#and keep reading and with dread in your heart you turn the page and are like OH SHIT

[lifeof-pink]

i think the way the book became 3rd person pov when kim dokja got off the train is one of the most fucking genius literary moves ive seen in years

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3

summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.

warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3

word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)

Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 

That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 

He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 

He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 

But he couldn’t. 

Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 

Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 

Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 

——————————————————————

Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 

You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 

“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 

“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”

A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 

“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.

Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.

“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”

“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 

The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 

You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–

“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”

You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 

The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 

The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 

There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 

“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.

Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 

Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 

Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 

Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.

“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”

You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 

You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 

You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 

It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 

You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 

“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.

Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 

Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.

You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.

But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.

So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 

You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 

“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.

“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”

“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”

“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”

“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 

A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.

Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.

“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.

“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”

“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.

Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.

“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”

The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.

It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.

He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.

“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”

Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 

“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.

Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.

You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 

Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.

He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 

“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 

Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.

“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.

“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 

Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 

You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 

“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”

“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”

“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”

You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.

You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 

“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”

——————————————————————

The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.

You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.

“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”

The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 

“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.

Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.

“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 

There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.

“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 

Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 

“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 

“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.

“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”

Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”

There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.

“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 

“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”

——————————————————————

Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.

But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.

Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 

Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 

His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.

Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 

Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 

The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 

It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 

You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 

——————————————————————

Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.

He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  

His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 

He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.

It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 

He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.

It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 

You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 

Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.

“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”

You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 

It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 

He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.

“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”

“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”

You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.

It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.

A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 

Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.

So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 

The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 

“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”

“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.

“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 

Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 

“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”

He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 

You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 

You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”

That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.

——————————————————————

Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 

It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 

The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 

A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 

You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 

Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 

Mate…Mate…fuck.

Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 

It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 

The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 

He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 

“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 

“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 

As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 

Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.

Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 

Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.

Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 

“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 

Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.

“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.

The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 

“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 

“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 

“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 

“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.

You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 

“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”

That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 

Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 

“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.

You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?

“What don’t I get?” he implores.

He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.

“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”

You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.

“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”

Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.

He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 

Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”

Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.

“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.

“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 

He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.

“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 

Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 

“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 

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[ficnation]

Chapter 2: Biting Into the Past

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 3,9k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

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Will’s eyes flutter open gradually, the gentle sunlight caressing his pupils with its warm, comforting fingers, slowly coaxing him out of the dreamless slumber. He isn’t drenched in sweat like always, and there’s no sign of dread in his mind. It’s a peacefulness he missed so much—a peacefulness that was taken from him a long time ago. 

The man rubs sleep away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He lies still for a while before the events of yesterday rise up to life in his clouded brain. He lets his arm fall limply onto your side of the bed. The sheets are cold underneath his palm. You’ve been gone for a while already, and he’s surprised your movement didn’t wake him up earlier. Will mumbles out your name, propping himself up on his elbow as he looks around the room.

You sit on the carpet in front of the fireplace, back leaning against one of the armchairs. The fire casts a warm glow over your skin as you pull the blanket draped over your legs a little higher. Your focus is solely on the book grasped in your hands—it’s a picture of pure serenity. Eyes glued to the pages in front of you, you allow the words—each line and sentence—to carry you away into the distant lands of the story.

“What are you reading?” Will asks, his voice spiked with a twinge of raspiness that’s always there in the mornings or when he’s sick. 

You turn your head toward him slowly, but you keep your eyes on the page till the end of the sentence. When you finally look at him, he can’t help but smile at you softly—you mirror him in an instant.

You close the book and raise it above your head, giving the brunet a clear view of its cover. “The Godfather,” you reply with a cheeky glint in your eyes. 

“Again?” He raises his eyebrow in curiosity.

You’ve read that book at least six times already, and Will could never figure out why it pulled you in so much—why did it keep you from reaching for something new and different. Was it the feeling of familiarity, fear of change, or did you genuinely enjoy the fictional world of Italian mafia so much? 

