“I am losing my babe.” Aemma whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I can feel it.” 

“You are not.” Daemon tried his best to sound and look confident. “There is no blood. There is a Maester right outside, maybe we can…” 

“I feel the cramps, Daemon.” She deadpanned, before screaming again. Daemon flinched, but kept gripping her hands. “Blood will come. I have been through this.” 

It was a heartbreaking thing to hear. Not only for Aemma, but for their chances of getting the Iron Throne. Aemma bawled. Daemon could feel his own eyes filling with tears. What was wrong with him? He had lost plenty of nephews before. 

But he had never watched Aemma go through it before, had he? The treacherous voice in his head said. He had never seen her go through this pain, and neither had Viserys. 

“What do you need?” Daemon asked, softly. “What can I do?” 

“I just…” Aemma's knees buckled. He took on more of her weight. “I didn't want to be alone.” 

“You won't be.” Daemon promised, quietly. Where was Viserys when they needed him? Now, the selection of the dragon's egg seemed pointless. There was going to be no babe. 

No babe. Poor Aemma. She clung to him, and wept. It seemed like hours until Viserys arrived and took her from his arms. His expression was struck, but not with sorrow. Disappointment. Viserys had lost too many babes already to be saddened by that. The disappointment in his eyes was from something different. There was a certain anger in his expression when he looked towards Aemma that clued Daemon in. 

She had failed him. If Aemma had managed to keep the babe a few months longer, if she had birthed him a son….

Daemon left the room before he said anything stupid to his brother. While Daemon was not the most compassionate person ever, Viserys claimed to love Aemma. He should be worried after her health, or feeling her pain at having her dream of becoming a mother shattered. Not worried about the Iron Throne. 

If she was the woman Daemon loved, he would never blame her. Especially not during such a sensible time as this. They were Targaryens. Family came before the Iron Throne. 

Besides, did no babe really mean no Iron Throne? Rhaenys had been passed over once. The reasoning still stood. And if that was not enough, Viserys was their father's heir. That had to count for something. It meant he would inherit the throne regardless if their father managed to sit on it for only a second before keeling over. 

Daemon thought worrying was unnecessary. They had their grandfather's support. The Council had decided on their favor once already. Nothing had changed. Aemma had not had a babe then either. 

But taking precautions was never wrong. Daemon had already started gathering a small force of loyal men. If it needed to be done, he would do it for the happy couple. Viserys, the fool, could never. Aemma was too good of a woman to even think of it. She would make a good Queen. But she would not be Viserys's Tyanna. Daemon would be. 

He went back to his chambers. The pile of correspondence remained as it was when he rushed out, except for the unmarked letter. Someone picked it up and placed it back on the pile. 

Daemon opens the letter. The handwriting is big and round, clearly feminine. It's also terrible. Whoever wrote it never had the lessons on penmanship most nobles had.

“To whom it may concern, 

Do not let Princess Aemma alone. Someone is planning to hurt her babe. Please believe me.” 

The note says nothing more. Daemon curses. 

“A name could have been useful.” He says, to the envelope. It seems too convenient that someone is trying to help them. But somehow, he knows it's an authentic warning. No one had known of Aemma's pregnancy outside Dragonstone. It had been too soon to announce it. 

And the timing of this loss had been rather convenient, hadn't it? Just on the day when his father is at the capital, on the precise morning Viserys was out of the castle, taking most guards with him. The Maester had reacted rather slowly, same as the serving girls. Could it be? Not a genuine loss, but a provoked one? 

It was easy to poison someone. Even easier to switch a pregnant woman's tea with moontea. There had been a tea set in the room. He remembered that. 

Daemon clutched the note and ran towards Aemma's rooms. He burst inside, ignoring the warnings from the guards. 

“Daemon! Have some respect, Aemma is….” Viserys screamed at him, leaping to his feet. He was still dressed in his riding clothes. 

The room was an even bigger mess than when he had left it. There were trails of blood in the plush myrish rug his father had gifted Aemma after the wedding. The woman herself was laying on the bed, undressed and in absolute despair. A serving girl was valiantly attempting to clean her up, and receiving quite a few slaps in return. 

There was another serving girl, taking the remains of Aemma's breakfast. She kept her eyes lowered, never once glancing in Daemon's way, and yet…

Her hands were trembling. She scooped up the teapot. 

“Daemon! Are you even listening? You can't be here, my wife is…” Viserys grabbed him by the shoulders, face twisted into an expression of pure rage. Daemon could tell that he was close to punching him. 

He ignored Viserys, eyes fixated on the girl. She was no older than four and ten years of age, but Daemon doubted that her nervousness had anything to do with that. 

“Girl! Wait!” He commanded, but the serving girl was slipping past the open door and right by him. Daemon tried to grab her shoulder or her wrist, but she was already running away. 

“Guards! Hold her!” He screamed, and tried to run after her. Viserys got in his path. He had no time for explaining anything, no time at all. Daemon shoved the note in his face. “Viserys, let me go!” 

“Not until you tell me what is going on!” His brother's hands closed around his shoulders, effectively restricting his movement. Daemon looked at Viserys’ eyes. He was sure his expression mimicked his, frantic and terrified. 

“Someone informed me of a threat to Aemma's babe.” 

“And you think… That woman….” 

A sudden scream and a thud were heard. The woman? Daemon went to look outside the chamber, but Viserys was blocking the exit. He sighed. No point in sugarcoating it now, even if he wanted to avoid upsetting Aemma even further. 

“Poison.”  Daemon confirmed. Viserys took a step back. The another. He took the letter from Daemon, his knees buckling. 

“How?” Viserys looked lost. Daemon felt no better. He didn't have an answer, beyond the serving girl and the note he had received. Before he could state such, one of the guards he had sent in pursuit of the woman stepped inside. 

“My Prince.” There was a grim look on his face, as if getting ready to be punished. Daemon knew immediately it wasn't good news. “The girl, she…” 

“She fell down the stairs while she ran. She broke her neck.” Another guard said, plainly. “We searched her clothes. Here.” The guard handed him a small glass vial, and a letter, hastily written. It was addressed to the Red Keep. 

Ser: 

It's done.

There was no signature, no titles being invoked, nothing that could signal who had given the order to poison Aemma. 

“What do you make of this?” He asked Viserys. His brother scowled. 

“Nothing. Nothing.” 

“Give me that.” Aemma croaked, from her place in the bed. Daemon had not realized she had been listening in. 

Viserys and Daemon exchanged a glance. Was it truly prudent? Aemma was grieving. But she was also insightful, more than both of them. Daemon had a head for military strategy, not for conspiracy.  

Viserys nodded. Daemon handed her the two letters. 

“We need to find this woman.” She said, after a while. 

“My love, she is dead.” Viserys answered her, looking concerned. Had she missed the guards informing them? Was she delirious? 

“Not her. The one who warned us.” Aemma's tone suggested exactly what she thought about their intelligence. That… Did make way more sense. Daemon felt his face heating up. She was right, they were fools. 

“How do you know it is a woman?” Viserys frowned in confusion. 

“The handwriting. Feminine. She must be a servant, or a very uneducated noble, but then… Well. How many of them are in the Red Keep? Servant is more likely.” 

“What do we do, then?” Daemon asked, if only to hear the confirmation. 

“We go there. And find her.” 

[moonchildstyles]

lily of the valley

oleander final part: y/n never pictured that her night would end like this.

wordcount: 16.2k+

cw: lots of talk ab blood and the consumption of blood! some descriptions of people who have passed away, but thats really it!

—————

(Y/N) stood behind the apothecary counter, chin resting in her palm with her eyes gazing out the window. The rain had returned last night, bringing with it a lingering fog and cloudy sky. Barely anyone was out and about, leaving (Y/N) feeling as if she were the only soul left in the village. The same way she had felt since leaving the castle and ghosting through the world without anyone the wiser to what she had learned that night. 

The last week had been one of wandering thoughts and conflicting dreams. More than once, she had woken in a cold sweat, a flashing nightmare of Harry hovering over her, his mouth full of sharp teeth and blood. She would wake with her heart in her throat and lungs tight, but the only thing that could calm her was the thought of Harry himself comforting her. She would replay a fantasy of him coaxing her down from her fright, those concerned eyes and gentle touch helping draw her in.

Soon enough, as the days packed on, those nightmares were few and far between, leaving (Y/N) with only questions and intrigue replacing her initial fear. Distance and time from him allowed the memories of his care to rise to the surface; his promise of never bringing her any harm and the actions to back it up were at the forefront of her mind. 

He had said they would see one another soon, after enough time had passed to allow her to wrap her head around it all. (Y/N) was beginning to itch for that time to come sooner rather than later. 

As if someone had been listening into her thoughts, a familiar bone white horse emerged through the fog, looking more phantom than animal. The rider had long dark hair and pale features. It was Harry's footman—Mitchell.

He was the one that hadn't learned his self-control yet. (Y/N) stiffened at the thought.

The horse was guided right to the apothecary where Mitchell hopped off the stead and tied the reins to the latch outside of the shop. (Y/N) didn't know how to keep her eyes away now that she knew what he was. 

The similarities to Harry only increased as she looked at him through a different lens. They were both impossibly graceful, lacking any flaw. Mitchell moved with a restrained strength, as if he were holding back with every movement causing him to look almost mechanical. She wondered if Harry was always holding back in the same way, but had mastered the art of blending in. 

There was no hesitancy this time when he came in. Stepping over the floorboards, he still lacked any real show of presence as nothing creaked under him or rattled around his weight. His sharp eyes landed on her immediately. 

"Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted with a nod, his voice low and clipped. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a familiar, opulent envelope. The last time she had seen one of these was when her father had thrown the piece into the furnace, effectively banning her from going to Harry's home. "From Harry," he murmured, passing off the piece. He took great care in ensuring their skin didn't brush. 

"Thank you," she answered, a small smile on her lips, "Mitchell." 

This time, she didn't wait for the footman to leave before she was breaking the wax seal and opening the flap to the letter. Inside was a simple letter, written out in curling letters on elaborate stationary. 

My dearest, (Y/N), 

       I hope I am not asking for too much to see you again so soon. I know we had agreed on coming together so I may offer answers to any and all questions you have, but if you would prefer to no longer see one another, I understand. If that is the case, tell Mitchell as much and I will no longer contact you if that will make you the most comfortable.

       If you are still open to seeing me again, I would like to invite you back to my home. I will arrange for the carriage to ferry you up here, and we will spend the evening discussing whatever you please. If you'll have me. 

       I hope to hear from you again soon. 

      Yours,

      Harry xx

Just as she finished skimming her eyes over the text, she saw Mitchell out of the corner of her eye attempting to flee just as silently as he had before. 

"Wait," she said, stopping him in his tracks before he could push open the door. 

He moved stiffly to face her, his dark eyes clear. "Yes?" 

"Hold on," she floundered, searching the counter for the steel pen and inkwell she had stored under the podium. "If I put my response on here, could you take it back to him, please?" 

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement. 

This letter had been exactly what she was hoping she would see today. The small correspondence sparked those dimming memories of Harry she had been treasuring every night before bed. She could hear the words in his voice, see his pinched features and worried brow. 

The only problem she found within the lines was his choice of location. She didn't have the confidence to stage another sneak out in the middle of the night, not trusting herself to keep silent and away from prying eyes so soon after the last time. While she had done a well enough job, no one having approached her about anything they could have seen that night, she didn't trust that she could do it as well this next time when she had more nerves working against her. 

He would have to come to her. 

With her writing nowhere near as glamorous as his, she wrote out: 

      I would love to see you again. I can't go back to your home so soon, I'm sorry. Come to me this time. 

      I will leave my window open tonight and tomorrow. I will be on the lookout for you, and I will let you in through the shop door when I see you're here. 

Her letters looked like sloppy black slashes against his own curling script, but (Y/N) couldn't think much about her handwriting before she was folding up the page and replacing it in the gilded envelope. 

"Thank you," she said, handing the correspondence back to Mitchell. 

She expected him to stay in line with his persona, silently taking the page before he would ghost through the shop and disappear in the night. However, when he lingered after removing the letter from her grasp, she flicked her gaze up to find him looking at her with intensity in his earnest eyes. 

"Thank you," he insisted, unwavering in his eye contact. 

(Y/N) didn't have to ask where his gratitude was coming from. He knew that she was now aware of his condition, but there hadn't been even a single whisper of such through the village. 

"Of course," she offered, a quiet smile on her lips. "Hopefully, I will see you again sometime soon." 

For the first time she had seen, the stoic mask Harry's footman always seemed to carry showed its first crack. The very corner of his lips turned upwards in a smile. 

"I am sure we will." 

With that, he took the now altered letter and placed it for safekeeping in his jacket pocket. He left the apothecary as if he were but a phantom passing through. The only trace of his presence was the bone white horse (Y/N) could barely spot disappearing through the fog.

—————

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) pulled in a resigning sigh.

Harry wasn't coming. 

The sun had gone down hours ago, inducing both her father's bedtime and the rest of the village's. Even the pub wasn't garnering the kind of crowd that usually haunted those halls. This was the perfect night for him to visit. No one would even notice him and she could easily sneak him upstairs with the cover of the night and her father's heavy sleeping. 

She had diligently waited just as her response said, with her window cracked open to allow any noise to filter through and her eyes periodically scanning the space. Nothing more than a few bugs fluttering through her herb garden and the bright eyes of a familiar cat could be seen in the dark. 

If he was coming tonight, he would have already been here. (Y/N) sunk heavier into her thin mattress at the thought. 

Another hour—that's what he had left. Then, she would close her window and go to bed. She will try again tomorrow.

Just as her plan came together, she could hear her name being whispered in the night. Much closer than that of a bug skittering through her garden and too vivid to be a dream. 

Her eyes shot open only to see her window shadowed by Harry's broad form. He was lacking a jacket and waistcoat, only clad in fitted black trousers and a billowing top in a matching hue. This late at night, his eyes and hair seemed to be of a coordinating shade, leaving his skin especially pale in comparison. 

"Harry?!" she gasped, startling on her bed, "Wh—How did you—" 

He looked over his shoulder in a quick whip of his head before he turned to her once more. 

"I will explain in a moment, but I think I see one of your neighbours," he murmured, gesturing to her window with a nod of his chin. "May I please come in?" 

(Y/N) scrambled at the thought of one of her neighbours catching Harry perched on the sloping roof of her home, right where her window was open. "Yes, yes," she rushed out, keeping her voice low as she moved towards her window, "Just—Come in before anyone sees you." 

Curling her fingers under the pane, (Y/N) slid it open just enough for him to slip through. Taking a step back, she watched as he fluidly climbed through her window, not even a hair out of place. He landed on her floor without a single sound, turning back to shut the window after him. 

She hadn't realized just how heavy her heart was beating until the vacuum of her bedroom was restored. She settled some though she kept her eyes fixed on the broad of Harry's shoulders. 

"How did you get up there?" she breathed out, trying to picture how he would have made it to the ledge so soundlessly despite her open window. 

Harry's answer came in the form of a sly look shot over his shoulder. 

Oh. 

"Right," she sounded. Another part of his whole existence that she had no idea about. More questions were added to her ongoing mental list.

Harry looked out of place in her tiny bedroom. He was broad and space-filling. He had a presence here among the mishmash of stuff that made up her home, though it was far from suffocating. Standing with his back to her window, his form appearing that much longer with the help of the single flame of candle light casting shadows around him. He looked around her room, a tiny smile sitting on his lips. 

"Do you mind if I look around?" His voice was so pleasant and unrushed, it almost made (Y/N) forget the gravity of their meetup. 

Nonetheless, confined to her spot before the end of her bed, she nodded her head. 

She watched as Harry took in her space the same way she had taken in his: with curious awe. All of her small trinkets, childhood journals, gardening momentos, and memories of her mother were plotted about her room for him to graze his eyes over. His hands were twined behind his back as he wordlessly stepped through the space, eyes lighting up as he looked over the small shelf her father had nailed into the wall when she had finally received her own bedroom. There was a twitch to Harry's lips when he saw the various lengths of twine she had laying over her rickety bedside table; she always forgot she had one waiting before she had pulled another to tie her hair back. 

Her room was nothing at all like his castle. While he lived in rich color, exquisite luxury, and vast amounts of space, she had the opposite. Everything was muted in her room, leave for the dried flowers and tiny splashes here and there amongst her things. Harry could cross the width of her room in three strides with the length being met within four. It was far from the standards he likely had. Despite the obvious differences, (Y/N) could see the shatters of green appearing in his eyes the longer he made himself at home in her room, his features softening and bones relaxing.

She hoped that meant he liked what he found. 

Just when she thought he was planning on spending all night dissecting any and everything he could find in her bedroom, Harry finally turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back, to face her with a gentle smile. 

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," he told her, voice a low rumble, "Have you had time to think?" 

Sitting on the end of her bed, she gave him a small nod. Her bottom lip fit between the blunt ends of her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "I have a lot of questions." 

"I figured you would. I am an open book, (Y/N)," he affirmed, coming to stand just before her, "Anything you want to know, I will answer to the best of my ability." 

(Y/N) could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled back on her bed, folding her legs underneath her with her nightgown falling around her form. "You can sit with me if you'd like" she offered, eyeing the empty space on her mattress for him. 

Her heart bubbled in her chest at the realization that she was asking a man to her bed. She had been so occupied on learning her answers and ensuring no one saw them together in the dead of night, that she had completely forgotten the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with Harry. When she had come up with this plan, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that she was supposed to be worried about her reputation (or her safety, if she was considering the non-human aspects of him). The racing of her heartbeat increased that much more when he cautiously took up her offer and crawled onto the bed in front of her. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how terribly her bed stacked up against the velvet covered monstrosities he had in his own home. 

"Thank you," he said, settling himself amongst the folds of her quilt. His observing gaze settled on her with rounded corners to his eyes. "How are you?" he asked, sincerity in his voice, "Have you been well since the last time we met?" 

"I am well, yes," she answered, dropping her eyes to her lap where her hands fumbled with one another, "Just thinking and trying to figure everything out. And yourself?" 

"I've been okay," he answered earnestly, "But, much better now. I'm glad to hear you've been alright; I have been worried I frightened you or been too much that last night." 

(Y/N) canted her head. "I wouldn't say frightened, no, but I've been overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Confused." 

"I understand; I felt the same way once, too," he sympathized, his tone tender, "What has troubled you the most?" 

Peeking at him through her lashes, she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat. 

"The—um—the bodies," she whispered, a pinch appearing by her brows, "You said that you haven't been the one doing... that recently, but you had in the past. What did you mean?" 

Just as troubling as it was for her to ask that question, it appeared Harry had the same issue answering it. 

"I..." he started, cutting himself off before he could get very far with his mouth settling into a grim line. "There was a time right after I had... become what I am now, that I was not myself. I was confused, scared, and unable to think rationally. All I knew was that I was hungry. The food I could find made me terribly ill, and no amount of water, or wine, or anything could quench my thirst. I could only have that." 

While (Y/N) felt as if she already had the answer she was asking for, she couldn't help but to pose her question anyway. 

"What do you mean, that?" 

Harry dropped his gaze from hers when he answered. "Blood."

Her fingers were a nervous bundle in her lap before her body stilled like the dead at his answer. The memory of the corpse she had found, bloodless and pale like snow, reentered her mind. 

"Y-You drink it?" 

"Yes." 

Her heart hammered against her ribs, though the feeling made her think only of the blood rushing through her veins. 

She must have sat there silent for too long, she realized when Harry piped up, feeling the need to mend the shock he had given her. 

"It's not something I want to do, (Y/N)," he started, choosing his words carefully, "It is the only way I can continue living, but please believe me when I say that I have not committed those kinds of atrocities in almost one hundred years. The second I learned that I could survive off of animals, that's what I started doing. I haven't done anything like what has been happening since." 

As uncomfortable as she felt, thinking about Harry drinking any kind of blood or taking any kind of life, she could live with the fact that he was choosing animals over those of her village. She had to eat too, and while she would have loved to keep every animal alive and frolicking around, she had to do what she had to do as well. She couldn't judge him too harshly. 

"But, Mitchell. He doesn't know yet?" she asked, thinking back to the man with the long hair and ghostly demeanor.

Harry sighed, the same kind of sigh her father used to give when her sister was too stubborn for her own good. "He does know, but it is a hard transition. He wants to change, but he cannot always contain himself should an easy opportunity present itself. I am trying to teach him how to work past those urges, but it is taking longer than either of us would like." He dropped his head then. "I am sorry for what you have seen and what he has done when he is not able to think. I live with the guilt just as much as he does, but we are getting better everyday. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive both him and I."

(Y/N) pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but I can understand," she offered on a delicate breath. Truthfully, Mitchell sounded like a child: impulsive and taking steps forward before taking just the same amount back. "We all do things we are not proud of. I hope he can learn from this soon, and give these families peace." 

"He will," Harry cemented, "I am going to make sure of it." 

A beat of silence sat between them as she rifled through her head to decide on her next question. "Pardon me if this is inconsiderate to ask," she prefaced, "But, is your... condition the reason both you and Mitchell are so... pale?" 

A genuine grin stretched across Harry's lips at her words. His laughter was a quiet huff from between his lips. "I would think so, yes," he told her, likely grateful for the easier line of questioning, "Every other vampyr I have met, we all tend to be on the paler side, lacking that life in our skin." 

It was an odd thing, hearing him talk about all of the others he had met. She couldn't help but to wonder if Harry really was the first she had ever encountered without even realizing. "Is that why you are cold, as well?" 

"Am I?" he asked, tipping his head to the side with a crease between his brows, "I suppose I've never really noticed. Though, the few times you have allowed me to touch you, you are so pleasantly warm I should have figured as much." 

"You think I'm warm?" she asked, feeling a small sense of pride hit her chest. It was entirely silly to feel flattered over a comment about the temperature of her skin, but she couldn't help herself. She was a simple girl, at the end of the day. 

"Very much so," Harry affirmed, dimples pressing into his cheeks as she smiled at her, "You are like the sun to me." 

Now she definitely couldn't bite back her smile, dropping her head to watch her fumbling hands pluck at the seams of her nightgown. "The sun?" 

"The very one," Harry teased, "Though I haven't felt the sun since I changed, I imagine the rays feeling like your touch." 

"You haven't felt the sun?" (Y/N) blanched, a set of questions hitting her that she hadn't even considered, "But I've seen you outside?" 

Harry gave her a pointed look, "Only on cloudy days. I learned the hard way a long time ago, but I now burn under the sunlight. It's a rather frightening experience, if I'm honest." 

"You burn?" (Y/N) pressed, suddenly scanning her eyes down his form as if she could pick out any marks or scars upon his skin. 

"As if I have touched fire," Harry grimly detailed, "But, I am lucky enough that because of what I am, my skin mends itself. I can't remember the last time I have had any kind of injury without an instant recovery or even fallen ill." 

A new lens fell over (Y/N)'s gaze as she looked at him. Harry was always strong in her eyes, both physically and in the way carried himself so regally despite the swirling rumor mill. Now, though, the descriptor had an entirely new meaning. No wonder he was so flawless—there was nothing in this world that could even blemish him. 

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

"You don't remember anything about the night you changed?" (Y/N) asked, mimicking the language he had been using himself. 

He didn't even blink at her shift in conversation, instead furrowing his brow and canting his head as he threw his memory back. 

"Not really," he mused, pursing his lips, "There are fuzzy bits and pieces I can recall, but nothing I can be sure of. Most of my life before is just as muddy, but I can remember a few things." 

"So you don't know how you became this?" She couldn't imagine going to bed one way and waking up another, not a single idea as to what happened only knowing that she was not the same. No wonder Mitchell was struggling; how do you cope with something so overwhelmingly monumental? 

"I don't know my story, but I do know how vampyrs can be made." He flicked his gaze to her as if to gauge her reaction, scanning for any minute change in expression. When he didn't see anything more than a curious blink, he cautiously continued. "There are three different things that can happen when we bite"—(Y/N) tried her best not to blanch at the blunt word—"someone. One is the kind that we use solely when we are eating, of course. That kind usually includes the end of a life." His own tone grew solemn at this example, that guilt he spoke of resurfacing, though (Y/N) appreciated his honesty. "We can make another vampyr in a similar way, though before the end, we have to have the control to stop. I do not know how it happens exactly, but there is something that changes humans and makes them like me. It can take time, but it can happen." 