You stand up and stretch your arms over your head with a satisfied groan. You don’t even need to use a bookmark before you put “The Godfather” back into its designated spot on one of the shelves.

Will sits up a little straighter as you throw the blanket over your shoulders and join him in bed. You find a seat between his quilt-covered thighs and drape your legs over his hips, crossing your ankles behind his back. Will’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“You’ve been missing out,” you say with a cheeky grin, pulling yourself just a tad bit closer, craving the heat of his body.

The man in front of you takes a deep breath, then readies himself to disagree. He’s seen enough of murder and scheming to last him a lifetime. But before he can object, you lean in and seal his lips closed with a kiss.

Will doesn’t even think of resisting as his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, like he has no intention of ever letting go. When you pull away, his eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open. He looks downright angelic—absolutely gorgeous.

“We should probably get up,” you say, teasing him—testing him. Your fingers find solace in the messy brown curls on top of his head, tugging gently.

“In a little while… Just a few more seconds…” Will moans out, already lost in the sensuality of your touch. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes you in like a drug.

Your fingers run through his hair again, and he can’t help but bite down on your flesh softly. You whimper, and it spurs him on to continue, so he soothes your skin with the tip of his tongue, tasting you, before he kisses you again. There’s no thinking, no reason in his head that tells him he should stop—there’s only longing. He’s waited so long to be able to do this again, he can’t deprive himself of this—he can’t deprive himself of you .

With a hand on his diaphragm, you push him away gently, and he drops back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, and you wonder how did you manage to get through a single day without this man by your side.

“Will, I have a meeting with Crawford in two hours,” you protest, but your tone is unserious. He knows you don’t really care whether you should show up or not.

“You do?” Will raises an eyebrow, his hair in disorder, his breaths shallow and fast. It’s almost as if he’s been pulled back into reality, a reality in which other people and responsibilities unfortunately do exist. “Do you really have to leave so soon?” His tone is hopeful, a touch of vulnerability in his eyes—maybe even desperation.

You really want to say “no” and stay right where you are, straddling his hips—preferably with fewer clothes on. But the mystery of your sister’s murder still occupies the back of your mind—the deepest and darkest cranny of it. It’ll eat you alive if you don’t find out what exactly transpired.

“I hoped you’d come with me,” you propose, leaning down to kiss his forehead in consolation. That’s all you can offer him, and you hope it’s enough.

“I thought we’d spend the day together,” he confesses. The raspiness of his voice makes you inhale sharply. “I just…  I don’t want you to leave.”

Will looks at you— really looks at you—and takes your hand in his, fingers entwining with yours. You can feel how tight his grip is, feel how important this is to him. It’s a sentiment you share—you missed him too, and you don’t know how many times you’ll be able to do this again. What if you were the Chesapeake Ripper’s next victim—his main course?

“And we will. I just need to talk to Jack, and then I’m all yours. I promise,” you extend your pinky toward him, raising your brow in challenge. 

Will looks at your pinky, then back at you, before he extends his own in return. They curl together, and his face turns somber. He’s aware that if he looses sight of you today even for a second, he’ll panic. He absolutely dreads it.

“I’m holding you to that promise,” he says, his voice suddenly serious. But he doesn’t let go of your pinky, it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to risk letting you escape again. The grimace he sends you is a poor excuse of a smile.

“Are you ready?” he asks after a minute of silence.

Your eyes never stray from his face as your eyebrows scrunch in pretend-confusion. You look down at your pajama-clad body and your position straddling Will. “Uhh, can’t say that I am.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

You know it’s not, and that your attempt at diverting his attention elsewhere wouldn’t work. He’s the last person that could ever fall for it. You might know Will more than he even knows himself, but it doesn’t mean this goes only one way.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You shake your head and pull away from him, goosebumps rising over your arms the second you get up from the bed. You want to—you just can’t.

The blanket that was previously draped over your shoulders disappeared somewhere when you were busy kissing Will and despite the burning fireplace, the chill of the room still makes you shiver. You cross your arms over your chest, shuddering.