"Have you ever... made someone?" 

Harry shook his head. "I've never considered making someone like that—it's too risky in my eyes." 

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head, taking in all of the information she was learning. It was hard to think she was only in her bedroom, and not in some fantasy world that had violently merged with her own. "You said there's a third kind of... bite?" 

"There is one more," he told her, sounding somewhat hesitant as he started, "It is called a Blood Bond. It is usually something that is shared between people that are intending to devote themselves to one another." 

"How do they do that?" (Y/N) was intrigued now. This whole thing—being a vampyr—sounded so solitary, she didn't even think that there could be something like this within their culture. A union.

"They have to bite one another," Harry answered vaguely, "and share blood. Usually at the neck." 

"And, it's like a marriage?" she pressed, trying to merge the concept with something familiar. Nonetheless, it was hard to picture her sister's wedding ending with she and her husband snapping at each other's throats.

"Something like that," Harry shrugged, "A bit more binding, though." 

A troubling thought struck (Y/N) then. "Have you ever...?" 

Harry all but blanched at her words. He shook his head immediately. "No, never. Mitchell is the only person I've ever kept in my life for longer than a month." 

While she hated the thought of Harry being alone, solitary in his castle overlooking the village, there was a selfish part of her that keened at the thought that he had never devoted himself to anyone. 

"How long have you known Mitchell?" (Y/N) rolled on. She wanted to get a picture of Harry's existence, even if she didn't completely understand the details yet. 

A small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth then. "You really are quite curious, aren't you?" 

Sheepishly dropping her gaze from his, she lifted her own shoulders in a small shrug. "It is alright if you'd rather not answer anymore, I know I can ask a lot at times. I do not wish to bother you or anything." 

"No, no," Harry rushed, impulsively dropping his hand to land on her nightgown-covered knee, "Please, you are not bothering me. I love your curiosity. I told you: I am happy to answer anything you have for me. I want you to know me." 

Matching her gaze to his, (Y/N) couldn't deny the genuine sincerity she found swimming in his irises. Refractions of crystal green had appeared in the pitch black, giving the look of a moonlit forest. There was a warmth to his expression, giving him the illusion of life with the dimples in his cheeks and the dazzling smile on his lips. 

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?" 

Harry directed his gaze towards the ceiling, searching the air for the rest of the story that lay in his head. 

"Nothing too eventful, really," he mused, "I suppose that was when I started focusing on blending back in with the world. I felt comfortable in my control and wanted to stop hiding away so profusely—plus, I was beyond bored with my own company. Brooding can only fill so much time." 

(Y/N) let out a tittering laugh at his words, leaning that much closer to Harry. 

As he spoke about his life, telling her of all of the things he had seen, people he had met, and the details that made him up, the space between them had slowly dissipated until Harry was laying at her side. The longer they talked, the easier it was to grow closer and more comfortable sharing space. (Y/N) had even twisted until she was laying beside him, flat on her stomach with him on his back, hands folded over his stomach. 

This close, she could practically count the lashes lining his eyes, the faint set of freckles that dusted his skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he had looked like when he was human. Did he have perpetually flushed cheeks? Were his eyes always green, or just as dark as they were now? When he was cold, did the chill show on the tip of his nose? 

She didn't allow herself long to wonder over those questions. Harry as it he was in front of her was enough—more than enough, really.

"Was that hard?" she asked, her voice a low whisper as if she was conspiring with him in the dead of night, "Trying to be human again?" 

"At times, yes," he mused, his eyes on the ceiling as he found his thoughts, "Humans, without realizing it, will pick up on the things that make me different and avoid me out of survival—even when I mean no harm. It is hard to feel normal when that happens." 

Laying her cheek down on her pillow, admiring him as her head sunk into the down, a frown plucked at her lips. She could imagine him after trips down to the village, shopping and trying to socialize, though it was no secret the townspeople would rather him stay away. More and more she learned, the less Harry was a creature of the night with blood-stained teeth, and more a lonely soul adjusting to something he never asked for. 

"I don't avoid you," she said, a quiet attempt to make him feel less alone. 

She had the perfect view of the smile that stretched over his lips at her words, dimples and all. The bed dipped as he manueavered on her small bed, laying on his side to face her with his own cheek pressed to the same pillow. Her breath caught in her lungs. She'd only been this close to him once before, when he had traced his nose over the column of her throat just when she had seen his lack of reflection. 

This time, she had nothing else to focus on. He was her everything right then, everything around him blurring out of focus. 

"I know you don't," he responded to something she barely remembered saying, "And I feel so lucky every time I remember that. You are one of the few, (Y/N), that hasn't run the other way. But those other times were never like this." 

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. She loved the sound of her name in his voice. "Like us?" 

"Yes, like us," he said, a rewarding smile on his lips for her, "While it concerns me that you seem to lack any real survival instincts, I am grateful that you are not scared of me." His eyes glazed over her features, taking everything about her in as she held onto each word. "I have been drawn to you for longer than I have been able to admit to myself. Every minute we spend together means something that I cannot fully express." 

"Drawn to me?" she peeped, her blood bubbling under her skin. 

Harry looked sheepish now, the way he flicked his eyes to her before letting them fall. She wondered, if he was the same as her, if there would be a flush to his cheeks, and a pounding in his chest. "You've intrigued me for a very long time, before we even started speaking in passing. I have made excuses to come down to the village, shopping with you when I didn't really need anything. Even though you didn't mean it, you made me feel less alone." 

Tentatively, (Y/N) reached out a hand, her fingers holding a small tremor before she placed her palm on his chest. The chill of his skin could be felt through his shirt, leaving goosebumps on her arm. The slight cold was worth it when she saw Harry all but melt at her touch. She really must feel that warm to him. 

"I have always been very interested in you, too," she murmured, unable to meet his gaze should that give away the exact feelings she was trying to say, "I never understood why anyone would try to gossip or say anything about you. I guess they aren't too far off, though—those rumors." 

Peeking through her lashes, (Y/N) held a smile on her lips as she hoped her tease would land. When Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his hand landing on her own on his chest, holding her fingers snug, her own grin grew three sizes.

"I suppose not," he smiled, pulsing his hand around hers. 

Gazing at him, (Y/N) could nearly count the amount of green shatters floating to the surface of the pools of black. Everything about him was clear and steady, unwavering. "Thank you for coming tonight," she started, "My initial reaction was overwhelming, and I apologize for that. I would never want you to think that I felt the same way as the others or that you frightened me enough to never see you again." 

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, ducking his head until he was directly before her, the tip of his nose just barely missing her own, "I am sorry that I didn't assure you enough that you were safe with me and had nothing to worry about. I was planning on telling you myself, I was only waiting until I knew how to say it without using the wrong words." 

"I think you've done alright," she smiled. If she blinked, would their lashes tangle together, or would she need to be just a bit closer for that? 

"You have such a power over me, (Y/N)," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes swimming in devotion with his tone tinted in worship. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) wondered if anyone had ever felt like she did in her bed right then. Did her mother ever feel this way for her father? Did her blood ever burn for him the way (Y/N)'s seemingly did for Harry? Did her sister ever feel her lungs squeeze and heart batter her ribs when looking at her husband? Did Mr. and Mrs. Wayfield feel their skin crawl with the need to join one another? 

Or was (Y/N) the first? 

Had everyone felt this way before, or had she invented the idea of falling in love right then? 

It was impulsive, reputation-ruining, and entirely unladylike the way she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. If Harry had any inhibitions, he didn't show them with the way he reciprocated the contact in a heartbeat. Molding his lips to hers, he led her through the kiss. It was far from refined, (Y/N)'s lips clumsy and off centered but Harry didn't mind correcting her until his hand was holding her cheek steady and he was pushing and pulling with her moving in tandem.

Drawing away, (Y/N) pulled in a gasp. Her hand on his chest clenched the shirt covering his chest, nails raking along the planes of his muscles. Harry didn't offer her much of a reprieve before he was diving back in, the chill of his mouth feeling nonexistent with the heat that began coursing through her veins. 

While she hadn't noticed it, Harry must have with the way he pulled away, allowing her suddenly aching lungs to take something in. He offered a smattering of kisses along her cheeks instead, affection pouring over every inch he could reach. 

"I adore you, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping like the nectar from a flower deep into the marrow of her bones. "I will never get enough of you." 

(Y/N) could only smile, a dreamy expression as she dipped her head back. A pleasant chill crept up her spine when Harry distributed his kisses down the column and over her thrumming pulse. 

She could stay here forever. Never moving, never changing. Right here with Harry was her home. 

"I wish I could stay," Harry murmured, responding to words she hadn't realized she said aloud, "But the sun will rise soon, and I believe you still need to sleep." 

Drawing away, Harry righted her head with his hand on her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it was just her eyes or if it was truly there, but she swore there was color to his cheeks, a flush to his lips. 

"I don't need to sleep," she countered, ready to dive back in. 

Harry barely sated her with a single kiss pressed to her pout. "Yes you do," he insisted, "You are caring for your garden tomorrow, right? You need rest for that or you will be exhausted before you can finish." 

For a moment, she hated that he knew anything about her and her routine. She didn't care for the sage or the rosemary or whatever she was meant to be pruning in the morning. She cared for who was in her bed. 

"Don't look like that," he said, unable to keep himself from laying another kiss on her lips, "We will see each other again soon, I promise. I don't think I can wait very long, either." 

"You can't stay any longer?" she asked, slowly releasing her hold on his shirt. From where she could see out her window, the sun was still down with the sky dark, but she figured Harry would know his limits and timings much better than she. 

Glancing out the glass himself, she could see the gears turning in his head. "I can stay a little while longer. Until you fall asleep, yes?" 

That was more than she could have wished for, truly. To fall asleep in his arms was the stuff of dreams. 

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you." 

Harry responded only by bundling her to his chest. While there was no heartbeat to compare to her own, nothing to beat in rhythm against her ribs, (Y/N) had never felt more comforted. 

Sleep didn't take long, even when she had fought her tired eyes. 

—————

(Y/N) shyly peeked through her lashes as she descended the narrow aisle between the church pews. For the third service in a row, her eyes met that of a dark figure seated in the last row. Harry flicked his gaze to hers for a heartbeat before he looked away, a conspiratorial smile on his mouth. She felt her skin warm as she followed her father out the church doors, rolling her lips between her teeth. 

Ever since he had climbed through her window the first time weeks prior, Harry had been more involved in the village than ever. He had told her between breathless kisses in the quiet of her bedroom that he wanted to see more, that he could barely keep himself away—she was on his mind constantly. With going to his estate in the night wasn't always a smart option for her and her bedroom wasn't exactly easy to hide away in, he was going to find another way to see her. Since then, whenever the sun was shaded enough, he was ghosting among the village with a tendency to haunt the apothecary or anywhere else (Y/N) might have been. (She could only imagine the stack of lavender and tobacco bundles he had laying around his home with the amount of times he came in to shop with her). He had even started showing up for Sunday morning service for another chance to see her, despite neither of them particularly caring for the sermons. 

Their moments were made up of subtlety with stolen glances and conspiratorial smiles, near silent conversations when no one was listening or the quiet confirmation that they were thinking of one another. They shared more secrets than she was sure anyone would even know what to do with. 

She was the only one who knew the real him amongst the chatter, and she was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to kiss her. And, no one had any idea. 

No one had seen the way he slipped scraps of notes into her hand when she passed off his herbs. No one else noticed the way they gravitated towards one another during the after church gathering at the pub. No one knew that he slipped in through her window most nights or how a letter on exquisite stationery would appear when he couldn't. 

No one knew (Y/N) was in love.

So caught up in her head, she didn't even register the chilly air filtering around her as she descended the church steps being her father. She had followed mindlessly even when he stopped to make conversation with another parishioner, not noticing his pause until she tripped right into his back.

Turning around, her father steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking over the bridge of her nose that had smacked right into his spine.

"Yes, sorry," she rushed out with a shake of her head, "I wasn't paying attention." 

His worry seemingly settled in permanent lines across his face. "Are you sure? You're not growing ill, are you? You've been off in your head these last few days." 

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed over his shoulder and towards the fringes of the group where Harry stood by himself. She could just barely see the amused curl to his lips. He had definitely seen her misstep.

"No, " she answered, blinking back into the conversation though now she had her own efforts focussing on keeping her features in line. "I'm just tired."

—————

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured against his mouth, "My father..." 

Drawing away from her kiss-puffed mouth, Harry sighed. "I know. I am trying, but you have to understand my struggle, darling." 

She couldn't help the plume of laughter that fanned from her lips at his words. He practically beamed at the sound, his deep green eyes glimmering in the low light of a single lamp. 

(Y/N) loved the way he smiled when they were alone. It was a wonder thinking that there was time before she had even known he had dimples. 

"I'm sorry," she told him, settling into the down pillow under her head. Harry hovered above her with a delicate hand roaming over her cheek, his other propping him up from where he laid at her side. She barely noticed the chill when they were like this, huddled under her quilt with the heat of their breath and curious hands. "I wish we didn't have to worry." 

"Come to me tomorrow," he offered in an instant, a bit breathless as he dropped his hand to boldly skate down her side, "We can be alone then." 

His palm settled over her waist with a pulse, fingers tightening just when he mentioned alone. Shifting in her bedding, he didn't hesitate to pull her closer to him. 

From the heat in his refracted gaze and the exceptional curiosity of his hands tonight, (Y/N) had a blushing idea of what he wanted to be alone for. While it wasn't the first time in the last weeks that there had been the passing possibility of allowing him to push her nightgown up or pull apart her corset, this was the first time Harry had given such a hint to his own intentions. 

For fear of assuming too much, (Y/N) slid her eyes down the slope of his neck. "I don't know." 

Creases appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. "What are you unsure about, darling?" 

Avoiding his eyes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. "I—We—" she stumbled, tongue lazing around her mouth while she searched for the right words, "I want to be alone with you too, but... We're not married." 

She didn't match his eyes for fear that she had misread the situations and every other before this that she had sworn Harry was worked up on her account. For all she knew, he wanted nothing more than to speak at full volume and have more than a squeaky bed to sit upon.

Ducking his head into her line of sight, he forced her to meet his gaze. "I would never want to do something that you do not want as well, (Y/N). If you would prefer we do nothing more until we begin publicly courting and doing things in order, then that is what we will do." His hand on her side softened. "This is already more than enough for me—I can wait." 

Despite his kind words, (Y/N) didn't feel any of her stress alleviate. She had already known Harry would never rush her into anything thatch was not ready for, just as much as she knew that she did not feel any real inclination to wait until they were betrothed. But, neither of those truths made her decision any easier, not when there was more than just her own wants and desires to take into account. 

"I know, and I want to, really," she said, reaching out to play with the loose fabric of his top, "I just—It's... I don't want you to see or think of me any differently afterwards. I know it is not proper to want anything outside of marriage—I do not want anything to change if I were to... indulge." 

She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him, specifically the kind of pressures that were placed on her for the simple fact that she was a woman in society. There were enough stories she had heard of women who had taken what they wanted, or fell in love with another and expressed that love, and were later shamed for doing exactly that—oftentimes by their own partners or people she trusted in her life. She didn't want to be cast aside in case he found that he no longer wanted her afterwards, after seeing how willing she was to be with someone that wasn't her husband.

Harry's features twisted with a frown touching his lips and his eyes saddening. "Have I ever made you feel as if my feelings would change should you spend the night with me? If I have, I want you to know—" 

"No, it's not that," (Y/N) rushed out, already feeling guilty, "You've never made me feel anything like that. It's just that... I suppose I've made myself feel this way. I just don't want you to change your mind about me." 

For all she knew, Harry would have sex with her and learn that he was only attracted to her for the fact that he wanted to be with someone after such a long time. It was not his fault she had these doubts, but they were ones that lived in her head.

Harry didn't shy away from her as she spoke. He only listened, patiently waiting for her to finish her thoughts. 

"I will just have to prove it to you then, that I have no doubts about you or anything I feel for you." His words were solid, unyielding. There was no room for argument. "In the meantime," he contented, his tone decidedly softer as he shuffled closer to her, "Would it be enough to tell you that I adore you? That I care for you more than I have for anyone or anything before?" 

(Y/N) suddenly felt shy under his attention. He had murmured as much to her in the heat of the moment before, but never so clearly and earnestly before.

"Harry," she started, settling her palm against his chest as if to contain him. 

"It is true," he smiled, unwavering in the way he spoke ,"You are like no one I have ever known before, and I could spend my entire existence only wishing to learn you. I know we are not married, or even engaged, but I hope it is enough to know that I do love you." 

Refractions of green sparkled in his eyes, brightening his gaze in a way she swore only happened when they were alone. Her heart bubbled and beat heavily in her chest. She could n longer contain the budding grin fighting to pluck at her lips. 

"You truly mean that?" she whispered, selfishly asking if only to hear it again. 

Dimples were thumbed into his cheeks. "Of course, I do. I've come to believe that the reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I might get to meet you." 

Looking up at him with his words ringing in her ears, Harry was like the moon to her. Never had she heard devotion like that. Even in her most romantic of daydreams, she never could have imagined that harry would say something like that to her, his eyes fixed to hers and his touch an anchor. Her chest practically ached as she processed. 

Her hand on his chest curled until she was fisting his top between her fingers. "I love you, too," she peeped out, the sound of her heartbeat sticking in her ears. 

Harry didn't hesitate before he was sealing his lips to hers once more. It was a hurried, excited kiss, leaving their mouths just a bit off center and his nose mushed against her cheek, but (Y/N) couldn't help but to smile into the contact. 

When he pulled away, (Y/N) could have sworn there was a flush of color to his skin. "If not for how badly I want to do this the right way, I would be proposing right now, (Y/N)." 

"You don't have to," she murmured, surging forward and pressing another kiss to his lips, "This is enough for me." While there was still undue shame she was going to undoubtedly feel tied to any decision she made, she didn't want that to come before what she wanted when it came to Harry. "If you were still offering," she started, dropping her eyes to follow the line of his nose and the pillow of his lips, "I would like to see you tomorrow. At your home." 

"Really?" he asked, his voice an octave deeper than she remembered. 

She nodded, a soft smile on her features. 

"Only if you are sure, my love," he murmured, "The door is always open for you."

(Y/N) could only answer him with a kiss.

—————

Pacing around her bedroom, (Y/N) counted, the numbers climbing in her head. Her simple white dress flourished around her ankles with every step, though she took care to avoid the creaky floorboards. 

When she reached two hundred, she took in a deep breath and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the house. All she heard was the sound of her father's snoring, just as she had when she had started readying herself. 

Releasing that breath, she took quiet steps to her slightly ajar window. She had run over this plan enough times in her head for her brain to go quiet as she finally put it all in place. Repeating her steps from the first time she had snuck out, (Y/N) made it out of her home in one piece before starting towards the long winding route leading to Harry's home. 

It wasn't long before a familiar black carriage and bone white horses hit her line of sight. A broad grin took over her features as she pace doubled to reach the coach. 

"Hello, Mitchell," she chirped, catching the familiar head of dark hair and pale features sitting in the coach box. 

"Hello, Ms. (Y/N)," he smiled at her, formality still hitting his tone despite (Y/N) assuring him more than once that he didn't need to offer her any, "He's been eagerly waiting for you." 

"I have been, too," she confessed through her grin, rounding the carriage with less grace than she figured she ought to have. Before she even had a chance to knock on the door or surprise him, Harry was practically jumping out of the box. 

"(Y/N)," he practically sighed, wrapping her in his arms the second his feet landed on the solid ground. 

Her own arms around his neck, she all but melted into his hold. Harry held her snug to his chest, his face buried in her hair. "I've missed you so, darling. I feel as if it has been years since I've held you." 

"You were in my room just last night, Harry," (Y/N) laughed. As if she hadn't been feeling the same way today, though it was much more fun to tease him.

"Exactly," he countered, stiffening his hold on her to lift her feet from the ground. (Y/N) squealed a laugh in his ear as she clung to him. "It has been much too long since I've held you."

She could offer no argument to him as she wrapped her limbs around Harry, allowing him to carry her into the carriage effortlessly. (Y/N) felt breathless by the time he had her settled on the bench beside him, wrapped in velvet and warmth despite his chilled skin. 

As she caught her breath, the horses started off in the direction of the castle, a rhythmic thumping starting with their hooves against the path. Harry looked down at her with amusement on his features. 

"Have you truly not missed me, darling?" he asked, his voice a soft song filling the space between them. His hand was just as gentle as he removed hair from her face, giving him a full view of her eyes. 

"I have," she smiled, shaking her head, "But, Mitchell..." 

Harry waved her off. "He doesn't listen, believe me. He only wishes to see me happy." 

"Are you? Happy, I mean?" 

Dipping his head down until he could press his lips to hers, (Y/N) received her answer in a murmur: "Undoubtedly, so."

—————

"If you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to show you." 

Looking at Harry from over the rim of her wine glass, (Y/N) brightened. "What is it?" she asked after swallowing her gulp, the center of her lips tinted a berry red. 

"Let me show you," Harry countered, standing from his place at the dining table before offering her a hand. 

(Y/N) placed her palm in his without a second thought, fluidly following after him. 

Her new gown flourished with every step she took with her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the white ensemble having been waiting for her when they arrived at the estate. Though it wasn't as grand as the red one that now hung delicately in the wardrobe, it was no less luxurious. 

The fabric was a satiny cream, gliding over her fingertips when she first touched it. The neckline cut straight across her décolletage with the sleeves being nothing more than swathes of material that draped over her arms, leaving the boned corset to keep the bodice upright. The skirt wasn't full like her last garment, leaving the shape slim and sleek around her form. Harry had practically mooned at her when she descended the stairs after dressing, his eyes never leaving her for long. 

With the way the fabric gleamed and shimmered, (Y/N) felt as if she fit in with the moonlight when Harry led her outside. At her side, he blended in with the dark night aside from his pale features, acting as the heavens around the bright moon. 

The ground under their steps was dewy, appearing as if drops of starlight had landed on earth with the reflection of the sky on the droplets. Looking ahead, through the draping wisteria and dark purple blooms, was the greenhouse. The building was in much better shape than the last she had seen, now with a complete roof and frosted glass on every wall. 

"You finished it!" she bubbled, eager to see if he'd had the chance to fill it with any exotic blooms just yet. 

"I did," he smiled, his profile illuminated by the full moon, "I wanted to make sure I could take you here the next time you came." 

Approaching the door, Harry pushed it open for her to enter first. 

Inside, (Y/N) felt that same wondrous glee she did when he had shown her the ballroom for the first time. This small space put her entire apothecary to shame. 

The space was warm and humid, condensation trapped along the windows. Strung along the roof were familiar bundles of all of the herbs Harry had come by to pick up over the last month or so whenever he wanted an excuse to see her, the air tinted with the matching lavender and tobacco fragrances. The greenhouse itself had shelf after shelf, stretching tables, and hanging pots full of different plants. There were still plenty of places to grow, more room to put more and more flowers and herbs, but there was already enough filling that space that (Y/N) couldn't help the joyous gasp she let out. 

Harry allowed her to wander through, looking over every leaf and every shrub, fawning over the blooms, and finding things she had no name for. When she wasn't so lost in her daydreams, romanticizing everything, (Y/N)'s hobby was her plants. She doted on them like pets, and took care of them every chance she could. Being in a place like this, with Harry, in a gorgeous dress, was exactly what her dreams were made of.

Coming up to an unfamiliar plant, (Y/N) gazed at it with wide eyes. The open leaves resembled that of an open jaw, with spines on the very edge of the leaves acting as teeth. It was colored a bright, smooth green, not a single blemish altering the perfection. Curiosity took over as she reached out, attempting to touch the spines to see if they were as sharp as they looked. She jumped back with a yelp when the leaves snapped together upon contact, acting just like the gnashing jaw she had compared them to. 

In an instant, Harry was at her side, cradling her back to him with her hand clasped in his. 

"It didn't get you, did it?" he asked with a concerned furrow to his brow. He cradled her hand in his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing over her fingertips as if he could heal any wound with a touch. 