Will doesn’t push, he never did and he never will. The moment your feet clad in fluffy socks hit the floor, he’s reaching out to take your hand in his. He knows exactly what you need and even though he didn’t take your bait, he pretends he did.

“You always look beautiful,” he says softly, raising your hand to his face, so he can kiss your knuckles. “But I guess clothes that aren’t a pajama would be a little bit more appropriate for a meeting with Jack.” 

“Yeah,” you agree with a grateful smile—your voice almost a whimper. He understands you. He knows you.

“I already let the dogs out,” you inform him when his gaze strays toward his furry friends asleep by the burning fireplace. “Should I make breakfast?”

The man nods and watches as you cross the room toward the kitchen. He just can’t help but notice your figure—your curves, the way your body moves, the way your hair flows with every step you take. You must be conscious of his staring—you’ve always been aware of your surroundings, he taught you the importance of it—and yet you don’t react. You don’t ask him to stop, either.

“I can only offer you grilled cheese and eggs,” you say, pulling your hair up into a loose bun on top of your head. “We should probably stop by a grocery store on our way back.”

“Grilled cheese and eggs will do fine...” Will’s mouth quirks up into a smile.

He reaches for his clothes, that lay draped over one of the armchairs. Eyes glued to the muscles of his back as he pulls the shirt over his head, you retreat into the kitchen after a second of hesitation. Will joins you soon after.

You offer him a bowl and a fork to whisk the eggs as you look through the cupboards to find a pan or maybe even a toaster if you’re lucky. The man starts to whisk the eggs, a contemplation playing over his face as he watches you rummage through the cabinets.

It’s only now, in the morning light, that Will notices the difference in your behavior from when he saw you last. You are more confident, your movements more fluid and graceful. Your hair shines with silk, and your skin glistens with health. He is reminded again that you’re no longer the curious-eyed girl he met at work—you’re a woman now, aware of your knowledge, charm and the cruelty of the world. That light inside you might be gone, but there’s a new one taking its place—one he doesn’t recognize yet. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Will peers at you, his fingers on the handle of the pan as he heats it up. He looks more serious now, and that makes you wonder what’s on his mind.

“What was your life like once you left? I mean, I thought I knew, but seeing you now…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the right words. He isn’t good at it. It was far easier when he tried to prepare the questions in his mind at night, when it still felt like a fantasy or a dream.

Reminded of the reason you found yourself back in Wolf Trap, Virginia—your expression turns somber. You blink away the tears gathering in your eyes and turn to face him. The deep breath you take before speaking doesn’t give you the relief you hoped for.

“I didn’t have to watch dead bodies every day anymore. Turns out, this kind of detox does wonders for your health.” You rest your back against the cold counter, shutting the final cupboard after retrieving a few jars of spices from it. “I thought I’d be miserable going into witness protection. I missed you so much. You were all I could think about for the first few years, but then I just shut it all out. The past, I mean. I had to start my life from scratch.”

Will winces at your words—at the idea of you being without him, out of his reach. “Shut it all out?” he echoes softly. “You made me fall in love with you, and then you disappeared without saying anything,” the words pour out of him, and you can hear pain and anger in his tone, but there’s something else too. Something he’s fighting to keep hidden. “I... You never said why you left. But I couldn’t be mad at you. I just wanted you to be safe.”

“I couldn’t, Will. They didn’t let me say my goodbyes. It’s a miracle I even managed to convince Jack to tell you.” You sigh deeply, raising your hand to stroke his cheek, but the pained look in his eyes makes you drop your arm before it makes contact with his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“You could have at least written…” Will looks away, ashamed for even asking. He knew he couldn’t fault you for it, it wasn’t your fault, and yet, here he was, feeling hurt. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if you were safe, if you were even still…” his voice trails off at the end. He wasn’t even sure if you were still alive—if you still loved him, still wanted to be with him. He thought about the worst.

You don’t need him to verbalize it. You understand him without words. “I never stopped loving you, Will. There were men in my life, but they were just... strangers. I didn’t want any of them to stay.”

The idea of you being with someone else makes Will feel queasy, but he tries to dismiss the thought when he sees the love in your gaze. He had something with Alana, or at least he thought he did. She wasn’t a woman of his dreams, but she was the first one that didn’t give up on him for a long time—until she did. Will wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be with her, but she showed interest, and it’s been so long since you disappeared, he just accepted it.  Now the thought of touching someone other than you makes him want to wash his hands for hours, as if that would erase what he did.

Will moves a bit closer to you, so close that he can feel your warmth. “I didn’t stop thinking about you either,” he admits. “Every day you were the first thing on my mind. When I woke up, when I went to sleep…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’d lay there, and all I could think was, ‘where are you?’ and ‘why did you leave me?’ It was torture.” Will shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the painful memories. 

You move a little closer, and he raises his hand to rest it gently on your arm. You might as well be the only two people on the entire planet—nothing else matters at this moment but you and him.

“I will never do that again. I promise you that. I will never disappear again.”

Will pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in.  He doesn’t want to think about this anymore. He shouldn’t have to because you’re back, and you promised him you’ll never leave him again. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

He doesn’t want to be without you, doesn’t want to feel the void in his heart again. Even though he knows you could never hurt him willingly, he doesn’t want to go back to that empty place, doesn’t ever want to doubt it again. 

You’d stay like that forever if you could, but the smell of burning eggs makes Will move away swiftly. He takes the pan off the heat and stirs them. 

“Looks edible to me,” you mumble, looking over his shoulder. You’re still moved by his confession—by his desperate embrace.

Will doesn’t respond, instead focusing on ensuring the eggs are indeed edible. When they are finished, he grabs two plates from the cupboard over your head, then serves them.

You catch a glimpse of a smile—the tiniest glimpse—and you know he wants to be happy, wants to find peace and happiness in the present—but it’s clear the past has cast a shadow over him. Your presence has improved his mood considerably, and yet you’re aware of that shadow every time he looks away from you. When he leaves the kitchen, you almost let out a whimper. You feel guilty that you weren’t there when he needed you.

The room is quiet when you join him at the table, a plate with a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches on it. You sit across from Will and send him a reassuring grimace—it was intended to be a smile—placing the food in the middle of the table.

“You’re far happier than I expected you to be after what happened,” Will admits, shuffling the eggs around his plate mindlessly. He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. 

But it’s too late to take them back as you look at him with wide eyes, fork dropping onto the wooden table with a clatter. He looks down at his food, suddenly feeling the weight of his actions—how the air turns heavy around the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to...” Will shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just tried to insinuate. His mind is a mess, and he can’t find the right way to change the topic.

You cut him off with a deep sigh, resting your elbows on the table as you look anywhere but at him. “I shut it off. I don’t want to remember it for now. If I want to survive this, I had to shut it off. If I think of her for even a second too long, I’ll break down. I can’t do that.”

It pains Will that you don’t allow yourself to even say your sister’s name out loud after what happened. He nods, his eyes on you. It’s hard for him to process the idea that you can just... push away those feelings, like they don’t even exist. After all, he’s the opposite, he can’t stop himself from feeling. You’ve always told him that the reason you two are so different is because you shut yourself off while he feels everything. 

Will understands your decision, though—not wanting to deal with the pain, not wanting to face it, not yet.

“You can talk to me about it if you want, you know,” the man offers gently.

“I know,” you acknowledge him, finishing the conversation. You lift your fork back and eat your breakfast, acting like nothing ever happened. It’s reassuring for some reason.

Will watches you eat, his eyes wandering over you, admiring the shape of your lips as you speak, the soft lines of your eyelashes. He’s happy to see you eat, happy to see that your body is no longer tense and stiff—a reaction to what he said. You seem to be slowly relaxing back into your natural movement.