"No, I am alright," she answered, canting her head as her eyes stayed locked on the biting plant, watching as it reopened its jaws for the next victim, "Does it always do that?" 

Bundling her hand in his own, Harry followed her this time as she approached the trap once more. "Only when it is trying to eat," he shared, watching her with the same fascination she offered to the plant. 

"It eats? What do you mean?" 

"It is called a Venus Fly Trap," Harry explained, "Unlike the others, it eats meat—bugs and the like. When it thinks it's caught any prey, it'll snap closed and take its meal." 

(Y/N) had never heard of a predator plant—had never even imagined something like this could exist. "You feed it?" 

"It does rather well for itself, I choose not to interfere too much."

She tried to picture something that looked so flimsy, a pair of leaves that mechanically moved together, could trap a living being. "Has it ever bitten you before?" 

"Once," Harry admitted, "It was more startling than anything. That is when Mitchell shared that we would most likely benefit from leaving it alone." 

Without much thought, she reached out once more as if to test the theory that the trap was nothing more than a scare. Harry quickly had her hands bundled in his own, twirling her away from the exotic bloom. He shook his head when his eyes met hers, a lopsided smile on his lips. 

"I have said it before, but it always surprises me how much you lack any sense of survival," he laughed, pulling her hands to his chilled chest, "Though I said it did not hurt, does not mean you should try it out yourself." 

"Sorry," she answered, a sheepish smile on her lips, "I just wanted to try for myself." 

"Don't," he teased, bringing her hands to his lips where he gave her a soft smattering of kisses along the fingertips.

A soft laugh plumed from (Y/N)'s lips as she watched him, wiggling her hands out of his to cradle his cheeks in her palms. "This place is wonderful, Harry. I had no idea you wanted to make something like this." 

He leaned into the warmth of her touch. "I made it for you." 

(Y/N) felt her features soften; her eyes rounded out, cheeks softened around the width of her smile, every muscle she hadn't even realized she was tensing now going lax. "Did you really?" she crooned, following the refractions of light that danced over his features from the moonlight streaming through. 

"Of course, I did," he smiled, "I'd do anything for you."

It was a moment like this that she wondered if she could really handle being engaged for a whole two years the way her sister was. She had spent so many years dreaming up someone like Harry, she wasn't sure if she could wait that much longer to have him be hers in every real way. All she could do was hold him tighter.

Harry's smile widened as he gazed down at her. "I wish I knew what was going on in your head." 

"Just you," (Y/N) answered, "Always you." 

Turning his head in between her hands, Harry pressed his lips not puckered kisses against the palms of her hands. She could feel him smiling against her skin. 

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love, but I am forever grateful." He pulled her hands from his cheeks only to hold them against his chest once more. His features, though still swimming in adoration, settled into something more somber then. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something out here." 

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded. 

For the first time since they met, (Y/N) saw a small amount of uncertainty leak into his gaze. "I know we have talked some about our future," he started, gaze traveling over her features to capture any and every reaction, "And, I have been thinking about something that I wanted to share with you." 

"Okay," she nodded, trying not to betray her own nerves on her face, "Something good, I hope." 

A faint dimple was pushed into Harry's cheek as he stretched his smile that much more. "I hope so, as well." Within a breath, he was entirely serious once more. "You know that I wish to marry you, right? Outside of just our talks in your bedroom, I have meant every word I have said about sharing my life with you." 

"I do," she smiled, hoping to lessen his worry, "And I feel the same. I wish we could be married tomorrow, even." 

Small traces of relief had his features loosening up, the cut of his jaw rounding and his brows relaxing. "I do as well, but I want to do that the right way, with a real wedding and everything else you could want. Though, I feel that the both of us are rather impatient." (Y/N) let out a small fan of laughter at his truth. "Because of that, I have been thinking and found some old correspondence with a friend that gave me an idea." He paused before continued, as if gathering his words. "Do you remember the Blood Bond I told you about?" 

(Y/N) gave a silent nod. She could recall the short details he had shared with her and the way her mind had traced back to the binding more than once in her daydreams. 

"I know it is a lot to ask of you, as neither of us really understand what a Blood Bond truly entails outside of theory, but I have wondered if... If you might be willing to complete a Blood Bond with me." He rolled his lips between his teeth wrestling with both his nervousness at presenting the idea as well as his hope for her answer. "I found letters from an old friend, someone who knew someone else who had completed the bond with another, and it sounded promising. There weren't many details, but they sounded happy." 

"Were they—" (Y/N) floundered over her question, unable to find the right terms, "Were they both like you? Or was one of them like me?" 

His mouth formed a grim line. "Both were like me. I can't find anything on any couple like us, unfortunately. I suppose we might be the first," Harry posited, the very corner of his mouth turning upwards. 

While (Y/N) was more than warm to the idea of bonding with Harry—marrying him in the way they could without having the follow the steps of courting and engagement while also easing her father into the idea—she was unsure. The lack of details that even Harry knew tickled a part of her mind she had trouble ignoring. 

"Would it...If we did, would it make me like you?" While she loved Harry for who he was, and understood his story, there was little desire in her to completely forgo her own life in favor of a still heart (and the blood thing was still very much not something she had interest in). 

"I do not think so, but, again, I can't be sure." It appeared as if it pained him to give her so little detail. "But, I would never offer this if I did not think it would be a good option for us, darling. Selfishly, even if we can't share this with anyone, I don't know if I can wait much longer before I know I am yours and you are mine."

He peeked at her through his lashes, reflections of green glimmering in the pale moonlight. (Y/N) understood what he meant. While this would be another secret between them, something she couldn't even share with her father, it was enough to look at him and know that Harry was hers and she was his. It was enough to know that there was a place they belonged: at each other's sides. 

Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore than I can imagine a regular bite does," he offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders, "But, I can't be sure. I would do everything I could to make it as painless as possible, darling." 

There was a part of (Y/N) that stayed wary, and urged her to do the same. It poked holes in the logic and filled everything with doubt. There was no easy way to be the first, there was no safe way. There was so much unknown about what could happen should she bare her neck for him and allow Harry to bind them together in whatever way the Blood Bond would do. There was even a chance that she could drop dead immediately after, leaving the rest of her life—including Harry—behind. 

There was no way to be sure that nothing terrible would happen, but the rest of her wasn't certain if that really mattered. She had no way of knowing that Harry was telling the truth when he revealed his nature to her, or if she could be sure that she was truly safe around him. She had no way of knowing that she was doing the right thing by continuing to invite him to her and to fall in love with him on the way. But she did each of those things anyway, because she had felt in her bones that it was right. She had felt that she could trust Harry with everything—every fall down the rabbit hole of love, every time they were alone with her neck at his teeth, everything that her instincts told her was okay because she trusted him. 

That trust in him piped up, flicking (Y/N)'s gaze to match his as he patiently waited for her answer. "Okay." 

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?" 

The beginnings of an ecstatic grin bubbled over her features. "I want to bond with you. We'll learn all of this together. I don't want to go another day without being yours." 

In the middle of the greenhouse, Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest before lifting her off of her feet. (Y/N) giggled, looping her own arms around his neck and clinging to him as he spun her around. Her dress twirled around them, enclosing Harry in lily white fabric as if he were the center of a moonlit bloom. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over, his face burrowed in her neck with his nose skimming the column. 

(Y/N) could only smile, her eyes shuttering closed. She buried her hands in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. This is the kind of joy she pictured when she finally found her one and she agreed to spend her life with him—another assurance that she was doing the right thing. Something so wrong or hasty wouldn't feel so good. 

Positing her down on the edge of a sparsely populated table, Harry stood between her legs as he settled his hands on her thighs over her silken dress. He had a bubbling smile on his face as he looked up at her, his eyes almost entirely green with only his pupil and a few slivers of the familiar coal remaining. 

"I will write to my friend, and see if he has any more answers. Then, when you're ready, we can—" 

A furrow pinched (Y/N) brow as she spoke, "We're not doing it tonight?" 

Harry paused to consider her question. "I thought... I don't want to push you or make you feel as if we have to do this tonight. I figured you would like more time." 

While Harry was erring on the side of caution—once again being the more responsible of the two compared to her impulsiveness—she didn't want to do the same. She had no fear of the Venus Fly Trap despite almost being caught in its clutches, and she had no fear of Harry and the unknown. 

"I don't need any more time," (Y/N) cemented, reaching to settle her hands on his shoulders with her fingertips digging into the luxe velvet, "I trust you, and I don't want to wait anymore. I waited my whole life to find someone like you—I practically dreamt you up. I don't need time to be sure." 

As she spoke, Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching her mouth wrap around every word and the devotion of which she hoped he felt. His own lips had fallen open in a small gape, eyes glimmering as if he were looking at the sun. HIs hands on her thighs pulsed, tightening his grip as if he could drift away at any moment. 

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he loved her. That he knew what it was like to wait and hope there was someone there at the end who understood. 

Reaching to cradle her cheeks in his palms, he brought her in for a slow kiss, his lips slotted between hers with his nose brushing against her own. There was an urgency behind it that she had never felt from him before. 

"I love you," he murmured. 

The delicate curl of her lips had him pulling away just enough to drag his kisses over her cheek. "I love you, too." 

"I'm not certain in what I'm doing, (Y/N), so I need you to tell me if I am hurting you. I do not want this to be ruined because of me, so please stop me if you feel the need." His lips never lifted from her skin as he spoke, his words being painted across in sweeps of his breath and skims of his nose. 

"I trust you," she reiterated, dipping her head back as he descended lower towards her throat, "I love you." 

"I love you, too," he responded simply, before pulling away, "But you must promise me. If there's even a moment where you are no longer sure, do whatever you need to do to make me stop." 

His jaw was set and eyes hard as he spoke, determination settling on his features. "I promise," she said, her hands still firm on his shoulders, "If anything changes, I will tell you." 

A small curl lifted his lips as he took her vow, features softening. "I will tell you before I bite, is that okay?" 

"Please," she responded, relaxing into his arms as he wrapped them around her middle with his hands spanning the planes of her back. As much as she did trust him, the fact that his teeth would be biting into her neck in a few moments was most likely going to be her least favorite part of their bonding. 

When Harry dipped his head down, the chill of his touch grazing her throat, (Y/N) expected to feel the scrape of his teeth, the point of something predatory catching on her skin. Instead, she felt the soft press of his lips and the drag of his nose over the column. He worked slowly, familiarly, kissing his way along until he stopped. He paused on the side of her throat, just under where her pulse thrummed. 

"I'm going to bite here, alright?" he murmured, "Just long enough to forge the bond, darling." 

She clenched her hands on his shoulders. "Okay." 

Against her throat, she could feel his lips moving though there was no sound. She wanted to ask what he was saying, but before she had a chance that searing slice she had been waiting for finally struck. 

The feeling took her breath away, her hands tightening on his shoulders. It didn't hurt like a cut from a knife or a stab from a needle, no—Harry's bite burned. It was a bubbling burn, as if something inside her was melting all within the span of a second. The searing brought tears to her eyes, stealing her breath before she had a chance to understand. 

Just as quickly as the burning started, it was gone. In its place was something pleasantly cool, like a breeze on a warm day. Her vision cleared with her breath restored. She was hyper aware of Harry's shoulders under her hands, the warmth of his velvet jacket and the welcome chill from his skin. She clung to him, conscious of every stretch of fabric on her skin and every anchoring touch he gave her. It was overwhelming, verging on euphoric, urging her to shutter her eyes and absorb every second. 

The moment could have lasted anywhere from two hours long to two seconds, (Y/N) had no way of telling by the time Harry pulled away. He kept his grip on her firm, his arms barred around her back as she came back down to the greenhouse. 

With a fluttering blink of her lashes, (Y/N) saw Harry for what he was, for the very first time.

He looked at her with eyes darker than she had ever seen before, no semblance of any green she was accustomed to. She could clearly see a flush on his cheeks, appearing more human than she had ever realized he wasn't. The most jarring part: the blood dripping down his chin. It was a stark rub against his skin, staining his lips and coating his teeth.

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

For the first time since meeting him, she felt that fear she had lacked. It was nothing more than a zip up her spine, but it was there. If he were any other person, any other version of him in the years past, this would be the last thing she saw before she would be laid to rest on the forest floor with her throat ripped out. 

As much as she was startled at the sight, the feel of her blood dripping down her neck, she also saw the way he was looking at her. Within the depths of his dark eyes, he was seeing her and tasting her and knowing her for the first time. There was no way that she had been the only one to feel that overwhelming euphoria, not when he looked at her like that. 

In a distracted movement, he wiped his sleeve over his chin, intending to clear some of the crimson though most of it only smeared over his skin.

He was breathless as he spoke, "Ar—You're... (Y/N)." 

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her. 

Though her hand shook, (Y/N) still reached to place her palm on his cheek. She couldn't avoid the blood on his skin, but she didn't have the mind to care as she attempted to comfort him. 

"I'm here," she whispered, hooking her ankle around the back of his leg, "You did it." 

His hands on her back curled until his fingertips were denting her shoulder blades by how tightly he held her. He shook his head as if to clear whatever was going on inside. "We—It's—Your turn." 

In that second, she remembered the small detail she had willfully forgotten. For the Bond to go both ways, she would have to also take his own blood. The prospect of him biting into her didn't seem so bad anymore compared to this. 

Her eyes dropped to his neck, floundering suddenly. "I—But, I can't... I'm not like you, I can't... bite." 

The fact seemed to hit Harry as well, though his brain was still clearly flooded with whatever it was he was experiencing with his end of the bond forged. He blinked to clear his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her neck. 

"I think—I can take care of it," he offered on a stilted tongue. 

(Y/N) didn't have any time to question before he was bringing his arm around to his lips, pushing his sleeve out of the way until his pale wrist was on display. The same way he had sunk his teeth into her neck, he now did to his own arm, opening up a gash with decidedly darker and thicker blood than she had ever seen before. 

She understood what he was doing for her—taking out the work so she could close her end of the bond by taking in his blood—but she still felt repulsed at the prospect of tasting any of the ichor oozing from his arm. She wasn't like him. She couldn't see any way she could enjoy the taste or the feeling of drinking his blood. 

All it took was one glance into his shimmering eyes, the same ones that had pleaded to her to not be scared of him, that prosed over his devotion to her, that had her shakily taking his arm in her grasp. 

"Wh-What do I do?" 

"Jus' drink, darling," he swallowed, "Quickly. Before it heals." 

For the sole fact that she wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Harry bite into himself once more, she closed her eyes and brought his wrist to her lips. The second the blood filled her mouth, she wanted nothing more than to retch over and spit it out. It was metallic and heavy, coating her mouth in a way she couldn't compare anything to. 

The first gulp was the hardest—the most troubling. Just as soon as she swore her throat was closing, urging her to gag and be rid of everything she was taking down, something changed.

Similar in the way that there was an overwhelming stillness when Harry had bitten her, she was now left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. Before she had been contently in her skin, aware of every motion and touch. This time, she was conscious of everything that wasn't entirely her. 

She swore she could feel her own wrist warming, her own thoughts picturing her bent over Harry's arm, the feel of her dress under her palm. 

These were Harry's thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She was no longer just her in that moment. 

The Bond was there, allowing her a peek into who it was that was at her side. 

Including the immense amount of love he was feeling just then. 

She had never been aware of a missing piece in her, never been aware that there could be more of her somewhere, until then. This is what Harry had been feeling when he bit her, when he looked at her with tears in his eyes and clung to her as if she were the only one to give him breath, to make him whole. 

Pulling his arm from her mouth, she didn't think twice of the blood staining her lips or coating her chin before she was throwing herself at him. Looping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with tears leaking down her eyes. 

That was the Bond she could feel pulsing through her system. Harry was now a part of her just as much as she was his. 

There was no doubt their clothing was ruined, blood staining the material that they had no chance of removing, with the ends of (Y/N)'s hair caught in the crossfire, but she couldn't find it in herself to care for more than anything but Harry. 

"I love you," she whispered, her voice brittle under the lump in her throat and the tears glazing her eyes. "We did it." 

"We did," Harry sighed, the smile on his face apparent in his tone, "I love you so much, darling."

(Y/N) could only close her eyes, melting into his hold with the greenhouse falling away around them. She clung to him tighter. 

"I've got you, darling," he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm to her wired nerve endings. 

Relaxing into the moment, a quiet smile etched its way onto her lips. 

This was going to be the rest of her life. 

—————

"Harry, be quiet," (Y/N) giggled into his mouth. 

"Why?" he countered, only pulling away just far enough to speak, "It's just us here, remember?" 

Drawing him back to her lips with her hands on his cheeks, (Y/N) could barely keep the smile off of her face long enough to kiss him back. She sunk further into the luxe mattress under her back with every earnest press of his lips to hers, the first swipe of his tongue darting out to run along the seam of her lips.

After stumbling their way out of the greenhouse and through the gardens, Harry had led her to his bedroom with a kind of giddiness she had never seen in him before. Despite the blood on his face, he was almost child-like in his wonder with the way he looked at her. 

His bedroom was just as laden in luxury as the rest of the castle, though it was clear that there was someone actually inhabiting the space. She could see stamps of his presence everywhere; in the stationery on his desk to the unkempt bedding as if he couldn't be bothered to remake his bed everyday despite having nothing but time to fill. A pile of lavender bundles and chamomile blooms were stacked on his bedside, familiar twine holding the herbs together. 

When he offered her the bathroom to clean off, (Y/N) didn't hesitate, wanting to clean herself from the crust that was forming on her chin and the bits of blood that had dried in her hair. By the time she finished, there was a nightgown waiting for her and an invitation on familiar stationery to join Harry in his room when she was ready. 

Under different circumstances, she would have taken her time, luxuriated in the thick towels and scented lotion. There were different creams and oils that she didn't recognize, the kind she would have loved to take her time and learn. But there was someone waiting for her—someone that was as close to her husband as he could be without sending her down the aisle in a white dress. 

She didn't want to leave him waiting. 

(Though, she did notice that the bite he had given to her neck was healed almost completely. The wound that had bled enough to fill his mouth was now reduced to a pair of pin pricks on the side of her neck, just barely visible if someone was looking. She was going to have to ask at some point if that was the effect of the bond mending her skin).

That was how she found herself with Harry hovering above her, damp hair tossed across his pillow and her hands cradling his cheeks.

"I can feel you right here," he murmured to her in wonder, his hand on his chest where his unbeating heart sat. 

Sprinkling her own kisses along his cheek, she smiled against his skin. "I can feel you in my heart, too," she whispered against his skin.

Drawing away, (Y/N) tried to chase him for another kiss before failing and sinking back into her pillow with a breathy laugh. Harry's smile widened at the sound. His gaze slipped over her with enough depth that she could have sworn his hands followed the trail, goosebumps erupting on her skin. 

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," (Y/N) said, stealing the same line he said to her more than once. 

Matching her gaze once more, he looked at her with gleaming green shards in his eyes. "Just you. Always you." 

Creases appeared by her eyes from just how far her smile stretched. She knew that line just as well. "Of course it is," she teased, petting the pad of her thumb along the height of his cheek bone, 

"I mean it, my love" he smiled, sweeping a hand across her forehead to pull any stray hairs out of the way, "I have never felt before the way I do right now. Because of you." 

(Y/N)'s heart surged at his words. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Through something she was beginning to understand as their bond, she felt the ardent truth in Harry's words as much as she could hear it. There wasn't enough vocabulary available to tell him what it meant to her to feel and hear his love. 

Selfishly, she resorted to tugging him down for a kiss instead, hoping he understood just as well. 

He smiled into the kiss, a good sign, just before he settled in with her. 

With her legs spread wide for his hips to sit between, she couldn't help but to cling to him. There was no other way she could tell him how much she loved him, how deeply excited she was to spend the rest of the unknown with him. The feeling brought her back to the night before, when he had invited her here in the first place—when he had told her he loved her. 

Despite the chill of his touch, she had never felt so warm when recalling the memory. 

Her hands on his cheeks slid down from his face, following the line of his neck to his shoulders. The neck of his loosely buttoned shirt gave way under her touch, allowing more of his cold skin to sit on display for her to graze her fingers over. 

With their mouths slotted together, (Y/N) grazed one hand up the column of his throat unsure of if it was her own warmth being reflected back or if he was feeling the same way as she and something had awoken in his body. Without thinking, she dragged her nails lightly down his skin, entranced by the new skin she had never touched and barely seen before. 

Harry let out a low moan into her mouth, the sound rumbling against her own chest. Through the bond, she felt that touch of euphoria she was only familiar with through the bite in the greenhouse. Her stomach tightened at the thought. 

Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his kisses down the line of her jaw. "What was that for, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble compared to the dulcet tones he typically served her. 

"Did you like it?" she countered, a sheepish tone to her voice. She hadn't meant anything by it, really. 

It was the smile she felt against her skin that had her relaxing. "I did," he answered, dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, "Is that what you wanted?" 

"I always want to make you happy," she simply chirped back. 

Drawing away, Harry hovered over her with a slight curl to his lips and only a sliver of green showing around his dark pupils. "Your job is terribly easy then," he smiled, "As I can't help but feel anything but completely ecstatic around you." 

(Y/N) could only shake her head, suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her with her face buried in his neck. She could feel the plume of laughter he let out as much as she could hear it. 

Pressing his weight into her as he reciprocated her hold, he wrapped his arms around her middle in a snug hug. The length of his body was pressed against hers, including the hard to ignore ridge nudging between her legs. While it wasn't the first time she had felt as much between the sheets in her bedroom, it still took her breath away. 

Harry undoubtedly felt her reaction, causing him to pull away just enough to look down at her. "What's wrong, love?" 

She floundered over her words, unsure of how exactly to phrase what she had caused her gasp and the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You—I mean... You're—" 

Pursing his lips, Harry held back his smile. "I know, darling," he smiled, "Don't worry, alright? We've done enough tonight, I don't think we need to add anymore new experiences like we had planned." 

"But—" She unceremoniously dropped her gaze between them as if she could get a peek at what was prodding at her core. "I don't want to... You're not hurting, are you?" 

He couldn't help the laugh that fell from his mouth then. "No, I am not hurting," he smiled, squeezing her to him one last time before relinquishing his hold. 

Meandering out from between her legs, he moved to lay beside her. (Y/N) rolled with him, unwilling to let him go very far before he settled at her side, sharing the same pillow despite the vast amount of negative space available. 

"You don't want me to...?" (Y/N) trailed off, unsure of what exactly she was asking. She knew Harry had asked her over, hoping to take advantage of the time alone without having to worry about the creaks of her own home. Despite the turns that night had taken, she didn't want him to believe she was no longer willing, even if she was a bit exhausted. 

Harry's smile was tender on his lips, adoring just as his eyes were. He took one of her hands that had been clasped behind his neck and brought her palm to his mouth. Pressing his lips to the back in a smattering of kisses, he trailed that line up to her wrist and along her arm until she could no longer contain her giggling. The bright smile he gave in response had to match that of her own. 

"Not tonight, my love," he crooned, "I know we had talked about how we wanted to spend this night by ourselves, but I know my outlook on the night has changed some." His gaze dropped to the pinprick marks on her neck, his features brightening that much more at the sight. "I don't feel any rush to do more. We have all the time in the world to learn each other in that way. I'd rather tonight be about you and I and learning the bond we now have." 

Through that bond, she could feel his sincerity. There was no rush in him, nothing clamoring to take her virginity just to have it. It was more important to him to know his wife—his beloved, his bonded. Through his eyes, she saw the stretch of time they had together and the many nights they could fill between the sheets. There was no rush to be had when he had her for the rest of their lives. 

"You're sure?" she asked, shuffling closer to him over the velvet duvet, "I don't want to disappoint you." 

"How could you disappoint me, my love?" he asked through a dazzling smile, dimples denting his cheeks and perfect teeth on display. He brushed his hand over her cheek, fingertips grazing the fan of her lashes and the height of her cheekbone as if she were the most delicate of flowers in his garden. "You're here," he said in awe, "In my bed, brave enough to bond with me, and looking at me with stars in your eyes. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"

Heart thumping in her chest, (Y/N) looked at him and saw the life he had envisioned.

There were so many nights they were going to spend just like this, laden in velvet and kisses, chilling touches and warm gazes. They had all the time in the world, there was no reason not to savor these quiet moments with him.

All she could do was pull him in for a kiss.