You look up at him, and a small smile crosses your lips—almost like you’re reading his thoughts. Before he can protest—he should be paying attention to his food—you catch his gaze and ask him, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Will doesn’t deny it, but he takes time to answer you. “Just admiring you,” he says softly. “You seem different… Like yourself.” You’re still incredibly beautiful in his eyes. But you’re so relaxed, your body language more open than ever. You are different—maybe even better than before.

Squinting your eyes at the words, you call him out on his bullshit, but your tone is unserious. “You’re saying it, but those are not your thoughts. I was far quieter back then. I can’t imagine that my loud mouth is something familiar to you.”

Will grins, but he knows there’s still a lot of truth in what he said. 

“No…” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh. “I’m happy you’re finally speaking your mind. Back then, you didn’t speak enough. Now I feel like I’ll need to remind you that silence can be comfortable, too.”

You observe him quietly, surprised he doesn’t relate to his description of the new you . This is probably the most open he’s been since the day you’ve met. You’re glad. You’ve lost almost ten years—now, it’s time to catch up, to piece everything together.

“But now… I’m not sure if I can handle your mouth. I feel like I’m going to get a migraine if I keep listening,” he changes the tone of the conversation, and you look at him in disbelief.

“Will!” You feign feeling hurt, clutching at your heart and blinking fast.

Will rolls his eyes, and that little smile of his returns. His gaze drifts over your fingers, your arms. And he’s so tempted to reach out and touch them, feel the softness of your skin. Or grab your arms and pull you closer.

You finish the breakfast in a playful mood, not touching any topics concerning your past after the mention of your sister. Will can’t help but marvel at your transformation. As he watched you eat, laugh, chat and make quips like you’re not afraid of being yourself, he can’t help but think that maybe your disappearance was the best thing that could have happened to you.

He wants to enjoy you as you are now, as you always were, and he looks down at his plate, his thoughts wandering back to everything you said. Will is still curious, he wants to know everything there is to know about the years you were away from each other, but he leaves you be for now. 

Once you’re done, Will offers to wash up the plates and lets you get ready. You agree after a little playful resistance.

When you find him again, you’re wearing beige linen dress pants, white lace button-up and your favorite coat—business casual at its best. Will takes comfort in the fact that at least your style didn’t change much.

The outfit looks fantastic on you. You always knew how to dress to emphasize your curves, the smooth, elegant lines of your figure. The white button-down hugs your body, emphasizing your breasts and waist, and the long line of the coat highlights the length of your legs. It’s feminine, a bit provocative, and yet there’s a sense of modesty in your outfit—you’re not trying to prove anything to anyone. In a way, you’re just being your normal self. The real you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says softly, his eyes fixed on you.

You acknowledge the compliment by walking up to him and standing on your tip toes to kiss the slope of his nose. 

Will smiles, and gently cups your face. Your lips are so close. Your skin is soft, your smell still drives him crazy, and you are so, so beautiful.

You feel his fingers gently caress your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, and then your arms… and as you move in closer, he moves with you, his fingers wrapping around your back. Your bodies are pressed so close together. He can feel the warmth of your skin. He looks at you—at the smooth skin of your neck, at the soft shape of your lips, and then—his mouth is on yours.

You will be late—you know that, yet you can’t bring yourself to keep all the affections at bay. And this is another reason why Will has always been in love with you. You’re not afraid to chase what you want, to seize something even though you know you shouldn’t. He loves that about you, and he loves kissing you. Your lips are so soft, and the sound of your shallow breaths sends a rush of excitement through his body.

The doorbell rings.

And Will just about loses it. You smile to yourself, enjoying this game you’re playing. You feel how much he wants you right now, how much he wants to lose himself in you, and you can’t blame him.

The bell rings again, louder now.

[littleplantfreak]

A Candle’s Memory

Pairing: Umemiya x Reader

Cw: Fluff and slight hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1782

I did this as an exercise that turned into me writing for longer than I was supposed to because I felt sad about leaving it unfinished. The Prompts were candle wick or an old flame rekindled (I did both) and the theme was : Preservation in preparation for the coming winter, we try to hold onto the last bit of warmth. Write about letting go, or not wanting to.