—————

The following morning, (Y/N) was exhausted as she traipsed around the apothecary, though she felt as if she were floating off her feet. She took care to restock each and every cubby, straightening the displays and ensuring only the best of the best were placed out for customers. Her father was manning the register as she did so, leaving her to sit in her rose petal thoughts and appreciate the stiff muscles of her neck and bruises from her early morning climb back into her bedroom.

It was all reminders of the best night of her life, she decided. Her wedding night—even if it wasn't in the traditional sense. 

There was a new piece that now lived inside her, a remnant of Harry's soul that now replaced the piece she had given him last night. It felt easier to breathe, now knowing that he was on the other side. 

More than once since starting her day, her father had asked what had made her so chipper. She had only replied that she had slept well, or simply woke up in a good mood. She couldn't wait for the day that she could tell him that it was Harry that had her heart so full and eyes so bright.

The bell above the door jingled, alerting that a customer was coming in, though that wasn't what had (Y/N) perking up in her spot. There was a fumbling in her chest, as if her heart knew something she didn't.

Looking over her shoulder, her lungs squeezed when she saw who had walked through the door.

Armed with a draping bouquet of wisteria and the tiny bell-shaped blooms of lily of the valley, was Harry. He was dressed immaculately as ever, though she could see a color in his cheeks and his eyes almost glimmering with the amount of green shards that had surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stiffen at his presence, though Harry gave her a passing glance with a lopsided smile before even acknowledging his presence.

"Mr. Styles," her father gruffly greeted him, "How can we help you today?" 

"Actually, sir," Harry started, a pleasant voice to match his expression though (Y/N) could see amusement swimming in the depths, "I was hoping I could have a chance to speak with your daughter." 

"She's busy at the moment, but I can help you with anything you need." Her father's voice now held an edge to it.

"Unfortunately," Harry said, skipping his gaze back to her where she stood with her hands knotted behind her back, "I don't think you can help me with this, sir. I was looking to ask for her permission to officially begin courting her—if she is interested, anyway" 

(Y/N) had no hope of wiping the smile from her face, but she did everything she could to keep herself from launching into her husband. Instead, before her father could make any objection of any kind, she piped up with, "I am definitely interested, Mr. Styles. You have all the permission in the world." 

Though she was sure that if she spared her father a glance he would be just as angry as the night he had thrown her invitation into the furnace, but she couldn't draw her eyes from Harry. 

She couldn't wait to marry him. For the second time, technically.

—————

lily of the valley, though delicate, can stop the heart when consumed

ahhhhh that is the end of my little Halloween/fall story! now my break will be starting and ill be back with more writing after the new year!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas for anythign at all!

[newusernameidk]

BEYOND MONTICELLO - CHAPTER SIX

| A Thomas Jefferson x Reader fanfic |

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Monticello, casting soft, warm light onto the polished wood floors of the parlor. Thomas sat stiffly in a chair, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as Polly perched beside him, her legs swinging slightly over the edge of the settee. Though she had tried to convince her father she felt fine, her pale complexion and slight fatigue during their journey had been enough to make him insist on calling Dr. Gilmer the moment they returned home.

“I don’t understand why we need a doctor for being tired,” Polly muttered, more to herself than to him.

“Polly,” Thomas began, his voice soft but firm, “you may think I’m overreacting, but when it comes to your health, I won’t take chances.”

Before she could argue further, Dr. Gilmer was shown in, his bag in hand. After brief pleasantries, he turned his attention to Polly, conducting a thorough examination. Thomas sat nearby, his gaze steady, though his thoughts lingered on his late wife, Martha, and the illness that had taken her.

“Mr. Jefferson,” the doctor said at last, standing and smoothing the front of his coat, “you’ll be glad to hear there’s no cause for alarm. Your daughter is perfectly healthy, though I suspect the combination of travel and excitement has left her a bit worn out. Plenty of rest and good meals should do the trick.”

Polly gave her father a pointed look. “I told you, Papa.”

Thomas exhaled, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely ease. “Thank you, Dr. Gilmer,” he said, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

As the doctor left, Thomas turned back to Polly, who was watching him with an expression that seemed to blend affection and mild exasperation. He knelt in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

“Polly, you must tell me when you’re not feeling well,” he said. “I should’ve noticed sooner.”

Polly smiled faintly, her tone playful. “You notice plenty, Papa. But maybe you should stop worrying so much. It’s exhausting being so loved.”

Thomas chuckled despite himself, though her words left him feeling both reassured and guilty. She was so much like her mother in moments like this.

Polly slipped off the settee, her energy already seeming to return. “I’m going to the library,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room. “Don’t call another doctor while I’m gone.”

Thomas stood slowly, watching her leave. He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, but the lingering fear of almost missing her fatigue stayed with him. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward his study. For now, she was safe—and he’d make sure she stayed that way.

_____________________________________

The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Thomas Jefferson’s study, painting the room in a golden hue. He sat at his desk, deep in thought as his fingers drummed lightly on the wooden surface. A stack of correspondence waited for his attention, but his eyes lingered on a single envelope bearing the familiar seal of George Washington.

Thomas hesitated before breaking the seal, aware that Washington rarely wrote without purpose. He unfolded the parchment carefully, his brow furrowing as he read:

“Dear Mr. Jefferson,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits, as well as your daughters. It was a pleasure seeing young Polly during your visit to Philadelphia; she is truly a credit to you and her late mother.

However, I must address a matter of personal concern. During your recent stay, I observed a certain growing familiarity between yourself and my niece, Miss Y/N. While it is not my intention to interfere in matters of the heart, I feel obliged to speak plainly. Y/N is both young and dear to me, as though she were my own child.

If you do indeed have intentions toward her, I trust you will proceed with the seriousness and respect that such an endeavor requires. She is not someone to be trifled with, Mr. Jefferson. My only wish is to protect her from hurt or harm.

I hope you understand the gravity of my words and act accordingly.

Yours in friendship,

George Washington”

Thomas leaned back in his chair, folding the letter with a steady hand but a racing mind. The President’s tone had been measured, yet there was no mistaking the underlying message. This was a warning, albeit a kind one.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. Y/N. The name alone stirred something in him—a mixture of admiration, attraction, and unease. She had been a breath of fresh air during his stay in Philadelphia, but Washington’s words now forced him to confront his feelings with a clarity he had been avoiding.

The sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He quickly set the letter down and looked up to see Martha—Patsy, as she was affectionately called—standing in the doorway with a stack of papers in her hands.

“I brought the ledgers you asked for, Papa,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp as it flicked to the folded letter on his desk.

“Ah, thank you, my dear,” Thomas replied, straightening in his chair. He reached for the papers, but Patsy didn’t hand them over right away.

“From the President?” she asked, nodding toward the letter.

“Yes,” Thomas said curtly, taking the papers from her and stacking them neatly. “Nothing of importance, just routine correspondence.”

Patsy’s eyes lingered on the letter for a moment longer before she gave a faint nod. “Of course,” she said, but her tone was skeptical. She placed the rest of the papers on his desk, her movements deliberate.

“Is everything all right, Papa?” she asked.

“Everything is fine,” he replied, his voice firm. “Thank you for bringing these to me.”

Patsy hesitated, clearly wanting to press further, but she eventually stepped back. “If you need anything else, just call for me,” she said before leaving the room.

Thomas watched her go, his expression softening. He knew his daughter well enough to recognize when she was suspicious. For now, she hadn’t pressed him further, but she had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue when provoked.

Returning his attention to the letter, Thomas stared at it for a long moment before tucking it into a drawer. Washington’s words weighed heavily on him. If he was going to pursue Y/N, he would have to be sure of his intentions—and prepared for the consequences.

For now, though, there was no time to dwell. He had work to finish and a restless daughter to manage.

_____________________________________

Dinner started quietly, the room filled only with the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Polly was animated as she described their time in Philadelphia, her youthful excitement breaking the silence.

“Miss Y/N was so nice, Papa,” Polly said, her voice light and cheerful. “She showed me how to pick the best apples. I think she’d be fun to visit again someday.”

Thomas gave a small smile, his thoughts elsewhere but warmed by Polly’s enthusiasm. “She does have a charm about her, doesn’t she?”

“She’s more than charming,” Polly added. “She’s smart, too. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Across the table, Patsy’s fork paused midair before she set it down with deliberate care. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, flicked between her father and sister.

“Miss Y/N does seem to have left quite an impression,” Patsy said, her tone even but with an edge that didn’t go unnoticed. “On both of you.”

Thomas glanced at her, frowning slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring someone kind and capable, Patsy.”

“No, there isn’t,” she agreed, though her words carried a weight that made Polly’s smile falter. “But it does seem awfully quick, doesn’t it? To be so… fond of someone.”

Polly’s cheerful demeanor dimmed as the tension grew. She glanced nervously at her sister, then at her father, unsure of what was unfolding.

“Patsy,” Thomas said, his voice low, a warning in his tone.

But Patsy leaned forward, unwilling to back down. “Have you already forgotten Mother, Papa? Or do you simply find it easy to move on? To replace her?”

The words landed with the force of a slap. Thomas stiffened, his expression darkening as Polly’s eyes widened in shock.

“That is enough,” he said, his tone sharp, controlled—but barely.

“No, it’s not enough,” Patsy snapped, her voice rising. “You’ve been gone for years, and now you come back, acting as though nothing has changed—as though we haven’t been here, holding this family together without you. And now you’re chasing after some woman you hardly know? Do you even care how this looks to Polly? To me? To anyone?”

Thomas set his fork down with deliberate care, his jaw tightening. “Patsy,” he said, his voice quiet but seething with anger, “I will not tolerate such disrespect in my own home.”

“Disrespect?” Patsy stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What about respect for Mother? For us? You left, Papa. You weren’t here. And now you expect us to sit by and watch you pretend none of it happened?”

Thomas rose abruptly, towering over her, his face a storm of fury. His voice boomed, breaking through the room like thunder. “That is enough, Martha!”

The name—her mother’s name—hung heavy in the air. Patsy’s expression froze, her face pale as if she’d been struck. The anger in her eyes gave way to something more fragile, something broken, before she turned and fled the room without another word.

Polly sat frozen in her chair, her hands trembling in her lap. Her lip quivered as she finally managed to whisper, “Papa, please don’t be angry…”

Thomas’s expression softened as he turned to her. “Polly, I’m not angry with you,” he said gently. But his words seemed to do little to comfort her.

“I… I don’t feel well. May I be excused?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Thomas hesitated before nodding. “Of course, my dear. Go get some rest.”

Polly rose quickly and left the room, leaving Thomas alone in the suffocating silence. He sank back into his chair, running a hand over his face as the weight of the argument settled heavily on his shoulders. He hadn’t just lost his temper—he had lashed out at the daughter who had stood by him through everything. And in doing so, he feared he had only widened the distance between them all.

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

Write For Me

Notes - New Manga ending, Sanemi is a loser lmao

The doorbell chimed with the arrival of a new customer, another person looking for help in a world that has a neverending supply of it. You continued your task, leaving the customer to your father who ran the small mail house. It was mainly local delivery, run by you and your siblings but you occasionally wrote letters and even involved yourselves with the local school to help teach writing. After the battle that had taken place 2 towns over there were plenty of people displaced and many who didn’t know how to read or write. You had heard of the rumored demon slayer corps but considered it a tale of fiction, it was not.

“Y/N, can you help this young man with a letter, I have to pick up a letter from the Naraga house. Thank you” Peaking into the back your father gave a quick salute before disappearing again. You sighed, putting down the order form and going to the front where you had a small setup for writing. A man was already sitting at the table, his white hair sticking in every direction, he looked like a porcupine from the back and the thought had you stifling a laugh, trying not to embarrass yourself.

“Hello, I’m Y/N, I’ll be writing for you today, have you had a letter written from us before?” You were speaking before even getting a look at his face, rounding the table to sit across from him. The shock on his face was evident as wide violet eyes stared at your elegant form seated across from him.

“um” He looked around “Yuuta writes my letters, who are you?” he questioned a rasp in his voice, like he hadn’t spoken in days.

“I’m Y/N… Yiuta is running an early delivery this week and Tsuchiro is on his honeymoon so I’m in the shop this week. Is this going to the same recipient we have listed? Genya Shinazuawa?” he gave a stiff nod, lips pursed like he was thinking but wanted to say something.

“He’s my brother” You nodded as he continued to stare, watching as you organized yourself, pulling out paper and making sure you had ink, envelopes, and wax on hand.

“is this going to the Butterfly estate or the Himejima household? We have two addresses” you asked, looking over the form for the man in front of you ‘Sanemi Shinazugawa’ written in big bold letters, an exaggerated grumpy face written next to it.

“Butterfly estate, can you write my name on the back of the envelope?” You looked up at his request.

“Yuuta has it noted you request that I will make sure it happens. So what would you like me to write?” Your smile had his heart feeling like it was going to explode and it scared him, leaving him anxious as you went to work, writing everything he said with such precision he would have asked if you were a demon had he not been involved with their downfall. What witchcraft did you possess to have him so captivated. How could Yuuta, The obnoxious letter writer who made a joke of each of his scars, not knowing the weight his words carried when Sanemi left the store. How could he have a sister as beautiful as you, as perfect for him? The sun had dropped a piece of itself and that was you, wrapped in silk and seated across from him, brows furrowed as you sealed the letter he was sending to his annoying brother, stuck in the hospital while he healed.

“Shall I have the response forwarded to you or would you like us to hold it?” You had finally looked back up, the windflower pin in your hair glimmering as the sun caught it, holding tight to the gift.

“Um, he usually sends it through a crow, his mom writes his letters while he heals. She’s there with her husband and Muichiro.” You nodded like you knew what he was talking about, the blank look and half-baked smile making him realize he needed to leave and never talk to you again, he has shamed himself by not keeping his mouth shut.

“The Estate receives a lot of letters, they have worked hard since the large battle a few months ago, I wish everyone a speedy and safe recovery.” You sat back, smiling so large he felt like shielding is eyes and screaming, it was too much.

“Thank you”

“Is there anything else I can write?” he shook his head, standing so quick the chair fell back, causing him to panic.

“I- this is” He was rushing to pick up the chair, fingers gripping the edge of the chair as he turned to you, bowing low in his green trousers, the grey of his shirt brushing the tabletop. “I thank you for your help” He turned on his heel and marched out, the heel of his shoes clicking with each step on the wooden floors. What a strange man Sanemi Shinazugawa was.

[aquagirl1978]

Hello! For the new years celebration could I please ask for Leonardo + touches #12, Comte + kisses #1 and Jean + hugs #11. Thank you! x

Thank you, anon, for this request (I'm embarrassed to say how long this has been in my inbox, so I hope you're still here with us on Tumblr). I hope to have Comte and Jean finished this month.

The Night We Met - Leonardo da Vinci x Reader

A/N: Part of my New Year, New Celebration event and a very belated entry for Cozytober hosted by @randonauticrap

Pairing: Leonardo da Vinci x Reader

Prompt: reaching for the other in the dark

Song: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Lyrics: "Take me back to the night we met."

Word Count: 2131 (the longest fic I've written this year)

Tags: fluff with maybe the slightest hint of angst

“Do you remember the night we met?”

It was a silly question, but one you loved to ask. Just to see his reaction.

He peered at you, his golden eyes narrowing like a cat as he laughed his hearty laugh. “Of course, I remember. It was the night I met a beautiful thief who stole my heart.”

Your breath hitched at his words. Even after all these years, he still had a way of stealing your breath away.

He cupped your cheeks in his large hands, pulling your face close to his. He lowered his voice to a deep whisper, the sweet smell of tobacco pungent in the air.

“But tell me again anyway. Take me back. Take me back to the night we met.”

*****

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at the ornate envelope that was resting delicately in the palms of your hands.

“Open it and find out,” your mother suggested. 

Your fingers trembled as you carefully lifted the gold wax seal, afraid to break something so pretty, so precious, and unfolded its contents. In your short life, you had never seen such elegant writing nor held such heavy paper. You glanced up at your parents to find their faces alight with smiles.

“The King and Queen are having a ball. And everyone in town is invited! Isn’t this exciting?” your mother exclaimed.

“The King will be introducing his son, the crown prince, to the court at this ball. And rumor has it,” your father added, his eyes twinkling as he winked at you, “I heard he is looking for a bride for his son.”

“Don’t fill her head with such nonsense, dear. No one has seen or heard from the prince in some years as he has been away studying. For all we know, he has already found a bride.” 

*****

Your hand shook as you lifted the glass towards your lips; the rose-colored wine was cool as it trickled down your throat. Standing awkwardly with your back against the wall, you watched as pairs took to the ballroom floor. Lively music filled with air as bright colors dazzled, couples dancing in mesmerizing circles around the room.

You welcomed the respite from dancing – it wasn’t that you didn't like to dance, but rather, your previous dance partners each left something to be desired. 

The first suitor had two left feet; you lost count of how many times he stepped on your foot in the span of one song. The second suitor sweated profusely; he looked and felt as if he had spent the entire evening near a hot oven. The third suitor either had selective hearing or was lacking short-term memory; for everything you said, his reply was to ask you how you were doing. 

“Looks like ya need a drink.”

You turned your face towards the owner of the husky voice. Mouth opened, ready to hurl a snarky comeback, your jaw slackened when you saw the amiable smile on the stranger’s face. 

His hand gestured towards the empty glass in your hand, erasing all fears that his intentions were untowards. Sheepishly, you looked down at your drink, or rather what little was left of it, and held the glass out to him.

“Thank you, that would be lovely.” You smiled softly as his fingers touched yours, lingering longer than they should. “Rose wine,” you added, quickly pulling your fingers away when you felt your cheeks flush with warmth.

“I’ll be right back.”

He was true to his word and back by your side in a flash. Mildly curious as to how he got the drinks so fast, you easily pushed those thoughts to the side as he stood next to you, the silence comfortable as you sipped your drinks.

When the music stopped, he turned to you and plucked the glass from your hand. 

“Hey, I was still –”

He let out a small laugh and took your hands in his. “May I have this dance?” he asked, his golden gaze fixed on yours.

Who cared that you didn’t even know his name – you’d be a fool to say no to him.

With a smile so dazzling it could light up the night sky, he whisked you onto the dance floor effortlessly, as if he had been born dancing. 

“What brought you here tonight?” he asked, your bodies swaying slowly in tune with the music.

“My parents got an invitation. I’m here with them tonight.”

“A family obligation…” he surmised.

“You could call it that. What brought you here?”

“A bit of the same. It was easier to show up than fight over it.”

“You’d rather be somewhere else?”

“I’d rather be anywhere else. I was traveling, studying. And they brought me back here. For this? There is a whole entire world out there with so much more to offer than pointless dances. ” 

He stared into your eyes, his words filled with unbridled passion as he spoke. Something stirred deep inside of you. 

And it felt good.

You gazed back at him, struck with awe as you continued to dance, not missing a beat. You barely knew this man, but you wanted to. You suddenly wanted to know everything about him. Where was he traveling? What was he studying? Was he a good kisser?

But there was one question you needed to ask first.

“What’s your name? I’m – ”

He let out a huff of laughter upon hearing your question. You swore you saw a hint of sadness clouding his amber eyes, but it was now gone. 

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked with a wistful smile.

“No, I don’t,” you admitted bashfully, averting your gaze.

“My name is Leonardo da Vinci…”

Your heart stopped and your body became numb. Your eyes returned to his, the same warm pools of honey you gazed into adoringly earlier looking back at you.

“I am…”

“You are the king’s son,” you said before he could.

Your feet felt stuck, like they were glued down to the dance floor; your body stilled, unable to move in light of this discovery. 

He continued to gaze at you, his eyes pleading with you. Stay. Don’t leave me.

Your heart pounded in your chest; the large ballroom started to shrink. Your palms began to sweat; you wanted to release your hands from his but you couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let you.

“My family… we are commoners,” you finally said, the floodgates opening and words started to spill from your mouth. “My father is a shoemaker, my mother sews dresses. I will one day join them and make dresses. We are not nobility.”

I don’t belong here, your eyes said silently, your heart shattering into a million pieces. 

“I need to go.” You forced the words out before turning around, running away before Leonardo could see the tears streaming down your cheeks.

Your steps quickened as you approached the tall glass door, your breath trapped in your throat as you placed your hand on the doorknob, letting out a giant sigh of relief as the metal twisted in your hand.

*****

Your eyes scanned the grand ballroom, desperately searching for an exit. There! A doorway leading outside. 

Pushing the door open just enough to slip through, you finally felt able to breathe in the cool, crisp air. You had no idea where you were – somewhere in the gardens, you guessed. You’d have to find your way back to your parents, but it was worth it to get out of the ballroom.

And far away from him.

Your heart ached thinking of him. Looking up at the sky, the stars shone brightly against the midnight blue blanket as you searched for a shooting star to make a wish upon. 

“What am I doing?” you asked yourself. “It’s hopeless.”

With a soft sigh, you continued on your path, your head down as you followed the stones lit by the moon.

That is until you walked straight into something in the dark. A tall, warm something.

“Goodness! I am sorry, so sorry. I wasn’t looking –”

The figure tilted his head towards you and your heart sank. Of all the people who happened to be at the ball, it had to be him. 

“Sorry I’m not Prince Charming,” he said, taking a long drag from his cigarillo.

“I should be going, I’m sorry I bothered you.” You lifted your skirt as you brushed past him, eager to hurry away.

“Don’t go.” 

He reached for you in the dark, his large hand easily capturing your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. You turned your head, your gaze meeting his, the same desperation that clung to your heart was written in his eyes.

‘We can’t,” you whispered breathlessly, your heart beating so loud you hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Why not?”

You made a face, stunned he would even ask after what happened in the ballroom earlier.

‘Yeah, you already told me.” His eyes wavered as he held your gaze. “And what if I don’t care.”

“You should care. One day, you will be king.”

“Amd marry one of those vultures in there? I’d rather die.” He took another pull from his cigarillo, smoke filling their air between you. “My family is a bunch of bloodthirsty vampires, ready to suck the life out of you the first chance they get.”

He dropped his cigarillo to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot.

“You were the first person in forever that saw me. Not a prince. Not the future king. But me.” He took your hands in his, his thumb pressing against the pulse point in your wrist, sending tingles down your spine. He tipped your chin with his thumb before dipping his face towards yours, his lips so close you could feel his hot breath on your skin. 

“I won’t let you get away that fast, cara mia,” he whispered before kissing you.

His lips covered yours, his tongue slightly sweet as he probed open your parted lips, invading your warm mouth. His hands, large hands rough and calloused, moved from yours, his palms rubbing up your bare arms. Gripping the curve of your shoulders, he pulled your body to his. Your arms wrapped around his waist, your body melting into his as your hands settled on the small of his back. 

You could have stayed there forever, hiding under the dark cover of the sky. 

But forever was not tonight for your name was called in the distance.

“My parents!” you exclaimed, pulling away. “They must be looking for me.”

Leonardo looked at you, his golden eyes darkened with the disappointment of a kiss prematurely broken.

“I have to go,” you whispered breathlessly.

He took a step towards you. And then another and another. Until he was a breath away from you. Cupping your cheeks in his palms, he gazed into your eyes until your eyes drifted closed for a moment, your body memorizing how this felt – to be held in his hands like a precious treasure.

And he kissed you again. It was the perfect kiss, like one from a fairy tale, soft and sweet and filled with… 

Love?

The kiss was short and brief, lasting only a few seconds. But it felt like forever.

WHen you parted this time, you both gazed into each other’s eyes silently, words insufficient to convey how you felt about the other.

Not wanting to be found together, you ran away from him the second time that night. But unlike the first, this time you desperately hoped you would see Leonardo again.

*****

“And the very next day, I found you,” Leonardo said, finishing the story. 

He gazed at you with his warm golden eyes, eyes you could stare into forever. 

“That’s only because I told you about my parents. Thankfully, there weren’t too many shoemakers and dressmakers in town,” you said with a small laugh.

“I would have found you.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke. “I made a promise to myself that night I’d find you. Even if I had to turn over every stone in the land, I would have found you.”

Hearing his words of determination tugged on your heartstrings; after all the years you were together, this was the first time you had learned of his promise. Needing to feel his touch, your hands instinctively sought his, your fingers entwining.