Oh! Thank you @birinboom, min skat and my lovely beta reader. I wouldn’t have posted it without you 😘

Thunk

Snow hitting your window snaps your mind out of the book you were reading and breaks the immersion completely, causing more anger than fear. You know the face that pops up outside the window immediately as you give him a bored look. For a 12 year old, Umemiya's more dependable than most adults, dragging himself out of bed at 6:00AM to shovel the older neighbors' sidewalks. His cheeks and nose are stained red, and his sniffling causes the window to fog up.

When you crack the window halfway, the warmth is sucked out of your room, the wind blowing the candle you were using as a reading light out. Dog earring the page of your book, you reach out as your hands cover his cheeks, hoping to bring him some form of warmth. You really have to pity his poor skin with the way he gives it no more care than to wrap a scarf around his neck and sometimes bury his face deep in it to keep away frostbite.

"Whatcha readin' this time?" He asks, feeling the blood return to his face now that there's warm skin over his own frigid cheeks. The candle blown out stares him down while the wax cools as if faulting him for its death.

"Treasure Island. You should read it after I'm done." Because he should. You know his taste, and this is something he can get behind. Pirates and adventure for a boy who's got an equally adventurous dream roiling in his bones. He never asks what it's about, and you never tell him, both content at the surprise.

"I'll pick it up on my way to school," Is all he says to that before taking the matches off the side of the table and relighting your candle. He hops down a little ways, setting out to do at least two more sidewalks before he has to go back home and get dressed.

This routine continues until it stops snowing. Or at least you would think it would. He doesn't have any real reason to come back once it's warm enough, you'd think, but when he shows up on a morning without snow, you're a bit confused.

"I saw the candle going again and decided to stop by." He says immediately. It's still cold, but his face is much less irritated by it without precipitation.

"Are you...on a walk?"

"Something like that!" He says leaning into the window, giving no concern over how close he gets to you or the burning candle he almost knocks over. It'd be silly to say you didn't have a crush on him, especially with his constant morning attention and how his smile seemed to light up your room more than your candle ever could.

His eyes go to the book you're reading once again. This time the cover reads Hamlet. When he meets your eyes again, you let out a breath you'd been holding.

"This one is a tragedy, so you might not like it as much." It's more than you've ever said about one of the books before.

"Do you like it?" He asks, gray eyes dancing between looking at your bedhead and the pretty eyes that caught his attention the first time he saw you through the window.

"I do."

"I'll give it a try." He shows a softer smile, less thousand-watt and more warm sunny day. You're not sure if he can tell just how breathless it makes you when he does that. Surely he has to know. The thought of him smiling like that makes your heart twist in an unpleasant way, but you'll be damned if you ever let that monster win against showing him nothing but the smile you return to him.

The one morning you wish he'd come, he doesn't. The dread you feel lays heavy like a rock in your throat as the moving van comes that afternoon, dragging you away from your window. Before you leave, you look from the outside where he'd stand, seeing from his point of view what it looked like sans burning candle. Surely it must look more comforting with the flame and its golden halo.

When you think about him coming back to the dark empty frame, no longer allowed access, the tears you thought would be so easy to hold back fall painfully. The bookmark you lay out on the windowsill that your parents bought you as a birthday present sits limp and dead, and you wonder if it'll blow away before he finds it.

It does not blow away before he finds it, luckily. The unlucky thing is that you're gone. He's been kept away by a fever he didn't think would get worse after the first day. Try as he might've to meet you, the room spun, and he quickly and often became accustomed to the toilet those three days he was bedridden. The bookmark had small pressed petals and a pink tassel to match them. He holds it tight, looking at the window and feeling like it was a closed door.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

When you move back to your hometown, you're well out of high school. The town has changed for the better as you walk through, seeing the community flourish with potted plants in front of stores no longer kicked and smashed, and kids walking together, no nervous glances to the alleyways anymore. You've got an inkling as to who's responsible for the change, but you brush aside thoughts of him even now, the nostalgia keeping you from reading any books you'd shared back then. You'd learned fast back then that rereading them only caused stormy waves to wash over you, soaking you in a delicate sadness.