Twice you turned your back on him that night, but never again since. You had stood by his side, facing him in your shared journey in life as lovers and partners, and as he became king, and you, his queen.

“I love you, cara mia,” he whispered before kissing you, the sweet taste of tobacco lingering on his lips. 

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

And just like every kiss you’ve shared since that fateful night, this kiss felt like one from a fairy tale.

[nyrasbloodyclover]

the great war (aemond targaryen x oc)

masterlist (read the warnings!!)

a/n: i poured my soul into this. i still haven't finished it. enjoy.

1. the letter

128 AC

Reila Stark had plans for today. She woke up, ready to greet her mother and later find her father, practice some archery and maybe read. Instead all of that, their maester, Kennet, knocked on her door and gave her an envelope.

"Your father wants to see you after you read this." And he left. 

The envelope was untouched. It had Tully's seal that had yet to be broken. Reila knew that Elmo Tully and her father, Cregan, were discussing the possibilities of war. Everyone knew Aegon took Rhaenyra's birthright that Reila's family swore to protect. It was a matter of time before she sends ravens to the north. Or dragons. The war was inevitable, she knew that much.

She gently opened it, not knowing what to expect. It was short, but neat. What would Elmo want to say to her? She was calm when she read—

My lord Stark, I will be forward when I speak of our alliance. The war is coming and it would be wise if we join our houses. Your eldest with my eldest. I advise you reply as soon as possible. I fear we must prepare our armies. 

She slowly put the letter down. Reila was happy to help her father, but she was curious to why he didn't read the letter first.

"Father?" She said to Cregan Stark when she entered the room. Him and her mother—Arra—were eating breakfast. A rare sight, she must admit, mostly because her father was a busy man. Reila sat beside her mother and took her warm hand. Lady Arra smiled at her and she returned, looking at her mother's pregnant belly. She hoped it was a girl.

"Yes, my dear? I expect you have questions about the letter?" He was speaking like she understood what the message meant. Why didn't he read it first? 

Lord Cregan Stark was a strange man. He was a fierce warrior. She knows every story behind her fathers battle scars and she's seen him wield his sword. She wasn't old enough, merely seven, when Cregan overthrew his uncle, but Reila loved hearing stories about that period. But also she's been there when he tucked her into bed and told her stories before she fell asleep. He knew her. To the bone. So she didn't have to say anything.

"If you must know, I didn't read it because It's about your life and your future. It hardly concerns—"

"It hardly concerns you? We have to prepare for a war!" Why was he saying all that? It didn't sound like him. At all. Cregan loved and wanted to know what was happening on his land at all times.

"Cregan, what is she saying?" Her mother looked concerned and confused. They weren't a perfect match, her parents, but they were trying and they loved each other, so that counted for something. Cregan married Arra when he became Lord of Winterfell, after knowing her all his life. They loved each other. She wanted to have that with someone one day.

"Everything is being handled. You musn't worry, sweet wife."

Reila was not so sure about that. Elmo's words sounded almost desperate. But she had no business telling her father how to rule and what to do with his men.

"What did the rest say?" Her mother squeezed her hand. Reila was still in her bed attire and completely out of place, but this couldn't wait.

"I am to be wed, mother." She gave Arra a small but honest smile, to show that she was willing to help their family and take part in her duty. 

Lady Arra's features revealed nothing. "To whom, my child?" 

"Lord Tully's son, Kermit." She said.

Her father ate in silence. His beard and hair were in place, which was unusual, but the rest of him had written Warden of the North, all over. The dark colors, brooding features, the direwolf on his chest and the fur-edged cloak around his chair. He only looked up once at his wife and let Reila speak.

Her mother was the definition of beauty. Round, pale face, full lips, midnight blue dress that was so dark it was almost black.Reila was a spitting image of her mother. The hair, the face, the softness in her eyes. Her smile could spare Reila of any troubles that she had, but seeing her mothers almost disapproving look made Reila slouch.

"What's the matter, Arra?" Her father asked.

Her mother looked like she was trying to find the best words that wouldn't hurt either of them. And when she finally delivered them, It wasn't what Reila expected.

"You cannot sell our daughter to some noble house for a few thousand men." Her answer was sharp.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm not selling her. This is our greatest chance in surviving a fucking civil war!" He made sure not to raise his voice, but the anger was still there. If the word spread, people would panic and only chaos would come out of it.

"Mother, It's alright. I'm sure he's a good man and will be a fine husband." Reila tried to soothe her mother just a little bit. And in reality— she was fine with it. She knew she couldn't have an epic romance tale. She also knew her father was planning this for a while. He knew what the letter was going to say. 

"Very well," her mother said, but still looked like she'd end Tully's bloodline, "Reila, go dress. We must start preparing for the wedding." 

She glanced at her father, but he still looked sure of himself. Reila was Cregan Stark's daughter and if he could get through something, so could she.

•

She was brushing her hair when her father walked in. "You still haven't said if you're fine with this marriage," he said.

She did. She said so to her mother, but Cregan knew better. 

Reila made peace with her future and nothing would make her uncertain when it comes to helping her family. 

"We need Elmo's men," she pinned up her dark hair, "I'll do my part." She said with confidence. Then a spark of something appeared that made her want to bargain with her father. 

"In exchange I want to go with you." 

Cregan's eyes widened, "What?"

"Instead of being kept in a castle with my soon-to-be husband, I'll get a taste of freedom before my real duties as a wife begin."

"Freedom? Are you hearing yourself right now? You want me to take you to war!"

"It doesn't have to be long. A month, perhaps. Please let me go with you and I'll even marry both of his sons, please!"

He thought for a moment, grazing his dark beard. Reila knew that once she marries she won't be able to see her father daily. This would be like a goodbye to her childhood.

"Not a word to your mother. She's pregnant and her due is any day now." Reila jumped from her seat in excitement and hugged her father.

"Thank you! Thank you!" He let out a rich laugh that made Reila's chest full.

"Very well, daughter. You must go to your mother now. She needs you." Reila knew he was talking about her mother's pregnancy.

"Do you have a name in mind?" She asked, her head still buried in her father's strong chest.

"Rickon." Reila was her father's oldest and only child. She knew he wanted a male heir, but that didn't stop him from loving her unconditionally.

"You are so sure it's going to be a son?" She said, mockingly.

"My biggest concern is their health, but your mother and I talked. She thinks it's a boy."

•

She went to the library and began studying history after failed attempts to learn High Valyrian. She felt foolish just trying to pronounce the words without having someone help her. History was her comfort. It already happened. Years passed since those events and she loved to read about them. It was like reading regular stories, but knowing to recite battles from actual history would get her praises and applauds from her father's friends.

The books were old, older than her, even. She could easily get lost in them and that's precisely what happened. 

The sun went down and her father came to check on her once, but she barely acknowledged him while reading about King Maegor's life. Now she understood why he was "The Cruel." She liked princess Rhaena. She liked to think they would be good friends if they somehow ended up in the same room.

The candle that Maester Kennet lit up was coming to an end and she sighed in annoyance. Reila decided to blow it out and go to bed. It was pretty late. Her back started to hurt from sitting in the same position the whole day.

"Lady Reila, you must come right away. Your father said someone came to pay a visit."

Reila frowned. At this ungodly hour? The mysterious visitor peeked her interest and she quickly got up to find out who it was.

Her father was sitting on his throne and looking at a young man dressed in red from head to toe. "Dear daughter, Prince Jacaerys decided to pay us a visit!"

And he didn't care to mention that the unexpected visitor was the Crown Prince himself? 

Reila bowed, "My Lord. May I ask, what do we owe the pleasure?"

Jace came up to Reila and the only thought that was running through her mind was Why couldn't my father marry me to someone like him? He had the manners and the dragons. Her soon to be husband only had the army, for all that she knew.

He kissed her hand and her cheeks reddened. She already liked him. "I'm here on behalf of my mother, The Rightful Queen, my lady." And he listens to his mother!

"Well, let's hear it, my lord," said her father. He was unusually friendly. It seemed he too liked Prince Jace. Who wouldn't?!

"Your Father, Rickon Stark, bent the knee and swore loyalty to The Queen several years ago." The people in the room began whispering, but Cregan shushed them right away.

"Yes, I recall. My old man was a good man. Don't worry, boy, the Starks haven't forgotten an oath yet."

"I am glad to hear it, Lord Stark." He smiled and Reila melted at the sight. She wanted to scream at her father to wed them now, but she knew he was already betrothed. 

"My prince, House Stark will fight beside Queen Rhaenyra for as long as we can manage. Every man in this castle will die protecting the rightful Queen." Cregan's voice was loud and proud and Reila knew her father wasn't exaggerating. He meant every word.

"You have the Crown's unending gratefulness." The prince's back was straight, voice sure. He was his mother's son.

"Now that we have that settled...We're going for a hunt tomorrow. What do you say, my prince?" Cregan laughed enthusiastically and Reila couldn't help but smile.

"Then I must go to bed right away." And the maids prepared a room for him, but Reila could see he wasn't expecting anything from them. They could've given him a mattress in the middle of a ball room and he wouldn't complain.

[rea-grimm]

Demon's Creed - Levi

Bright orange smoke began to billow from the seal, momentarily enveloping the entire room. Fortunately, it didn't choke you or sting your eyes. 

As the smoke began to slowly dissipate, you finally got a view of the figure inside the circle. To your surprise, it was Levi, who looked just as startled as you. 

You, however, were startled by something else entirely. The demon had horns growing out of its head that resembled sea coral, and behind it, a long snake tail wagged nervously from side to side. 

"What's going on here?" He asked, running his gaze from the Templars to you. 

One of the head templars took the words, and it was the first time you'd seen him try to get anyone's attention. The demon, however, was not impressed. Not even when he presented his proposal for cooperation, where he'd lend them his skills and they'd return the favor. 

"What about Y/N?" Levi asked instead. 

"You guys know each other?" Your father spoke up. 

The demon was about to reply, but before he could find the right words, the Grandmaster nodded his head at the guards. They walked over to you, lifted you to your feet, and one of them put a gun to your head. 

"I'm sure you and I can work this out, right? Her life for your help," the Templar grinned smugly.

That pissed Levi off. He didn't say anything in response but you could see the anger in his eyes. For a long time the room was silent, until a sort of rumbling could be heard that slowly grew in intensity. 

Soon there were wet spots on the ceiling that began to drip water and eventually water began to splash from all the cracks and the cherry on the cake was when the ceiling collapsed and water began to rush in, flooding the entire room.

You were just in time to hold your breath. As the ceiling collapsed, and under all that water, the seal that held the demon in place was broken. He moved under the water as if he'd been born there. He swam up to you, took your form and kissed you. 

It was your first kiss, and it certainly wasn't how you imagined it. However, it wasn't just any kiss, as you felt a sort of tingling sensation, and when he pulled away, you realized you could breathe freely underwater. 

You looked up at him and even underwater you could clearly see his cheeks and ears flushed like crayfish. He took one hand around your waist before the other strained into space, and a different light seal emerged from the tip of his fingers. 

Several bubbles bubbled up around you before a giant sea serpent appeared in front of you. Lothan. Levi gave him a simple task. To destroy everything here and leave no one behind. Although it wasn't that hard, as some of the Templars were already swimming belly up. 

He was still holding you when he created a new portal for the demon to take you back to base. He carried you all the way to the infirmary, where he stayed with you the entire time you were being treated.

When the doctor assured you that you were fine, you turned to Levi with the question you wanted to ask him. But before you could open your mouth to ask, Levi mumbled something unintelligible and ran away, leaving you alone. 

You didn't stay there alone for long, though, as Diavalo and Lucifer came after you. They calmly explained to you the situation regarding the demon and why they kept it a secret all this time too. 

When you asked them your questions, they gave you two choices. You could stay there with him and continue to live with them, or they could arrange for you to have special protected housing where you could be away from the Templars. They knew it wasn't an easy decision, so they gave you time to think about it. 

After that, you were left alone again. I mean, sure, the rest of the brothers came to see you and make sure you were okay. 

But now it was late in the evening, you were in bed and couldn't sleep. You were still thinking about these few days and especially about today and Levi.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by the beep of your phone when you got a text from Levi. He asked if you could come see him. 

You didn't even have to decide on that and texted him back that you'd come. You climbed out of bed, threw the bedspread over your back and made your way to his room. 

You were about to knock on his door when you heard him talking to someone. You knew it was rude but you couldn't help but listen for a moment. You were guessing who he might have been talking to when you realized he was talking to himself. He was practicing his speech. 

You smiled at that before you finally knocked. You heard a thump from the room followed by some mumbling and finally Levi opened the door, his face all red. 

"Y/N..." he began to mumble and you couldn't understand a word he said. You could see his plan was falling apart and now he was starting to panic. 

"Levi, calm down. Breathe," you said, taking his hands to calm him down. 

"You... you're not scared? " he finally stammered. 

"No, how could I be?" You retorted, shaking your head. 

"S-seriously? You really are the prettiest, strongest..." he began without looking at you, telling you everything he admired about you. 

His words completely moved you, you pulled him closer before pressing your lips to his in a kiss. 

Levi paused and seemed to jam his internal computer before it completely melted like butter.

When the kiss ended, his face was completely red and he couldn't look you in the eye. Instead, he buried his head in your shoulder.

"Don't do this to me. It's a trap..." he mumbled into your shoulder and hugged you too.

Previous parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

[tinymoonrider]

Blue Moon — WIP

Summary: It's that time of year again... Do you think you can survive? He sure doesn't... Not without help at least...

Warnings: Yandere themes, Purge Themes, NOT PROOF READ AT ALL and it ends on a Cliff Hanger

The reader is Gender Neutral :)

A/N: This is an unfinished WIP that I was trying to get done for months now and haven't been able to. I wanted to publish it instead of just deleting it completely.

I do apologize for not being able to get it done. Hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

———02:06:34:08———

I tugged my jacket closer towards my body, my head turning down towards my feet. As I walked faster towards my building, I tried to ignore those on the streets harassing passersby. Unable to drown out the sounds of their chanting and prying questions, I look away from them. “‘Ey, don’t ya need some protection?” A man wearing a blue beanie and thick matching sweatshirt sidesteps in front of me, hands out in front of his chest to show me no harm. Shaking my head, I force a polite smile trying to evade his blocking body.

“Oh come on? I know where you live, I doubt you have any weapons that will actually protect you…” My lips drop as I force my way through. “I’m sorry, that’s… I didn’t mean it like that! I swear!” Walking faster down the street, I don’t look back at him.

Now in front of my building, I slip my card out of my pocket and across the reader. Wiggling my way through the rusted door with a groan, I carefully look around before continuing through. Once my body was finally in the safety of my building, I forced the door shut and straightened my clothes. Heading down towards the lobby, I spot the building manager, Mr. Faux wiping down the grey stained counter tops of the front desk. Looking up at me he smiles, eyes crinkling more at the gesture.

“(Y/n), how are you?” He stops wiping, his body straightening slightly.

I smile, “Doing alright. Still can’t fix the front door?” He shakes his head, blinking a couple of times.

“I called management, they said they’d send someone over…” Chuckling solemnly, I shake my head along with him.

“At this point, I’ll just call someone up. It’s getting ridiculous.” Mr. Faux laughs, his body shaking along with the movement.

“Don’t worry about it. My son can take care of it. That way no one has to pay for something so ridiculous… Have a good day alright, (Y/n)?” I nod, watching as Mr. Faux waddles away.

Heading up to the eighth floor, I walked down the empty hallway towards my unit, the flickering florescent lights above buzzing in an agitated manner. Getting into my apartment, I set down my things and started to prepare dinner. Washing my hands and gathering my ingredients, I stumble upon a yellow envelope pinned to the fridge, my name printed on the front. Dark blue, curly letters stretch along the paper, every swirl and curl drawing me in more and more. Taking it out of the clip I notice the red embossing sealing the letter shut. A small Delilah flower colored in black ink marks the waxy seal. Running my fingertips over it, each and every bump vibrates my skin faster and faster. Peeling it away from the paper, I carefully take out the contents and placed them down onto the counter in front of me.

The white stock paper a stark contrast to the red ink scrawled in the front in bold lettering. Based off of the way the ink sticks to the page, it was printed, not handwritten:

Dear (Y/n),

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope you aren’t planning on participating in the events taking place on: March 21. Although it is your given right, granted by our New Founding Fathers of America, I do ask that you join us at La Belle’s @ 6:00 PM. Although any and all crimes are legal on this day, we do ask that you keep any and all weapons at home. The events taking place on this day will not be required. In fact, we wish to keep any and all patrons as safe as possible.

We do understand the possible fears and risks you may be having, especially on this day, but do know that we will ensure your protection. After all, your protection means our lives are protected as well!

At exactly 5:30 PM on March 21, a car with the license plate: AV2782 will be waiting for you at the back of your building. We do hope you will willingly join us as more details will be provided on the drive there.

——Koala

My eyebrows furrowed down to a singular line the more I kept reading. Biting back the noise that wanted to escape my throat, I looked around the room, a cold chill running up my spine. As I set down the letter, I take a peak inside the envelope, a sticker name tag with the picture of a small brown mouse was printed on the front. On the back it said, “Not to be put on until you have arrived at the event!” Putting it off to the side, I then pulled out a small bingo card with a random assortment of letters. Flipping it over two small shapes were burned into the back. Quickly placing all contents back into its original packaging, I rushed towards my room only to find Gus laying on the bed, eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey, you…” He grinned, his phone being thrown into his lap. “I see you found your letter,” sitting up he crawls over towards me. Pulling me closer, he traps me between his legs before trailing kisses up my arms and towards my sternum, his eyebrows raising, obviously waiting for some sort of answer.

“What?” My hands push against his chest for a moment as I try to create space.

“What was the letter about?” My gaze focuses onto his features for a moment.

“You weren’t the one who wrote it to me?” He shakes his head, concern creeping onto his features. Before he can say anything, I interrupt him, “Where did you get it?”

He shrugs leaning back on his forearms, “‘Was in our mailbox… Why?” He studies my features for a moment before sitting up, hands reached out towards mine, but not quite touching. “Something wrong? What was in it?”

I shake my head my nails scraping against my skin, “I think it was some sort of prank… It— It was about the purge…” He nods his head slowly. With a deep breath, he flashes me a charming smile.

“I’m sure it will be alright. The building will be on lock down… Do you know who it’s from?” Closing my eyes I take a deep breath.

“I don’t know. They called themselves Koala… There’s some sort of event taking place at La Belle’s… It starts at six.” When I open my eyes, Gus’ hazel ones peer at me from his spot on the couch.

“I’m sure that whoever is sending those letters are trying to trick people into become martyrs for ‘the holiday’.” His fingers scrunch up angrily at the words, “Just ignore it for now. There’s not much we can do about it anyway…” I nod.

“You’re probably right.”

Gus smiles up at me, his lips pressing a kiss against my stomach, “I’m going to start dinner. Go ahead and rest up.”

Mumbling out a “thank you,” I take Gus’ spot before flopping back onto the soft mattress. With the warm comforter wrapped around my body, I drift off to the noise of my blind’s rustling slightly.

————02:01:57:09———

Walking out into the bright living room, I searched for Gus, my eyes squinting slightly. Gus’ arms wrap around my body before I can process, his breath fanning against my neck and ears. Sharp tingles run through my body quickly as he pulls me closer towards him, a hum tickling my ears.

His head buries in the crook of my neck as he mumbles out, “How was your nap?” I nodded, leaning more into the warm embrace.

“Very, nice. Thank you for taking care of things for me.” He hums again as his fingers trace my back line.

I let him pull me towards the couch, fuzzy blankets with yellow ducks scattered along the fabric soon engulfs me. Cushions pressed along my sides, he leans into me, his hand running down my arms. Turning on the TV, the news flashes on screen. Two women in blazers sit behind a clear crystal desk, their papers and laptops sitting just off to the side, perfectly framing them in the middle. The one with a deep maroon blazer and black tight curls looks into the camera with such ferocity it shakes me. The other, with a much softer look placed onto her face, wears a soft blue blazer that compliments her skin perfectly. Their names slide on screen in front of them momentarily.

“Just as a reminder for all citizens and purge tourists: At seven o’ clock on March twenty first, all crimes, including murder will be legal. What an exciting day for us all…” She pauses, her fingers pushing back curls, “However our New Founding Father’s of America wants to remind everyone that any and all crimes committed on this day, although legal here, isn’t out there.”

Her partner chimes in, “That’s right Monica. Many countries around the world are appalled at our Purge practices every year as many of our citizens, including theirs, participate in such ‘barbaric acts’. From what our resources have been telling us, this also includes world wide illegal acts such as identity theft. Selling this information to hackers across the world, even if you are still in the country, is still illegal. You will be forced to hold up to these crimes if you do participate, so we all urge you to be safe. Be careful and may your deity—or lack thereof—be with you all on this upcoming holiday.”

Her partner Monica nods, “Thank you Lindsey. This brings us to our next segment; should the warning announcement be changed as not everyone believes in the same type of God, one God—as some faiths are polytheistic, or a God at all. What if it’s just a higher power or mantra? All of this and more, coming up next…” The screen fades to black as a commercial blinds us a moment later.

Gus snickers quietly next to me, his body shaking mine involuntarily. Looking at him, he shakes his head, looking away from me, “It’s nothing I promise. I just… I never thought things would end up this way…” A sad look takes over his features, body leaning heavier against mine, “I just wish she wasn’t taken from us. Had it not been… We thought it would work.” I nod my head.

“It’s not your fault you know. Things happen and nothing is fool proof.” My hand rubs his back as tears spill from his waterline.

“I would give anything to get her back. Anything.” He looks away from me momentarily, his hands wiping his cheeks.

“I know… I would too.” He pulls me into a hug, his chin hooking over my shoulder.

———00:00:48:55———

It was less than an hour before commencement. My work was merciful enough to give us the week off so I was allowed to stay home while I prepared for the Purge. Gus, on the other hand wasn’t so lucky. As soon as he rushed through the door he locked himself in the bathroom, the shower running. Leaning against the door, I listened for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied that the only noises I could hear were the pelting of water against tile, I pulled away and started on dinner. As soon as he got out of the shower, he pressed his sticky skin against my back with a chuckle.

“Hey…”

I rolled my eyes playfully, “Hey yourself…” Wiggling my body so I could face him, my hands push against his chest. “Why don’t you get dressed. We’re going to start lock down soon.” He nods, his expression dropping down along with his head. With a deep inhale he pulls himself away from me before dragging himself into the shared bedroom.

As I rushed around the kitchen, the news and their countdown timer as background noise, I gathered all of the ingredients for some stuffed bell peppers. ‘Hopefully this will help you get your mind off of things…’ Just as I was about to start chopping a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. A pulsing feeling running through my body as Gus slips on a shirt, eyes locking with mine before going over to the door. I watch as he takes a look through the peephole, his shoulders relaxing. He shakes his head with a sad smile.

“I’ll be right back. It’s Mr. Faux, I ran into him earlier, I think he’s here to continue our conversation…” As he cracks the door open, he waits for me to leave.

“What about?”

His head shakes once more, “Nothing important… Just about the front door. It won’t be a problem after tonight.” I nod, smiling. Just as I’m about to head back into the kitchen, I look back at him once more.

“Is everything alright? I know this day is pretty hard for you… I’m here if you want to talk about it.” My hands fiddle with the side of my shirt, “You know that right?” The corners of his mouth lift up but his eyes don’t shine like they usually do. He nods before slipping outside. My fingers tighten around my shirt as I head back to the kitchen, the pulsing feeling still not leaving my body.

As soon as I had placed the peppers in the oven, Gus walked back in his eyes darting everywhere else but mine. Going over towards him, I watched as he ran his fingers along the pictures of us together hung up on the wall. Placing a hand onto his shoulder, I let him shrug me away, a sigh escaping his lips. Turning back towards me, he opens his mouth to speak but the TV interrupts him. The screen flashing blue, the monotone voice playing through the speakers as the alarm blares at us. Commencement.

———00:11:59:59———

"(Y/n)… Mr. Faux said there's a car waiting for you outside. Are you planning to go to that party?" I shook my head.