There are plenty of books in the world. A few are off limits. If you saw him, though, would it allow you to read them again, the way you so desperately wish to? Sometimes you wonder if it's the books you miss or the interest Umemiya gave to both you and the pages.

You buy your old house from your parents, who never got around to selling it. It's run down and dusty, and the rooms are the same as ever. You can't bring yourself to take any room but your own from back then, setting it up differently except for the desk against the window.

The old scentless candle is now replaced with a sweet lemon one that you allow to burn while the window stays open well into the later evening. The lack of scent back then was only due to your parents who weren't pleased with your staying up past bedtime, hours into the next morning, and then sleeping when you got home from school until you started the cycle once more.

The house feels better now that you've got it clean, at least. There are carpets to rip out, and leaks to check. The backyard is overgrown, and the light in the shed refuses to work, but this is home. It feels more like home than the house you'd moved to all those years ago.

The next day, you walk back to your house from the library with a stack of three books nestled close to your chest. You can't help your eyes flickering to the large figure making his way to the door you've just come out of, and when you hold it for him, you're more sure than ever.

"Umemiya Hajime, is that you?" you ask, voice a little more enthused than you'd wanted it to be. He looks once, then to the door before he double takes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind, with the cutest pout you didn't know a grown man could make. Your name falls from his mouth like a question. "The one and only," you say, and your smile turns fond, remembering just how much tinier he used to be. You were always taller than him, at least from your seat at the desk, but now he towers above you.

"It's really you," he breathes for a moment, looking at the differences and picking them out easily. He feels like it was just yesterday that he leaned too close to your candle, singeing the end of his scarf by accident. He remembers the look of panic when you realized he was on fire and started smacking at him with your book. You'd ended up having to buy that one from the library due to the soot and small scorches to the cover from your rescue. He still has it on a shelf in his room, insisting he'd pay you back, but you said it'd be a late Christmas present despite it being closer to Valentine's day than anything. When he brought it up back then, you'd waved it off, stuttering something about how it was more about intention than actual calendar dates.

"Are you visiting?" He asks, not having heard that you were around from anyone, but you always were a bit more introverted.

"I bought my old house and moved back actually. There was a job with a 20-minute commute from here, so I figured it'd be great to be somewhere familiar. I didn't know Makochi changed this much." He sees the crinkle of your eyes and the smile you throw to him when you say the last sentence, knowing you've always been fully aware of his dreams. Seeing that was worth more than any praise. The look was praise itself, maybe, given how it filled his chest with a warmth that had him laying a hand there as his fingers played with the neck of his shirt as he tried hard not to fist the fabric.

"If I'd known, I would've stopped by sooner."

"You know now, so stop by whenever you want," you laugh, because years ago, he would never have been shy about it. The book you see he's holding has something pink attached. A memory surfaces, spanning over years of living in a separate, different place, only to settle right where a story ended. At least you thought it had ended, but maybe you'll have to crack it open again just to be sure.

"This time, you can come in through the door."  You walk off with a wave, thinking about lighting that lemon scented candle again when you get home. You let it burn long enough last time for the memory to shape the wax into a nice, even pool, which will help the wick burn slow and steady once you relight it.

[corpsekiller]

pls can you write gintoki finding out her s/o is pregnant? would he be happy? would he not? your choice (you can make it fluff or angst and i will be happy either way)

thank you so much for sending this request, i absolutely adored this idea! i was honestly considering writing this incredibly angsty, but i don't think gintoki would let his partner down if he truly loved them, so fluff it is. i hope you enjoy <3

PAIRING. sakata gintoki x fem!reader

WARNINGS. unexpected pregnancy and so much fluff

MASTERLIST

It's one of those days — one that drags out in tranquility, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Gintoki slouches in his usual spot at the Yorozuya, draped over the blue sofa with no space left for anyone else to sit as he absentmindedly pokes at the remains of his parfait and he flips through the newest Jump magazine. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't even look up when you come in, though at least he puts in the effort to grunt lowly in a half-hearted greeting.