"No. Are they still there?" Gus shrugs a sigh escaping his throat. I watch as he swings himself over the couch, a groan escaping his throat. I watched as he leaned forward, hands cupping the back of his head before leaning back once more.

"There's something I need to tell you… Come here." He waves me over. Cautiously walking over towards him, I take a seat and let my fingers thread through his. His eyebrows furrow into a thin line, "About that letter—"

All the lights go out followed by accompanying screams. His fingers tighten around mine, "What's going on?"

"I need to get you out of here. This isn't worth it. It isn't worth it let's go." He tugs me up and drags me around the unit, through the darkness, the screams get louder. His hand never left mine as he swung the front door open. Leading me through the building, a sliver of light hits our eyes as I realize we're at the back of the building. "Once you're out, run to my car," he hands me his set of keys, "get in and lock it. If I'm not there in ten minutes, start driving without me. Go to this location. Take the back roads. Once you arrive, the password is written on the back of the paper. In the glove compartment there is a mask with neon lights. Turn it on and cover your identity. No matter what, you will not take it off until this night is over and you are safe. Completely. Without a doubt, safe. Got that?"

My head spins, "Gus, please." His fingers curl around my shoulders. Looking behind him, he sighs.

"Please. Please just do it. Okay?" Nodding, he presses his lips to mine, warmth flooding my body, "I love you so much. Please, stay safe." Carefully he takes off the barricades from the door and props it open. Checking the immediate surroundings around the building, he nods at me. "Go first, I'll be behind you to cover you."

Nodding, I make a full sprint towards his car, both items clenched tight between my fingers. Moments later, I jumped into the drivers seat, the doors locked behind me as I waited for him to catch up. I feel my uneven breaths escape from my slightly parted lips.

Gus pops up next to me, hand slamming against the window. "(Y/n), I'm here, unlock the door!" After following his command, I clamber over the side console and into the passenger seat. Once Gus settles in, he combs his hair with his slender fingers. His eyes were wide as he gripped the steering wheel. "Are… Are you ready?" He says somewhat breathlessly. I nod and let him drive us to our destination.

———00:11:24:19———

After about thirty minutes into the drive, we finally arrived at a large office-like building. Giant spotlights bolted into the ground shined up at the tinted windows. Pulling up towards the front drive, two men in fully padded suits waited at the front door, eyes trained forward guns strapped to their backs and legs. Turning towards Gus, who has refused to answer any of my questions so far, reaches into the glove compartment and places the mask over his face. Reaching inside once again, he takes out a similar mask, only mine has a wider toothy grin plastered on the front.

Handing it to me, he waits for it to cover my features before exiting the car. Opening my door, he takes my hand and pulls me so I stand behind him, his left hand roughly gripping my right one as he leads us up towards the padded suits. One turns towards him, a grimace etched into his lips as he leans forward. A deep booming voice growls out, "Password."

"AV 2782." The suit nods to their counterpart as they swing the doors open for us. Inside, a crushed velvet carpet and matching curtains decorate the room. Figures donned in blank white masks stand single file blocking us from moving anywhere but forward. Letting Gus lead the way, I follow him to the front desk where a figure donned in a splitting, two faced mask holds out his hands. I watch as Gus reaches into his pocket, pulling out his ID and placing it into the form's hands, Gus turns towards me.

"I don't have my ID… I left it in the apartment…" I whisper, hands clutching his shirt. He shakes his head.

"Don't worry. Do you still have the letter?" I nodded. "Good. Hand it to them and when we get inside, stick to me." Pulling it out of my pocket, my gut twists as I let them take it from me. After a quick scan at both, the white masked figures create a small opening for us to walk through.

Heading into the elevator and up to the top floor, Gus' fingers slap away my hands, his eyes unable to meet mine. Even behind closed doors. Once they open, dim lights and people sitting at circular tables, all focus onto us.

A figure donned in a feathery mask stands, somewhat elevated, at the front of the room. With a microphone in hand, they take a deep breath in, a smile creeping up onto their face, "Let the games begin."

———00:10:59:59———

We are lead to a table in the back of the room, the lights dimming around us. Now seated, Gus grabs my hand, squeezing me tight. A light flashes towards the front. An exhibition. A red dot at the corner of the screen projected onto the wall indicating that what we’re currently seeing is live. A series of images flashes before us. A padded room with a singular chair placed in the middle, several shots of a park, another of an office building. The screen goes black for a moment as a spotlight shines onto a mask-less announcer stands before us. Her attire is unlike anyone else’s. Tight leather wraps around her figure like a second skin, bright neon makeup painting her features. In smeary purple lipstick, she raises her microphone to her lips, a slurty voice putting us all in a trance.

“Welcome everyone… I’m so glad to announce this year’s contestants for the Purge Party,” she pauses, pulling out a paper, “Out of the thirty six invitations sent out to our people, only three of them came willingly… One is missing.” She purrs. Turning towards the screen she scans the faces that have now popped up on screen.

“Well, not really…” her eyes lock with mine, tongue running along her lips with a moan, “It seems as though our little runaway wanted to join our fun…” A spotlight illuminates our table, Gus’ fingers squeezing mine tightly. “And here I thought we would have to say goodbye to little Sara. You know the rules, Hon. We need all thirty six players… Is Sara our replacement for your little Mouse?”

Gus stands up, his fingers shaking as he looks down towards me. His hand never leaving mine he looks back up towards the announcer. “I wanted to deliver this one personally. They’re quite the fighter…” his voice cracks, “It was the most logical decision.” The crowd cheers as two bulky frames rush to my side, pulling me from my seat and dragging me away behind metal doors.

My mask drops from my face as I scream out to Gus. He doesn’t look back.

[amberlynnmurdock]

New Love, New Haven

Chapter Thirteen: Relations between Wethersfield and New Haven

Pairing: Benjamin Tallmadge x Original Female Character

Summary: Ben and Sadie communicate through letters, but keeping up is harder than it seems.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this update, friends! We're approaching the final chapters, which makes me sad, but we have some fun chapters coming soon!!

New Haven 

End of August 1773 

Ben’s first letter came as soon as a week after he left town on horseback for Wethersfield. Sadie snatched the letter from her father’s hands. Her sprint caused her father's hair to sway over his forehead. 

“Aye! No running in the tavern,” Richard scolded, like Sadie was still a child. She didn’t care. Sadie sat at the end of the bar and ripped the wax-sealed envelope open. Suddenly, the noise of the tavern drowned out as Sadie began to read the letter in Ben’s voice. 

Dear Sadie, 

I’ve finally settled into my temporary home. I just arrived tonight, and after unpacking, I immediately wanted to write to you so I could send this letter by morning. You would love this abode I’m in. It’s small, but it’s got a lot of character. There’s a fireplace for when winter comes around. I have a big enough bed—anything is better than the small cots Yale made us sleep on. At least my desk is large; perfect for grading papers, reading, and of course, writing to you. I think I’ll find myself doing that a lot here. 

I miss you so much. I’ve not gone a day without thinking of you and our last night spent together. It’s on my mind, constantly. I better stop thinking of it now. 

I hope you’re enjoying the books I’ve left for you. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on them. I know we may be apart, but my heart feels like it’s with you.

Class starts next week. I can’t wait to tell you about my students. 

Yours, 

Benjamin Tallmadge 

Sadie read and re-read the letter, feeling her heart jump in her chest. This letter easily made her day. She tucked it in her dress’ front pocket and continued the rest of her shift, with Ben tucked in the back of her mind. 

☆☆☆☆

That night, Sadie sat up at her desk and began to write her response to Ben. 

Dear Benjamin,

I’ve been re-reading Shakespeare’s sonnets. They remind me of you. Reading them makes me feel like there isn’t such a distance between us. 

I can hardly wait to hear about how your first class went. I’m sure by the time you receive this letter you’ll already be on your fifth or sixth class. I know your students will love the way you teach, like I do. It’ll be hard for them to be distracted because of how captivating you are. What will you be teaching first? You forgot to mention in your letter. You know I love every detail when it comes to learning. 

Your dwelling sounds cozy. I can imagine how it looks. Your desk is large? Similar to the size of the desks at Yale? I bet you and I could fit both our work on there and work side by side. Then again, maybe we wouldn’t get much work done if I were there with you. 

I’m sorry if that was crude. 

I haven’t stopped thinking of our last night together, either. It makes me yearn for our next one even more. 

It’s tough without you and Nathan. I can’t lie. But it’s nice to have Genny here. The tavern is still busy, but I always half expect to see you and Nathan bounding through the doors.

Until your next letter. 

Yours, 

Sadie Hale 

Sadie’s eyelids began to feel heavy. She placed her quill in the ink pot and blew out her candle. Her room felt so very dark, and very cold, without Ben. She laid her paper out for the ink to dry and tucked herself in bed, thoughts of Ben lulling her to sleep. 

☆☆☆☆

For many weeks, it looked like that first week without Ben. 

Like clockwork, Sadie checked the mail for his letter every week or so and she wouldn’t hesitate to write a response that same night. She loved to receive his letters—it felt like it was Christmas each time a new one came in. What would Ben have to say now? What new updates? How was school going? How was the weather in Wethersfield? 

His letters have been positive for the most part, but it wasn’t until Sadie received his last letter, in October, that things started to feel as uncertain as the night he left. 

Wethersfield 

October 1773

The ocean was so dark blue that it was almost black. The sound of the water running up the shore and then falling back into itself put Ben in a trance. His feet dug into the sand. The night was completely still. The color of the sky matched the color of the ocean, save for the stars that twinkled. He looked up at them as they formed a new constellation, one he hadn’t seen before, one he thinks he’d name Sadie. He’s alone. 

And with a jolt, Ben wakes up in his cot, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. His tiny room was hot and stuffy. Leaving a window open hadn’t helped at all. Ben kicked the thin sheets off of him and groggily stomped over to his desk. He was sure he was supposed to be up in a few hours for school. The next class is about basic algebra. But Ben’s not thinking about the lesson plan or what comes after that—his thoughts, and now he supposed, his dreams, were consumed by Sadie. He was struggling more than he thought by being so far away from her. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat at his large wooden desk and lit a candle. 

Ben stared at the flame for a few moments before he searched for his ink, quill and paper. He began to write a letter to Sadie. 

Dear Sadie, 

It’s the middle of the night, and I’ve just woken up from a dream about you. I was at the beach alone. I felt completely in solitude. Something about the environment made me feel safe like you were there. And the stars in my dream formed a constellation I hadn’t seen before; it probably doesn’t exist, but when I looked at them, I thought of you. And then I woke up, to this reality of you not being here with me. I miss you terribly. I can hardly wait for the winter. I’m going to try my hardest to see New Haven before I go to Setauket. 

Tomorrow’s class is on algebra. I can’t teach them the complex subjects we studied together yet. When I do, I’ll take what I’ve learned from you and incorporate it. I think you’d love my pupils, Sadie. They are young and bright; eager to learn. 

I miss you, terribly. Please know that I think of you every waking moment—even when I dream. 

Yours, 

Benjamin Tallmadge 

Ben sighed as he laid the paper out for the ink to dry. He pulled out an envelope and laid it next to the letter to serve as a reminder in the morning to drop it at the post. He wished he had something of Sadie to hold close: a piece of clothing, a chain, one of her bows…anything. Anything, he wished he could hold close to his heart. But he had nothing. Nothing but his memories and whatever they translated to in his dreams. 

Feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him again, Ben returns to his cot. It’s so hot, he doesn’t bother throwing his sheets over again. 

New Haven

November 1773 

It was a misty morning in New Haven, and Sadie was preparing for the day ahead. 

New Haven felt much quieter these days, without Nathan coming by in the afternoons. Everything in the town was still the same: she saw the same shops open early, and the same townsfolk coming to the tavern at night, but with Nathan and Ben away, the changes felt like a big ripple in a small pond. Sadie kept to herself and did her chores quietly around the tavern. She helped her father carry new ale barrels up the stairs. She cleaned, she served, she smiled. 

She missed Nathan dearly. Sadie kept the thought of him constantly, like carrying a satchel on her shoulder. 

And of course, her thoughts always wandered to Ben. But she tried to only think of him at night before she was about to go to bed. It was too painful to think of him during the day—Sadie wouldn’t be able to get anything done if she did. So, she saved him for the night, because the night reminded her of him in so many ways: their late-night secret meetings, meeting him down by the door to go to the shore, that last night they had in her bed… 

She laced up her boots and got up from her bed. Before she went downstairs to prep the bar, she paused at her desk, which had Ben’s most recent letter displayed. She picked up the paper and read it again. It was about a dream he’d had of her. Yes, it was November now, and Ben’s most recent letter was from mid-October. 

If Sadie’s predictions were right, he should have received her response right before the end of October. But now it was mid-November and almost the holidays. Nathan would be coming back to New Haven in a few weeks, and Ben? Well, she didn’t know, because she hasn’t heard from him. 

For a long time, Sadie convinced herself it was because he was busy. Taking on a new teaching job came with a lot of responsibilities. He’d have to keep up with a lot of students and grade a lot of papers. And Sadie knew Ben’s work ethic—he practically threw himself into his work, letting each subject and lesson consume him, he must’ve gotten too busy, Sadie thought. Maybe his lessons got mixed up with his letters. Maybe he was planning on writing her a large update and was saving it for now. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Maybe he met someone else. 

She shooed the thought away as soon it crept into her mind. 

Sadie felt her heart wrench as she read and re-read his letter. She was transported back to her late summer evenings with Ben, trading sweet nothings and poetry, his notes…for a moment, she wasn’t pretending like she didn’t miss him. But then she heard her father call from the bar, and Sadie placed the letter back down and went downstairs. With each creak of the step, an image of Ben faded from her mind. 

Cleaning the tavern was a good distraction from it all. And it got even better when people began to trickle in, asking for ale or water. Asking Sadie what it was like to be without her brother. Saying they missed Nathan’s shining smile, too. Genny came in around noon, to Sadie’s delight. 

“I’ve got great news,” Genny beamed as she met Sadie at the bar. Sadie leaned over and rested her head in her hand. 

“Go on!” Sadie urged. 

“My father said if we wanted to, and your father would allow it, we could spend the spring next year in Middletown,” Genny said in a hushed tone. “You know, to study the herbs and learn about healing.” 

Sadie opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss for words. Well, what would happen if Nathan came around then? What if she needed to help her father here? What about Ben? How long would they stay there? 

“I…”

“Sadie, what is it?” Genny asked. “I thought you’d be excited. Middletown! A new place.” 

“It’s not that I’m not excited. It’s just that I have so much going on here in New Haven. What if I leave and Nathan decides to come back for a weekend? I’ve got to see him. And… you know, there’s Ben,” Sadie explained sheepishly. She felt a dent in her heart when she explained her grievances. 

Genny gave her a sympathetic look. “Sadie. You can’t place your life on hold, waiting for other people. Of course, Nathan is your brother—you’ll see him. But Ben? Has he written you back since October?” 

Sadie’s face darkened as she looked away, embarrassed. “Not yet.” 

Genny shrugged her shoulders. “This would be a good opportunity for us both. Get us both out of here. The boys did it! Why can’t we?” 

Sadie bit her lip. You can’t place your life on hold. 

“Well, all right. I guess the reality of it is what makes me nervous. I’ll speak to my father tonight. Perhaps, he may be more convinced if your father came in to talk about it. Over ale,” Sadie added. 

Genny smiled, “Perfect. I’ll see if he can tonight.” 

After Genny left, Sadie felt another dent form in her heart; things were changing and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

☆☆☆☆

Later that evening, Sadie sat at her desk, contemplating bringing her ink and quill out to write a letter to Ben. Since when did she feel so unsure of herself, when it came to Ben? Would it be strange to send another letter after he hadn’t replied to her? The last she checked, Ben was writing about dreams of her and telling her how much he missed her. What had changed? 

After much convincing, Sadie told herself that the purpose of this letter would be to inform Ben of her new ventures starting next spring. She’d be in Middletown, with Genny, studying healing. Middletown was not that far from Wethersfield and Sadie hated the hopeful feeling this thought brought. 

Dear Benjamin, 

I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope everything is all right in Wethersfield. I can’t wait to hear about your lessons and pupils. I think I wrote that in my last letter. Are you okay? I’d love to hear from you. It’s been a while. 

I’m writing this letter to inform you that next spring I’ll be staying with Genny and her father in Middletown. We will be studying healing and herbs. After her father came in to talk to my father, he was convinced it would be a good learning opportunity and agreed to let me go. Of course, what’s heavy on my mind is what happens to us. But there’s not much I can do if I don’t hear from you. I can’t say no to an opportunity like this. 

If it’s meant to be, it will be, you and I. 

I’m holding on dearly to what we have, but I can’t hold on forever, Ben. 

I really do hope I hear from you soon. 

Yours, 

Sadie Hale 

A tear fell down Sadie’s cheek, splotching the word “Yours.” But Sadie didn't notice when she folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope. 

[underaverageheight]

Love (5/8)

HJS x fem!reader Fluff, established relationship Warning(s): None Slightly proofread

Feel free to reblog and like with feedback, comments are great but I won't be able to respond since this is a sub-blog

“Oh, Minho can you believe it? We’re getting married! We want you to be the best man at the wedding.” You grinned brightly while talking to your best friend. Jisung held your hand, lifting your intertwined hands up to kiss the back of your hand. The three of you decided to meet up at a coffee shop in order to break the news to Minho.

“Congrats, I knew as soon you guys started dating that it’ll last. Jisung is the type that falls head over heels. I’m sure deep in his heart he knew he wanted to marry you,” Minho smirked, causing Jisung to bury his face in your shoulder, embarrassed. Everyone knew Jisung was too chicken to propose so you surprised him with a ring and he started crying.

“Aw Jiii~” You cooed, rubbing the back of his hand with your free hand.

Minho gave you two a mocking look of disgust, “Get a room won’t you?” Laughing, you pulled a crisp vanilla envelope from your bag and handed it to him.

“Don’t be late, Minho. We're going to get going now, thanks for coming!”

“You know that the groom and bride shouldn’t see each other, right?” Your mother chided you, wanting you to stay with them the few days before the wedding. “I stayed with my parents a few days before I married your father, you know that right?”

You groaned, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Ji right now and pack.” Driving back to the home the two of you shared, you found Jisung sleeping soundly on the couch, note cards, crumpled paper, and pens on his lap and floor. You quietly cleaned off the numerous objects covering your future husband, noticing he was writing his vows. You smiled fondly, flipping them over, covering them, and making sure you did not read anymore. Your vows were sealed in a blue envelope, tucked away in a photo book he made for you for your 5th anniversary. You pulled a blanket over your sleeping fiance and started to clean up the paper. You figured it’d be better to let him sleep and just tell him in the morning. He already knew about the groom-not-seeing-the-bride-thing but you still needed to tell him.

“Morning Ji,” You walked into the kitchen, yawning. “My mom,” you sighed, “wants me to stay at the house til the wedding starting tomorrow. Is that okay with you? I can try to reason with my mom for more time,” You trailed off, worried about your fiance’s reaction.

“That’s okay… I understand and don’t want you and your mom to be on bad terms before the wedding. I’ll probably stay with the guys back in the company’s dorms. Probably in my old room. There have been a few things I’ve been meaning to retrieve from there anyways.” Jisung smiled, giving you a peck on the forehead. “Want me to help you pack?”

Jisung drove you to your parent’s house. Rather than yesterday, he seemed more anxious now than before. “Love you, I’ll see you in a few days,” He hugged you tightly. “Y’know, if we postpone the wedding, you wouldn’t have to go? What about just not getting married and just keep dating for the rest of our lives?”

“Ji, it’s for a few days, I’m not leaving you forever.” You smiled, his clingy self was adorable. You kissed him, “I love you too. Make sure to get some rest, I want to marry my Jisung, not a zombie,”

Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: I was very excited to write this, the full plan of this would have been really long but I might write a part 2 for this to finish my story...stay tuned~

[buckys-black-dress]

i follow you (pretend you want me to)

a/n: hey guys. i know its been a reeaaaally long time but here we are with a nice lil best friends brother bucky fic! this is what happens when your best friend has a cute older brother but you know it'll never happen.

wc: 3k words

[ best friend's brother!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

-

You never, ever, in all in your years, imagine you would find yourself in the position you're currently in.

As someone who only recently became local to the New York City area, your best friend Rebecca has been letting you stay at her place as a favor as you search for an apartment.

It's been a bit difficult so far, as the rent is insanely expensive and you've been extremely busy with your job as a new nurse.

The other part?

Oh, right.

The fact that Rebecca lives with her shy, albeit gorgeous, older brother, James.

You've been best friends with Rebecca for 3 years now, but you both clicked so easily from the beginning, like sisters. You would spend any free weekends traveling to New York to see her, which meant staying with James when he was there.

At first, you never realized that James himself was just a quiet guy. At times, his silence made you uneasy; like he was silently judging you.

But over time, you've come to realize he just kept to himself. He was also a big homebody, but he still has a solid friend group that he goes out with from time to time.

So back to the current situation.

Rebecca had an early class she had on Fridays, and she left while telling you to make yourself at home and raid the fridge for breakfast.

So, naturally, you asked James if he'd like some, as well.

And he agreed. So you got started on a breakfast spread that Rebecca could have some of when she got back as well.

"You made so much food, Y/N. Who's gonna eat all of this?" James comes out of his room, sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a white t-shirt that may be a size too small for him.

Good god. Why am I staying here? I really need to find my own place. Fast.

"Oh, well... I felt bad. So I thought I'd make enough for Becca when she got back. It's also a thank you for letting me stay here, I guess." You justify with a timid smile.

"You know you're always welcome here, Y/N." He smiles and you feel your heart stutter.

"Thanks, James. I really appreciate it. Anyways, the food's all ready if you wanna sit and eat?"

He nods and takes his place at one of the wooden stools on the other side of the counter and you slide a plate in front of him.

"So, Y/N, I never asked you about what happened when you got home?" James poses after a few minutes of silence.

He was referring to when while you were gone for a weekend coming to see Becca, but your mom had recently found out you had gotten a tattoo on a whim while you were out with friends one weekend.

Of course, you hid it from your parents, and while you were careful to not let it show, you knew the spot wasn't too hidden and it was only a matter of time until they saw.

Your mother saw it on a faithful afternoon, and from there it spiraled.

Your dad hated tattoos, but your parents had let you get one when you first turned 18 as a one-and-done deal.

Of course, one wasn't enough.

The tattoo was on your inner upper arm, placed delicately right in the crook of your underarm. You often had to look for it to see it. It was a small envelope with a heart sealing it. It was simple and cute, on a whim you decided to get it and you loved it.

Although you didn't think every tattoo had to have some deep meaning, this one was just for you.

But alas, while you were away for a weekend, your mother had decided to tell your father about it.

It was a good thing... and a bad thing.

On one hand, you knew he was going to be extremely upset with you.

But on the other, he had a few days to process what you did while you were still gone, and you hoped this would help him calm down a little bit before you got back.

While you were with Becca, James was the one who found you in a panic about the news when your mother told you that she told your father.

"Hey, you okay?" His voice comes from across the room.

Your form on the couch is quite the sight. Eyes, bulging and wide. Shoulders squared and tense. Not a hint of a smile on your face.

"Uh- I... I am not. But that's alright. I can deal with it later." You try to laugh it off.

"No, what's wrong? Maybe I can help." He offers, and you smile at that. You wonder how a while ago, you thought he hated you. He was just a quiet person.

"I just... I'm in trouble with my parents. I got a tattoo a while back and my mom saw it, and now she told my dad while I'm here. So I think I might get my ass kicked once I get back home." You explain with a nervous laugh.

"Oh... that really sucks. What's the tattoo?" He asks curiously, and you lift your t-shirt sleeve to point it out. "That's not so bad... trust me, I've seen much worse."

"Yeah, my parents just don't love tattoos and I was only supposed to have one that they allowed, but this one was just for me, you know?" You tell him.

"I get it... I mean, you're probably gonna still get more down the line, so maybe this is a good thing. Get them acclimated to them." James laughs, and it makes you crack a smile.

"Oh," you breathed out a laugh, "it was honestly fine. He got mad for a few minutes and kind of got over it. He would get pissed when I would wear shirts where you could see it but he's pretty much past it now."

"That's good. So does that mean it's okay if you get more, or they're still gonna give you a hard time?" He wonders.

"Funny, I've actually already gotten another since then. But it's also pretty small." It was kind of ironic how big of a deal your parents made, but they just decided you were never going to listen. So now, it was just best to do whatever you wanted.

Which was to get a bunch of tattoos.

"Really? Can I see?"

The question catches you off guard for a moment, not expecting him to be so eager to ask you to see the new ink.

"Oh! Sure, it's on my back, so let me just..." Your voice trails off, quickly turning away from him to lift the back of your t-shirt that you've slept in. "I think this one is my favorite so far." Your voice is weak, feeling exposed with your entire bare back out.

The tattoo was on your back, just below your left shoulder blade. It was a unique placement to you, the wording you've chosen going vertically rather than horizontally.

The script reads 'golden' in the most delicate cursive, written by your grandmother. It was your first tattoo that held sentimental value, and you loved it more than anything you've ever seen.

The silence hung in the air, and you could feel his eyes lingering on the one patch of ink on your back. You wish you could look at him and see what he if he had anything particular that could give away how he was feeling.

You wanted to speak, but there seemed to be too much tension that built in your throat.

When you almost got the courage to say something, you feel a light fingertip skate right over the spot. You're pretty sure all breathing stops.

Oh, now I'm not saying anything.

"It's... it's a beautiful tattoo. Suits you well." James' voice was low and raspy, and it made you shiver. As if him being in such close proximity to you was causing him physical pain.

"Thanks..." You struggle to catch your breath. What the hell is going on?

Not once, in all your years of knowing him, has James ever made it even seem like he had any interest in you. But now... now your head was spinning and his finger was still tracing over your skin and you can't fucking breathe.

"I- uh, sorry, I should start on these dishes." You nervously spit out, somehow forming a coherent sentence.

But as you move to get out of your chair, the same hand that was on your back a few, mere moments ago was now holding your wrist. It was as if his entire hand swallowed it.

Fuck.

"Y/N." He holds your gaze a little too intently, squirming under it.

"James..."

"Did I... was that uncomfortable? Did I go too far?" He sounded nervous, and you almost wanted to cry at how sincere he sounded.

"Oh, no! No, no, James, you- no, you're absolutely fine! I- I wasn't expecting it, and you touched me, which I don't think you've ever done it like that before, and it was just a lot-"

"A lot?" James' mouth is slanting into a grin and you hate how handsome he looks, you despise how devastatingly beautiful he is.

"Don't smile at me like that, you have never once in your life smiled at me in that way and I don't think I can survive this if you're making fun of me."

"Making fun of you? Y/N, I would never-"

"Oh you so would, don't even start with that."

"Well, I wasn't doing it this time! Jus' really like your... tattoo..." The uncertainty of his voice makes you pause your spiraling thoughts for a moment, and you have to take a good look at him.

"You like it?" You take your seat next to him again, facing him.

You were closer to him than you remember before.

"Well, more than like it, but whatever." He mumbles under his breath, his eyes trained on your face.

Your breathing practically stops at his confession, not knowing what to do with this information.

But it seems like he does. His vision has not once wavered from your eyes or lips.

Why is he looking at your lips like that?

"Can I kiss you, Y/N?" James' tone is quiet, intimate.

Oh. That's why.

"Yeah." You can barely strangle out of your throat, but you needed to say it before this opportunity slipped right out of your grasp.

And before you could even suggest that he didn't have to kiss you if he really didn't want to, you feel the breath escape your lungs as James places his lips upon yours.

They're chapped, a little rough, but you don't mind it one single bit. His hands come to envelop the sides of your face, and you think you could become a puddle on the stool, right there and then.

For a moment, you feel like none of this was real. What are the odds, your best friend's extremely cute older brother, who you've found attractive for some time now, is kissing you? The same one who has always acted indifferent around you? The one you thought saw you as nothing?

When you finally, (begrudgingly,) pull away from him, you have to take a moment to yourself; your eyes stay closed. Maybe this was all a dream and you've been imagining this whole thing.

"Open your eyes, Y/N. I wanna see those pretty E/C eyes." James doesn't demand, but his tone makes you want to open your eyes.

As your gaze is fixed on him, you wonder what he's thinking. What did he think of that kiss? Did he like it? Was it something he wanted to do again? Did he absolutely hate it and never wanted to see you again?

"I can sense you're spiraling in there, sweetheart. What's going on up there?" His hand is caressing the side of your face, and you feel like you could melt just there and then. A puddle on a stool in the kitchen is how Rebecca will find you when she gets back.

"I... I don't know. All I can think about is your hand on my face right now." Is what you can bring yourself to answer with right now.

"Do you like my hand being there? Or would you like me to move it?"

"No, please don't move it. I don't know what'll happen if you do." You sigh dramatically, and it elicits a smile from him.

"What do you mean?"

"What if you move your hand and suddenly I wake up and this was all some cruel dream? What if this isn't real and it's all in my head right now?" You ask, quite pathetically, you admit.

"It's not a dream, angel. I kissed you. You let me. And I think now would be the appropriate time for me to ask you something." James says gently, like the bubble around you two will burst if he speaks any louder.

Your brow furrows in question, and you nod for him to go on.

"Would it be alright if I asked you out? On a real date? I've been wanting to take you out for a while now... and I think now's a good time to ask." He smiles that smirk again, and you want to melt all over again.

"I would really, really love that, James." You feel like you're floating right now, like it's too good to be true. "Can I tell you something funny?" He nods.

"I've... I thought you were cute from the day I first met you. But you always acted so... indifferent around me, so I never thought I even stood a chance, and I kinda gave up on the idea you'd ever see me that way. But now... I think this is one of the best days of my life."

A moment of silence passes between you two.

"Y/N... the first time Becca introduced me to you, I thought to myself, 'She's the most gorgeous person I've ever seen.' And from that day on, I tried to find a way to talk to you, but I was just a wimp. But trust me, you were running circles 'round my mind from the first day." He confesses, and you feel the blush overtake your face at his confession.

"Really, James?"

"Really, Y/N." His smile makes you believe it.

"I knew it! I knew it, I was wondering when one of you wan gonna break!' Rebecca's voice comes from the doorway of the apartment, you and James breaking apart at the yell.

"Jesus, Reb, gonna give me a heart attack one day." James mumbles.

"Shut up! Don't try and change the subject! I knew you two had a thing for each other. Did you guys kiss? Oh my-" Her dramatics continue on, and you hold back the smile while rolling your eyes.

"Well, your brother here is going to take me out on a date. Happy?" You supply, hoping it'll calm her down.

Of course, it does the opposite.

"Really? Holy shit, didn't think you had it in ya, Jamie! Good job!"

"Rebecca... please. I'm two seconds away from tackling you to the ground."

"Try your best, big guy. I can handle it!" She replies, and you stifle your giggle as James moves up from his seat and starts towards his sister.

"No!" She shrieks, running away.

"You said you could handle it!" James' voice resonates from another room she ran into.

"I lied! Stop! Leave me alone! Y/N, help!"

"Sorry, Reb. I got nothin'!" You yell out, hoping she heard you.

"Oh, I see how it is, now that he told you he likes you you're taking his side!" She runs out, James hot on her heels.

"That's right!" He confirms, flashing you a quick grin as he runs.

"James, leave her alone. I have something for you!" You hope to catch his attention, and it works when he stops right in front of you.

"What's that, pretty girl?" His arms come on either side of you on the chair and countertop as you're sat sideways on the stool.

You don't speak, just pushing yourself up to meet his lips once again, feeling him melt into you as your hands lace behind his neck to pull him down even further.

"God, now I'm gonna have to get used to this." Rebecca fakes a gag at you two.

"Yeah, you better. She's not goin' anywhere." James replies without moving his eyes off of you. "C'mon, both of you, get ready. Gotta treat both my girls to a nice cup of coffee. Ten minutes!"

As you nod, you watch him walk into his room, and Rebecca just stares at you with a maniac smile. She moves towards you and wraps you in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so happy for the both of you. I can't believe he finally made a move." She tells you.

"You knew?"

"I could tell. He always had that look in his eyes when you weren't looking." Rebecca explains.

"What look?" You ask, bewildered.

"Y'know... the look. The look that you can't see, but everyone else can tell. He's got hearts in his eyes and angels flying around his head." She laughs.

You can't say anything, stunned by her words, but she just pats your shoulder and motions for you to get ready.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed, or we'll never hear the end of it from him."

"I heard that!" James' voice echoes from his room, and you both laugh.

As you walk into Rebecca's room, you can't help feel like you're finally whole. Like you aren't crazy, and that maybe... just maybe... there really is someone for everyone.

[lollipopwrites]

Sandbox Love Never Dies

hey loves, i wrote this at like 2 am so excuse any typos/moments where it doesn't flow right/grammatical errors. also this fic is purely for fun!! an actual relationship with regina george or anyone like her would not go well, don't get any ideas. okay enjoy!

pairing: regina george x reader

genre: fluff

description: you decide to visit your childhood friend and the visit takes an unexpected turn

warnings: a slightly toxic friendship/relationship between reader and regina, mentions of being strangled and being lit on fire, house egging, mentions of police, mentions of break ups, lmk if i missed something!

Sandbox Love Never Dies

The second after you knocked on the door to the massive George family estate, you were enveloped in a crushing embrace by the matriarch of the family herself.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you, babe! I feel like you haven’t been here in forever!” Mrs. George exclaimed while you hugged. You wanted to respond, but she had wrapped you up at such an angle that your face was smashed into her breasts, which made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

Thankfully, she pulled away from the hug, a beam plastered onto her face. You tried not to show how out of breath you were. Those boobs could strangle.

“Regina’s in her room. She’s gonna be so goo goo to see you!” Mrs. George said giddily, clapping her hands like a happy little seal.

You cleared your throat to avoid snorting in laughter, “Goo goo?”

“Oh yeah,” Mrs. George giggled, leading you through the living room, “Regina’s been teaching me some slang. She says goo goo is all the rage nowadays. Anything to keep me young, y’know?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, struggling to keep the amusement off of your face.

You waved to Kylie, Regina’s younger sister, who was watching… Scream 3?

Isn’t she like 6? You wondered idly, but then realized that anything was possible in this family. They were certified weirdos.

Your family and the George’s had been connected since before you were born. Mr. George had gone to high school with your father, and they passed their bond down to you and Regina.

Regina and you had been tight in kindergarten, but your family moved a city over in first grade, and when you didn’t go to school together anymore, the two of you grew apart. But you still reconnected every couple of months.

Mrs. George’s knocks on Regina’s bedroom door jabbed you out of your thoughts.

“What the hell do you want, mom?” Regina hissed from behind the door.

Her mother’s smile was unwavering. “Y/N’s here, hon! Don’t you want to see her?”

With a swift fling, the door opened and you were face to face with your childhood best friend’s calculating eyes. She looked you over once and raised a perfect brow, before breaking into a wide, sweet smile.

Regina’s smile held one uncanny resemblance to her mother’s; it was fake.

“Thanks, mommy! Y/N, come in, come in,” she grabbed your wrist and pulled you into her gigantic room, slamming the door in her mother’s face.

“Ugh, sorry about her, she’s annoying isn’t she?” Regina said with an eye roll, sitting neatly on her bed.

“Don’t be mean. Your mom’s sweet.” You replied, flopping onto the bed next to her.

Most people cowered at Regina. Agreed to everything she said avidly, afraid that she’d bite. But you’d known her well enough and long enough not to be afraid of her. You were the one person at her level.

Regina let out a dry scoff, “Yeah, yeah.” Her face turned speculative. “So how have things been, Pickles?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Regina had called you that ever since you finished a jar of pickles by yourself in less than 3 minutes when you were 12.

“Eh,” you answered plainly.

“Only ‘eh’? How’re things going with, uh…” she waved her hand around in the air as if she were trying to conjure the name of the person she was thinking of. “Martial?” She guessed halfheartedly.

“James.” You corrected with a chuckle, “And we called things off. He was too… I don’t know. Normal-ish.”

“That’s not a word.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You could’ve just said normal, there was no need for the ‘ish’ part--”

“He was too normal,” you cut her off, brows raised, “there was nothing about him that set him apart from others.”

She considered your words, “I get it… you only allow special people in your life. Such as myself.” She smiled cheekily.

You grinned fondly. “Yep. Just like you.”

She concealed her blush with a glare. “Aren’t you going to ask about me? You and Martial aren’t the stars of the show, you know.”

“Ah, yes. How are you doing? Are you and Aaron still together?”

Regina’s smirk contorted into a deep frown. “He broke up with me.” She pouted with a sniff.

“Aw, babes.” You scooted over to her and wrapped her into a hug.

“I mean, it’s not like we haven’t broken up before, but normally we get together after a week or two! It’s been like a month!” She sobbed into your shoulder.

You rubbed her back in slow circles. She was crying crocodile tears, this you knew, but you comforted her anyway.

“And I saw him flirting with that horse Amy Lewinsky at Connor's house party last week… I just don’t know what to think!” She continued.

You pulled away from the hug to grab the tissue box and hand it to her. “I’m sorry, ‘Gina.”

“Call me Gina one more time and I’ll soak you in gas and set you on fire.” She sniffled.

You scoffed, but continued. “What would make you feel better?”

You could almost see the idea forming in her head as her tears stopped slowly and her expression twisted slowly into a mischievous grin, her icy blue eyes boring into yours.

There was only one word to describe the expression she wore: villainous.

~~~

“Ouch.” You muttered weakly as you were pricked by a thorn for what had to be the fourth time in the last 15 minutes.

Regina insisted that the only thing that would make her feel better would be to egg Aaron’s house. You played along because it sounded fun at the time, but you were now regretting it as the two of you crouched behind the pointy bushes in his front yard.

You guys had waited until it was late in the night to commit the act, and had spent the rest of the daylight watching TV and buying eggs from the grocery store.

Once the two of you saw the last light in Aaron’s house click off, you shared a cynical smile.

“Okay,” Regina whispered sharply, “me first.”

She grabbed an egg from the carton, tip-toeing behind a tree so that she’d be able to hit the house at a good angle but would still be hidden from the people inside.

She grinned like the cheshire cat before tossing the egg at his house with force. It landed above the front door with a splat. She had a good arm.

“My turn, my turn!” You whisper squealed.

Regina rolled her eyes but handed you the carton.

You took an egg out and kissed it for good luck.

You swung your arm around twice like you were pitching at the world series and flung it towards his house.

It barreled and barreled before… SHATTER.

It flew through the window breaking the glass into smithereens.

Alarms started to sound from inside the house loudly, surely waking up the Samuels family.

You and Regina shared a bewildered look.

Then, simultaneously, the two of you broke out into hysterical laughter. You tumbled over, grasping your stomach as if it were going to pop.

“Gina—” you got out through giggles and gasps, “We have to go before they come outside.”

Regina pushed through her cackles to point a shaky finger at you, “Don’t,” wheeze, “don’t call me Gina!”

You waved your hand at her, dismissing her request.

You both scurried away as quickly as you could, but it was hard when you were dying of laughter.

When you were finally out of sight from the house, you laid down on the street side by side. You had sobered mostly from your laugh attack, but sometimes you let stray giggles escape.

The sky was beautiful. You couldn’t really see the stars but the airplanes were cool to look at. And the color of the sky… it wasn’t black like it normally was… or maybe it was never black, you never really looked to see. But it was a dark, dark shade of blue, almost navy.

There were clouds, and they were gray. They looked like blotches of spilled paint on a mosaic of the blue night sky.

You turned to Regina, whose face was lit up by the dull moonlight. Your pretty, pretty friend.

Idly, you wondered why in the hell Aaron would break up with her. Sure, she had a mean streak… that she was always in… and sure, she was slightly needy and spoiled, and had little regard for other people’s feelings, and was an actual bully.

But underneath all that was a sensitive, smart, empathetic, beautiful person.

Why were you the only person who Regina showed that side of herself to?

After a couple minutes of laying down and catching your breath, Regina chuckled kiddishly.

“Why was their window so easy to break?” She inquired with a tilt of her head.

You looked over at her and then snorted. “It was like sandpaper.”

She raised her brows. “Sandpaper? What kind of analogy is that?” She said with a snicker.

You started laughing as you searched your brain for reasoning. You were pretty sure you were getting delirious. “Y’know, ‘cause sandpaper’s easy to break!”

“Is it?” She asked with a chuckle, “I mean, I don’t think it would break if you threw an egg through it—!”

Before you could continue debating, the sound of sirens echoed through the streets, getting closer and closer to them. The Samuels’ probably called the police.

That was cue enough that it was time to get out of there, so the two of you stumbled back to Regina’s house, arms linked together and smiles, genuine smiles, on your faces.

~~~

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[silly-thinkings]

Hopeful Nightmare~

This is a continuation of the Filler chapters for “Vacation gone wrong” (Part 1 here!) Please note that the original fic is a stand alone one-shot and this is just something I wrote for fun, while I slowly work on my other chapter fics.  Thank you for reading! please remember: I do not own these Characters, they belong to DC Comics.  ~One Year Later~ Damian looked at his reflection amongst the glass case that held his fathers suit. Hours had gone by, and yet he still couldn’t leave from that spot. Damian heard sudden foot steps from behind him. He focused on the reflection to see non other then Dick Grayson approach him. “Hey, I know that suit is a heavy one. You don’t have to keep doing this. I can take over if you-” “This is my birthright Grayson.” Damian Turned around “Besides, you’ve made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with Batman.” Dick crossed his arms as he let out a sigh “Damian, You’re only sixteen. And its clear that you’re still thinking about-” “Don’t you dare say their names.” Damian straightened his poster “It’s been a year since mother and father… Since they… Tsk You must be here to pester me. You’ve never visited when they were alive. You never called after you moved away. So why must you annoy us now?” Dick maintained the eye contact from his younger brother. “It wasn’t like that and you know it. I had to leave, to figure out who I was.” Dick pushed Damian back with his finger “You did the same thing ya hypocrite. At least I didn’t Disrespect Mom like you did when you got here.” Damian was about the swing before he felt a hand on his chest. The two brothers looked beside them to see Cassandra gently pushing them apart “Stop. please,” The cave went quiet. The only sound came from the bats on the roof. “Alfred Needs help in the kitchen. He asked for you specifically Damian.” Cassandra said softer as she gently pulled Damian away. The teen sucked his teeth before leaving. At the sound of the grandfather clock sliding closed, Cassandra turned to her older Brother. Dick brushed his fingers through his hair as he looked at the Suit. “Forgive him Dick. He’s still hurting. We all are.” Dick looked to Cassandra who was fiddling with a necklace. A necklace that was missing another half “No, he has a point. I wanted to get out of Bruce’s shadow so badly. I was also caught up with my police work in Bludhaven that I pushed mom away.” Before the trip, he and Bruce would get into nasty arguments in regards of how to save people. And yet, Y/N managed to plan and convince everyone to come together as a family. Cassandra took a deep breath as she noticed his posture. The slumped shoulders, bags under his eyes, messy hair. “Come, Alfred want you to join us.” ** Jason laid in his bed staring at the broken up popcorn ceiling. The sound of car horns and random city noise faintly heard in the distance as he pondered about the one thing he’d surly get in trouble for. Roy peaked into the room and noticed the fancy envelope on the coffee table “You’re not going again?” Jason closed his eyes as Roy stood by the entrance with his arms crossed. “No” Roy let out an annoyed sigh “Why are you running away?” “I’m not” Jason grumbled as he turned his body to face away from his friend. “You haven’t seen them since… the accident.” Roy noticed Jason flinch at the mention of that tragic day. “You know how much family meant to your parents, and you’re running away from the very people who have been trying to-.” “Shut up, don’t talk out of your ass. You’re asking to get shot.” Roy walked towards Jason and tossed sealed mails “Distancing yourself isn’t the answer. Talk to me” Jason let out a huff before attempting to leave the rickety apartment. “Jay!” “Fuck off” “Jason I will annoy you till I get an actual answer” Roy went up to his friend and grabbed his arm. He was met with a punch that sent him back a couple of steps. “I couldn’t do anything!” Jason shouted. He felt his head spinning. His fists tightened as he straightened up to face Roy “I, Jason Todd. Red Hood. The man back from the dead. The guy that runs these corrupts streets. I couldn’t Save my fucking Parents! You think I can face the rest of them? After I Failed all of them?!” Roy rubbed his cheek as he crisscrossed his feet “You blame yourself.” Jason turned to face the window. He looked down in his hands “Everyday I think about that night. The court of Owls, they are the ones responsible, and yet I cant avenge them properly.” “Because you want to kill them? Ya know, Avenge and Revenge are two very different things. You guys... The Waynes, have not only pressed charges but actually took them down through the justice system. You’ve already Avenged them Jason. Seems like what you’re craving is to blow some heads.” Jason went quiet yet again. Roy finally stood “Well, let me say this. you’re doing something far greater then Revenge.” “Oh yea? And what am I doing?” Roy tossed one of Jasons guns. The man caught it, confused “rubber bullets.” Roy smiled before he nudged his head towards the invitation pile “Jason, If your family truly blamed you for what happened. Would they really put in this much effort to see you? ” *** Tim typed on his laptop slowly as he took another sip of his coffee. Dinner was awkward to say the least. Having Dick back for some time surly eased his mind. However Damian’s hostility didn’t go unnoticed. If it wasn’t for Alfred surly another argument would Ensue. Honestly, Tim hasn’t gotten better all this time. Sure he’s functioning, leading Wayne enterprises and fighting the bad guys. Stephanie however was the most perceptive with his dramatic change since that night. Locking himself in his room practically glued on his laptop.  Stephanie slowly opened the door to his room. “Timmy… it’s time for sleep. Don’t worry about patrol tonight. Cas and I got it.” She looked around to see a messy room. Except for his trophy stand. That space hasn’t been touched, since it was the last thing Y/N and Bruce build and organized with him. Tim let out a slight chuckle. Sleep. Something the family hasn’t been doing so well on. The only person able to put Tim to bed passed away in her husbands arms. “Ill be done in a minute” Annoyed Stephanie looked at how he sat in front of the laptop screen. The clear bags under his eyes. The lack of self care or organization. She finally had enough of leaving him alone to grieve. she snatched the laptop. Removing the headphones in the process “Tim! You can’t run away. We are here. You’ve been avoiding us and getting lost in this damn computer!”  Tim watched with wide eyes as she carelessly moved the device. “Give it back.” “Hell no.” “Stop waving it around like that!” “Or what.” Cassandra and Damian entered the room. Cassandra immediately noticed Tim’s shaky hands and Stephanie’s stand-offish demeanor.  “P-please.” he pleaded. It was so soft, as if a mouse spoke to them. The headphones finally fell to the floor. Disconnecting it in the process.  “Todd! Unhand me you baboon.” “Ma! Watch me throw the blood son in the lake.” “Jay be careful!” Everyone froze. The sound of their mothers voice sent chills down their spine. Stephanie gently placed the laptop back onto the table and she became mesmerized with the Video.  ~~ “Tim? Why are you smiling like that?” A chuckling sound could be heard. Tim was the one holding the camera as Cassandra and Stephanie snuck up behind Bruce with an ice bucket.  “No reason mom. You’re looking great.” Just then Ice water was poured onto the sleeping billionaire who shot up from his slumber. Y/N wiped off some water that landed on her while laughing at her husband. Bruce’s eyes squinted making Y/N laugh harder. Tim’s hand slightly waved gaining Bruce’s attention. Tim pointed to Jason who was just about to throw Damian in the water. Bruce nodded and quickly stood up. “Wow. They got you good.” Y/N wiped her eyes. Then she squealed as Bruce picked her up bridal style and ran to the water. “Wait NO! I just bought this sundress. BRUCE!” Both Damian and Y/N hit the water at the same time. ~~ “Have you been watching these?” Stephanie couldn’t take her eyes off the footage. “Yea…”  Damian sucked his teeth “why?” Cassandra noticed Tim’s shoulders tense up. “You’ve found something.” “What?!”Stephanie turned to face her “what do you mean.”  Tim rewound the footage and paused just before Damian and Y/N got dunked. He zoomed into the one of the trees on the other side of the lake. Damian slightly pushed Cassandra to the side to get a better look at the screen. “We were stalked the whole trip…” Tim whispered in shame as he held his head low. The image of two beings with owl masked took over the screen. They all couldn’t believe their eyes. “so, you’ve been rewatching the footage all this time for this!” Damian snapped as he turned to Tim “and you didn’t bother Sharing this information!” Tim placed his hands on his head “it’s my fault. If only I payed more attention. They were always around us… it’s my fault. Before the car crashed I lost signal and- I should of-” Cassandra lightly pinched Damian. He looked her in eyes only to be met with a glare. Stephanie gently placed her hands on Tim’s “Timmy it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill them.” Tim’s lips wobbled as Stephanie slowly stood him up and lead him to the bed. Cassandra side eyed Damian with a clear message: if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.  Cassandra sat on Tim’s other side. The two ladies provided him much comfort that he clearly needed. He cried for the first time in a long while. ** ~Later that night~ Alfred pressed buttons on the keyboard “Master Damian, Gorden would like to meet with you in 45 minutes.” He heard the bat mobile rev it’s engine “inform him I’ll be on the way. Please send him the evidence I’ve gathered.” “Yes sir.” Alfred kept a straight face as one of his many grandchildren left the cave. Once he was sure that he was by himself he reviewed the evidence Tim had found. He frowned upon seeing the screenshots of the various owled stalkers as tears slowly streamed down his eyes. When he heard the news of their death he couldn’t believe it. For the first time ever he lost his cool and in a blind rage sabotage the owls on all fronts. He remembered many police and GCPD raiding the houses of many elites. Even though he knew they could just pay off the crooked cops eventually, Alfred wanted to make them suffer for taking the lives of his family.  “Alfred. Come in.” Red Hoods voice came into the screen, bringing him back to reality. “Yes Redhood?” “Why is Damian on my turf?” “I’m sorry?” Redhood rolled his eyes “Batman is beating up Black Skulls goons. Why is he here?” Alfred's eyes widened. A serious case of Deja vu swarmed him. Especially coming from Jason of all people. He pulled up a map of the city, a red dot weaved its way through the traffic. “That’s not Batman.” Alfred said sending the information to Jason. Jason’s blood ran cold. He let out a small laugh as he looked up at the imposter Darknight.

 “Hey dickhead. I thought the blood son told you he’s got it.”

The Batman punched the last guard before slowly walking towards Redhood. Jason didn’t move, he was curious to see what would happen. The man stood in front of him, and that’s when Jason felt his blood run cold. 

Jason jumped back and pulled out his guns “who the hell are you?” The man’s head began to slightly twitch “D-Dick? Grayson” His body soon convulsed, his legs began to tremble “Richard, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Stephanie… Y/N” He placed his hands on his head, as if he were going through a nasty headache  “I-Im sorry. Y/N, s-she’s out there” Jason holstered his weapons and ran to him. He looked around first to make sure the coast was clear before kneeling down “Bruce?” “F-Find her. She’s- Your mother is-” Suddenly Jason was flung back. Pain shot up his chest as he landed on the ground. He recovered quickly. Standing up only to be met with another punch. Before he knew it, the Dark Knight was gone. Jason felt the adrenaline pump through his veins. No way, no way Bruce returned. Someone used the pit. But that’s impossible. “Alfred. Get an excavator.” Jason shouted as he ran to his motorcycle  ~~~ Alfred frowned as Jason continued to dig. He know eventually the other children would return from patrol, and for once he truly wishes his little hunch was nothing more then a thought. Jason finally heard a clunk, he quickly swept the dirt along the casket of his supposed adoptive father. He opened it, seemingly on cue the moonlight shone upon an empty casket. “No. No no no!” Alfred fought tears himself, how could he let something like this happen again.  Jason’s rage was incomprehensible. Who dared do something like this. And for how long. The snap of a twig caused the butler to turn slightly. “You have some nerve Todd. I knew you’d do something like this.” Damian then looked to Alfred “and you’re helping him?”  “Master Damian. It’s not what it seems. I can assure you there is reason behind this.” Alfred stated as calmly as he could. Damian in a rage grabbed onto Alfred’s collar “have you been keeping information from me aswell?” “Damian!” Cassandra, And Stephanie pulled Damian from Alfred, whilst Dick stood infront of Alfred protectively.  “J-jason? W-what’s going on. Don’t tell me you.” Tim stuttered over his words as the first thing he noticed was the empty casket that once held the body of his father. “I didn’t do anything.” Jason barked “but it’s exactly what it is. Someone took ‘em. And I saw Bruce during patrol.” Jason attempted to jump out the hole but fell. He let out a huff before trying again only to grab onto something. He looked up to see Dick who gave him a soft smile before hoisting him up. “Thanks.” Jason whispered ”Of course” There was a moment of silence before Damian pushed Cassandra off him “Where are you going?” She asked. “I’m going to see my mother. She is the only woman that could be capable of something like this.” It was faint, but Cassandra heard his voice shake slightly. “I’ll go with” Stephanie walked towards Damian and pinched his cheek, causing the teen to grumble “You’ll need backup. And someone to keep your head steady.” Dick walked over to Tim, the teen looked up at his older brother with tear stained eyes. “Does that mean mom. Mom is back too?” Tim had mixed feelings. On the one hand this was wrong. This was so wrong in many ways, but on the other hand this is a second chance. A chance to safe Y/N and Bruce. Dick brought him into a hug before looking at his family “Alright listen up. Damian, Cassandra, Steph. You three investigate the Al Ghul’s while Tim, Jason and I will look into mom. Since the court of owls were behind this, we’ll see if there has been any activity.” Jason brushed his fingers through his hair as the sun began to rise “We sould inform the league, the more eyes the better.” He let out a long sigh “This family is too complicated.”

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡

WARNING: spoilers for end of Deathly Hallows Part II, and also some HEAVY angst in this one

Glass Heart

George’s tired eyes turn to the window, finally seeing the sunlight he had restlessly been waiting for. Sitting up and bed and swinging his legs over the side, George sighs, hanging his head and closing his eyes. He wishes more than anything that he could allow himself to sleep, but he knows what will greet him if he does, and he cant face it, not yet.

Strolling down the hallway, George’s footsteps echo down the eerily quiet flat, setting his teeth on edge. He catches sight of the envelope that he left on the table yesterday. He recognises the handwriting on the front as that of his mother’s, and he knows that it’s a Howler of some kind. Judging by the fact it hasnt exploded, it isnt an angry one, which disappoints George a little. All night he was waiting for that explosion of his mother’s voice, the anger that he would love to hear in response to the pranks that filled his childhood. He’d choose to hear that over his mother’s sadness any day, and due to this Howler not revealing itself as Howler’s typically do, George worries that his mother’s sadness is exactly what is concealed in the envelope.

Unfortunately for George, his selfless love for his family gets the better of him, overtaking his own grief and anguish in order to hear his mother’s words and try to help in whatever way he can. Popping open the seal, George drops the envelope back on the table and leans against the wall, knowing there’s no way he can prepare himself for whatever he’s about to hear.

“Hello George, dear.”

The gaping hole in his heart aches at the softness in his mother’s voice, tears already stinging his eyes.

“I worry about you, up in that flat. Will you come home soon? We miss you terribly, your father and I…it isnt easy, for any of us, but with you not here, it almost feels like-“

His mother is too broken to utter the words that George knows she wants to say. With him not there, it feels like she’s lost both him and Fred.

“(Y/N) misses you terribly, too, you know.”

She changes the subject, the mention of you lifting her spirits even now. You were still back at the Burrow, where you had spent most of your life thus far. That first year at the train station, your muggle parents happened to ask the Weasley’s for help crossing onto the platform that they’d previously denied the mere existence of. Your parents both worked overseas, so even if you hadnt ended up as a witch, you would have been sent to a boarding school of some kind. When the Weasley twins returned home from their first year at Hogwarts to tell their parents all about what a wonderful friend you were to them, and explained that you wouldnt really have a home to go to, they were more than happy to have you stay with them, and you did. On occasion, your parents were home long enough to spend a few days with you, but for the most part, you were the Weasley’s plus one, and you couldnt have been happier.

“Ever since you moved out, she’s been quieter. She wears that old jumper of yours everyday, I have to sneak into her room just to clean it when she’s not home!”

George’s mother laughs, and the sound brings a smile to his face, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. He didnt know you were still wearing that jumper he gave you after your fourth year. Well, technically he didnt give it to you; Molly accidentally placed it in your laundry pile and when you tried it on, George told you to keep it because it looked better on you anyway.

He last saw you on the worst day of his life, but before that, it had been months since he’d laid eyes on you. Having already moved out of his family home by the time the whole world started to change, he only heard about what had happened to you through what his family told him. Apparently, you’d gone into hiding with your muggle parents, because they were always travelling from place to place and with their absence in your life, nobody working for the dark lord would ever think to look for them. Still, you sent coded letters to the Weasley family by owl whenever you could, wishing them all safety and telling them not to worry about you.

Seeing you that day, running straight for him and stupifying anyone who got in your way, George remembers the feeling of his heart getting caught in his throat. Wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground, clinging to each other like it was the last chance you’d ever get to do so, because you didnt know if it would be. Neither of you spoke a word, there wasnt time, in seconds you were placed on the ground and standing back to back, fighting evil from two fronts. He remembers his heart pounding in his chest in the aftermath of holding you close, feeling like he could win the battle singlehandedly because he knew you were safe. That heart is long gone now.

“She’s quieter now…we all are. Your father and I arent sleeping well, and so many nights I’ve walked by her door, hearing her crying, and when I go to check on her, she’s sleeping.”

Fresh, invisible wounds tear through George as he relives all the times he’s heard you cry. In your first year, when you found out your parents wouldnt be able to afford taking time off for Christmas, and Fred and George had to beg their mother to let them stay at Hogwarts with you while they went away to Romania. In your second year, when you were scared that your muggle blood would get you killed in the Chamber of Secrets, and George kept you safe. In your fourth year, when you came up with a cover story to get Fred and George out of trouble and Umbridge forced you to write with a quill that carved the words “I must not lie and think it is brave”, and George very nearly stormed into Umbridge’s office to destroy her, but you clinging to him as you cried held him back. In your seventh year, when Fred and George left Hogwarts to open their shop, and moved out of their family home to live in the flat above it; you cried your eyes out and told George that you loved him, but there wasnt time to explain what that meant. And finally, on the worst day of his life, when you screamed and sobbed beside what was left of Fred.

“She dreams about what we’re afraid to dream about, dear, and she needs you, just as much as you need her.”

If his mother had said such a thing at any other time, George would have disagreed. Before, there was never time to explore whatever it was between you and him. The twins were always off planning new pranks and inventions, and while sometimes you were their accomplice, there was never a moment long enough for you and George to just talk. Every time the twins were around, it was like you were living life at a higher speed, everything happened so fast and it only slowed down when they were gone. They were a force to be reckoned with, and you adored them for that. It was only when George told you about their plans to leave Hogwarts that things really set in for you. Like the Hogwarts train had hit you at full speed, you realised that you had wasted every moment with him, and although those moments had been fun, they could have been so much more, and then he was gone, just like that.

Before, George would have agreed that he was always too busy, too excited about whatever was coming next for him and Fred. His world had slowed down to a speed he didnt like, ever since his other half had gone, just like that.

“I think it would be good for both of you if (Y/N) came to live with you, she’d liven up the flat a bit. Maybe she could even help out with the shop someday! You need her, George.”

He can tell by her voice that Molly Weasley has never been more sure of anything in her life, and George isnt in any position to challenge her on that. Soon enough, he finds himself showered, dressed, and lifting his wand. By no means does he think he’s ready to accept help from anyone, but he will do anything to get out of that flat, and regardless of what his mother really means, he knows that she’s right. He needs you.

Apparating outside the Burrow, George feels miserable. His family home is still in the process of being rebuilt after the war, and seeing it barely standing is almost enough to make him want to turn back, until he hears laughter. From the other side of the front door, George can hear his mother and father actually laughing. It has been months since he’s visited home, and that sound was a forgotten memory even then. Gently pushing the door open so as to cause as little disruption as possible, George steps into his family home. He’s immediately greeted by the sight of you teaching his mother a silly dance in the kitchen, while his father watches, and all of you laugh together. You’re wearing an apron over the jumper George gave you, and splatters of countless ingredients cover it, as well as stain your face in places, but George swears you have never looked more beautiful. The sound of the door closing brings three pairs of eyes to him, and the laughter stops quite suddenly.

Before he even has time to register what’s happening, George is in the arms of his mother, who still manages to hold him even when he’s so much taller than her. His father hugs him next, as tearful as his mother as they embrace the son they were beginning to worry they would lose to grief. Neither of them say anything, they’re too shocked to speak, and they move to stand either side of George so that he can see you.

With Ron living with Hermione, and Ginny living with Harry, it would make sense for you to go and find a place of your own, fly the nest like the rest of them. But you stayed, to care for the people that had cared for you when you needed them, to help them feel a little less lonely.

And there you stand, your hands covering your mouth as tears blur the perfect image of George Weasley standing before you. The first genuine smile he has felt in months wobbles on his face as he stares at you, and unlike the last time you saw him, you dont run at him. You take one careful, unsteady step, and then he strides over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

“Missed you, Georgie.” Your shaky voice reaches his ears, and he feels the shattered fragments of his heart tremble, the fight to bring themselves back together reigniting.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” George sniffles, and you feel your own fractured heart clench at his words.

Sweetheart, that was something he first called you in your second year, when you were crying in fear of being killed for being muggle born. George had pulled you into his arms and told you “I wont let anything happen to you, sweetheart, promise”, and ever since, he has been your safe place. Every single time he was there when you needed him after that, that is what he would call you.

“What are you doing here?” You question, pulling away from him to wipe your eyes.

Obviously, you’re ecstatic to see him, but if he’s just dropping by to pick something up and leave again, you dont want to get your hopes up.

“I was wondering if you’d like to…move in, with me. Maybe help with the shop, if you’re up to it. Supposed to be a two-person place, after all.” George had planned to chuckle as he said that, but the weight of his own words cause a lump to form in his throat instead, and he can no longer hold your gaze.

He doesnt see the way you cast a worried glance to Molly and Arthur, who both shake their heads and smile at you encouragingly, assuring you they’ll be fine if you choose to go. And he doesnt see the way you look up at him, staring into the anguish that sits deep behind his sad, sad eyes, that are too scared to meet yours.

“It would be my honour, Georgie.” You tell him, causing his head to snap back down to read your face, checking for any sign of doubt, and when he cant find any, he smiles, and you smile right back.

“But first, have you had breakfast? I was just making some.” You gesture to your dirty apron, which has consequently smeared George’s clothes with some stains as a result of the hug you shared.

“I havent eaten, no.” He admits sheepishly, knowing before he’s even finished his sentence that you’re going to give him a disapproving look, and you dont disappoint.

“Well, that’s one thing we’re gonna have to sort out when I go back with you: regular meal times! Routines are important-“ You begin, but George cuts you off by rolling his eyes playfully.

“-because they help make everything feel more manageable, I know.” He finishes your sentence, having heard that phrase from you a thousand times. Glancing at his parents, George knows for a fact that if it hadnt been for you, the two of them would have fallen into the same irregular schedule, ruled over by grief. You saved his parents from that, and in turn, their company saved you. Well, as much as their company could. You were always a little lonely whenever George wasnt around.

Molly and Arthur choose to go and sit outside while George follows you into the kitchen. He leans against the counter, watching as you busy yourself with cooking spells.

“I’ve heard that you’ve formed quite the attachment to that jumper.” He cant help commenting, a cheeky smile on his face as he effortlessly slips back into the flirty banter that the two of you have always had, but something about you doesnt quite feel right.

Looking over your shoulder at George, you sigh dramatically. “Guess you could call me the clingiest witch in the west.”

George chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Nah, not clingy. Utterly adorable, but not clingy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, utterly adorable, am I?”

George smirks. “Definitely.”

Silence ensues, throwing you both into the sickening realisation that at this point in your flirting, Fred would usually interrupt. Sadness casts her cloak over the two of you, shrouding you in a grey, slow haze.

“Im sorry I didnt save him.”

And there it is. Your words cut through the air like a knife, straight to George’s heart, or rather, the place where it would have been. By no means was your happiness an act, but it was something you exaggerated to help heal his family, it was only a matter of time before its permanence wavered in his presence. George has always been able to see right through you.

“What are you talking about?” He questions carefully, very worried about what you’re going to say next as you fix your gaze on the dishes you’re washing with your bare hands rather than a spell. In the background, your spells continue to cook whatever wondrous breakfast you have planned. Washing up is your chosen distraction, or subtle punishment.

“If I hadnt stayed with you, if I’d gone to find him, I could have- he could still- even if it meant…” You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks and you squeeze your lips inside your mouth to hold back a sob.

“Dont even think that, not for a second.” George’s voice is low, firm, and deadly serious.

You shake your head, eyes opening wide as you stare at him. “I cant stop thinking it, George. I have seen this family in so much pain, people I adore living through such agony every single day, and you disappeared completely! If I’d been with him, if I saved him, if it had been me, none of this would have happened! All of you would have been better off.” You look away from him again, and George takes the single stride necessary to reach you, gently lifting your hands out of the soapy water and grabbing a towel to dry your raw fingers that have been scrubbing through your anxiety-fuelled vent.

“Listen to me, (Y/N). There wont be a day that goes by where I dont miss Freddie.” That’s the first time he’s said his name since that day, it chokes him up immediately. “But I would never, ever want you to trade places with him, to have you gone instead of him. If you had gone, none of us would have been able to hold the rest of us together like you have, like you’ve always done. You are everything, (Y/N), and I wouldnt trade your life for anything, or anyone. I cant even think about a world without you in it-“ George shakes the thought out of his head, tears stinging his eyes as he’s briefly sent to kneeling at your side and holding your cold hand, sobbing and begging you to just open your eyes.

Your warm hands on his face bring him back to the present, your bright eyes staring up into his.

“Im sorry George, I cant imagine a world without you, either.”

Holding your hands against his face, George sniffles. “You’ll never need to.”

A small smile curls in the corner of your mouth, and he cant help mirroring it.

“You and me, we’re gonna get through this, you hear me?” You raise an eyebrow playfully, making George chuckle through his tears.

“Loud and clear, sweetheart, loud and clear.”

And as if by magic, he feels the first shattered piece of his heart slowly slot back into place.

[imagine--if]

NEW CHAPTER OF TO MY HOPE ON MY KNEES BEGGING 🙏😍

A/N: Okay but first I have to show off the fanart I got from @yaeyuuki because it's AMAZING!! Love it so much, thank you again and to everyone for liking and supporting 😁💚

To My Hope; Targeted

Words: 1197

The old orphanage has an eerie, uncomfortable feel about it as soon as you and The Batman step out of the car, Gordon quickly by your side as he takes out his gun, the three of you approaching the building steadily. Gordon kicks the door open, the hollow tubes of light from your flashlights piercing through the darkness as you step in. Your footsteps echo no matter how lightly you tread, and a slight chill runs down your back as you catch sign of a green, painted message and arrow in front of you over the wall and window.

'WELCOME'

Gordon's gun cocks, and Batman gives him a look.

"No guns."

"Yeah, man, that's your thing."

You carry on inside, rain leaking through the roof and dripping down below as you head down the stairs. A figure suddenly popped out from a corridor, and with a yell, Gordon sprints after them, you and Batman following close behind. A group of dropheads quint wearily as your lights shine on their faces.

"Dropheads," Gordon mutters, but then you frown, your attention caught by a familiar church song playing softly in the distance. Batman notices too, walking by your side as you advance down the hall and enter a bigger room, one that's been clearly tampered with by the Riddler.

Applause sounds from speakers as a projector shows a recording of Thomas Wayne at his electoral speech, and you eye it warily, taking in the walls that have been painted over with similar messages.

'RENEWAL IS A LIE'

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

Your eyes widen in realisation, and Gordon's do too.

"His next victim is Bruce Wayne," Gordon utters, but as you look to where Batman stood, he's vanished, and you crane your neck to look out the door in worry.

Bruce Wayne. God, Alfred's at the manor.

"I think we should call someone," you tell Gordon in concern, "that he's being targeted."

"Yeah, I'll..." Gordon starts, but his voice trails off as he lowers his gun and takes out his phone. "...Do that now - what's that?"

You follow the man's gaze to under the projector screen, where the scene of Thomas' famous belief in Gotham speech is still playing. And there, beneath it, is a square-shaped package, a green envelope attached to it with tape.

"Careful," Gordon warns you, "there could be something dangerous in there."

"I- I don't think so," you assure him, though you aren't completely certain. "Let me just..."

You go over to the package, pulling off the envelope from the brown wrapping paper that tightly seals a thick square object inside, and the speech comes to a stop.

To My Hope

"God, he's obsessed," you hear Gordon mumble in disbelief from behind you, and you bite your lip, opening the envelope and taking out a single sheet of folded cardboard paper, a difference from the usual cards he sends. Still, hearts are drawn onto the white paper with green pencils, and at the centre, one word is written.

'SOON.'

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gordon questions with a frown, putting the phone to his ear and quickly telling the police back at office about the latest target.

Putting the paper back in the envelope and pushing it into a pocket, you pick up the parcel, picking at the duct tape that holds it together until it unravels... to reveal a scrapbook. You almost laugh at the stupidity and romantic gesture, and Gordon scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"You gotta be kidding me."

You gingerly sit down on the cold, hard flooring, and Gordon crouches beside you, peering at the cover which is decorated with 'MY HOPE' in large green letters and heart stickers covering every inch of the original colour of the book.

You flip it open, and your breath catches in your throat as you stare at the photographs. They're Polaroids, every single one of them, taken from rooftops and store windows, corner streets and behind cars, over heads and even right opposite, the camera hidden in a perfect place. As you go through the book, every single page is adorned with unnerving shots of you helping people, saving lives, bringing hope, just being Hope. And in every single one of them, you hadn't noticed the picture being taken from nearby, a smile on your face, eyes sparkling as people clap and cheer and take obvious photos for newspapers.

The thought of the Riddler hidden amongst the journalists and in shops while you unknowingly did what you do best, makes your stomach flip.

The thought of the Riddler hidden in Gotham City right now, only able to be found when he willingly lets you, makes you look around the room in a newfound paranoia, and Gordon catches on, putting a hesitant hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, you're gonna be alright, you hear?" he tells you with a surprising amount of confidence, and you glance up at him before looking back at the scrapbook. "Riddler won't hurt you. You're a good person, Hope We're gonna find this son of a bitch, alright?"

You nod silently, and turn to the very last page. This time, there's a newspaper article solely featuring you on the front page, from when you and The Batman first started out as vigilantes, the people of Gotham seeing you in very different lights. Hope... and Vengeance. The Riddler has written around the picture of you in the middle too, only your eyes scribbled over in white, while the rest of the words carefully avoid marking the picture. They make up a crossword-like pattern, 'ANGEL,' 'MY HOPE,' 'MY LOVE,' 'MY LIGHT,' 'MY MUSE,' 'MY EVERYTHING,' written in his distinctive handwriting, amongst many other affectionate and praising terms.

Gordon's phone ringing makes you jump, and he breathes an apology before answering, staying on the line for only a few moments before taking it away from his ear.

"There's been an accident, at Wayne Manor. Bomb went off not too long ago. Someone's been injured, and badly."

You close your eyes in dread, nodding before standing up with the book and letter, holding them to your chest.

"I'll give you a lift back to the main part of the city," Gordon offers, the two of you leaving the room and heading back out of the building. "You wanna keep that thing, or shall we hold onto it for you?"

"I think I'll take it," you tell him slowly, your thoughts a mess as you try to gather them, "for now, anyway. Try to figure out if there are any giveaways, even though there probably won't be."

"Well, you look anyway," Gordon responds with a nod, shaking his head in a daze as you step out into the open and he unlocks his car. "Gotta say, Hope, I don't know how you do it."

You look at him in confusion. "Do what?"

"Be Hope," he clarifies, "and The Batman being Batman. It's hard enough being a cop in this godforsaken place."

You nod and shrug, a tired half-smile on your face.

"Someone's got to do it. Gotham isn't beyond hope yet."

"It's not beyond Hope at all," Gordon scoffs lightly with a tired smile. "C'mon. Let's go."