"Gin?" You ask carefully, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if the movement could ease some of the unbearable anxiety that churns in the pit of your stomach. "I really need to tell you something important."

"If it's about some new bill, just add it to the mountain in the corner over there." Your boyfriend doesn't take his eyes off the page he's currently reading, only raises his hand to give you a dismissive wave that gestures towards his desk where stacks of papers and unopened letters rest, right next to his wooden sword and a few coins of loose change that wouldn't even be enough to buy a bottle of strawberry milk.

For a moment, you just stare at him — to be truthful, you always admired his unheeding act, this mask of utter boredom that never seems to crack, no matter what kind of danger he faces like a rock amid the crashing waves of the sea, but right now, it's nothing more than infuriating. The thought of turning on your heels and leaving crosses your mind for a fleeting second, followed by dreading fear that tries to convince that he'd kick you out anyway if you tell him the reason for your unannounced visit and yet—

"Gintoki!" You snap, raising your voice just enough for him to actually look at you this time.

Just as you hoped, that catches his attention. Immediately, he straightens up and turns to face you, a glint of genuine surprise flickering across his face before it dims behind the furrow of his brows.

It takes him exactly five seconds to notice that something is definitely wrong.

Five seconds in which he lets his gaze linger on you, studying the way your hands fiddle with the hem of your sleeve and your chest heaves as you draw in a shaky breath, noticing the soft pout of your lips and the glaze in your eyes as if you're on the verge of crying before he speaks up.

"What's going on?" He asks tentatively, his voice gentle, now that he's realized how serious the situation truly is. There's a glint of confusion in the maroon of his eyes and you fight the urge to run away, try to keep your feet in place as you bury your fingers in the fabric of your clothes and push out the words before you can think too much about their weight.

“I’m… I’m pregnant, Gin.”

The silence that follows fills the entire Yorozuya and spills out into the busy streets of Edo. Your heart thunders in your chest, loud and violent, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you stare at him, waiting for a reaction no matter how much it scares you.

Your boyfriend's eyes widen and his mouth drops open, perhaps to offer you a stupid joke or a sarcastic remark, but no sound tumbles from his parted lips as your statement slowly sinks in.

Instead, he blinks once, twice, gaping at you owlishly.

Then, as if on mere instinct, he jumps back like you just announced you're carrying an alien parasite inside your body. "Pregnant?! Like... with a tiny human? In there?" He asks, wide-eyed and stuttering, pointing at your stomach in disbelief. "Are you sure it's not just a food baby?"

Exasperated, you roll your eyes, though you can't help but crack a small smile at his idiocy. "Yes, I'm sure."

"How could this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but—," Gintoki mutters to himself, stumbling over every syllable as he paces around the room, gesturing wildly and occasionally running his hand through his hair, tousling it in a frenzy — even worse, he looks like someone just told him strawberry milk has been banned for all eternity. "I was careful, I swear! I don't even eat my snacks without a napkin!"

Now, that's just a blatant lie.

Yet, despite the former shock, you can't help but chuckle, which only makes him pout more.

"Alright, alright," he finally mutters, seemingly trying to pull himself together. "So, I'm officially gonna be a dad, huh? It's not like I've been pulling this job off for two other brats... Just give me a minute process that — this is a big deal, like finding Jump's on break for the week kind of big. Y'know, traumatizing."

That comment earns him a slap on the back of his head.

"Yeah, okay, I deserved that," he huffs, rubbing over the sore spot where you hit him to ease some of the ache. "Guess I can’t get by on nothing but dango and parfaits if there’s gonna be another kid around, huh? My wallet was already dying, but now it’s going to be a corpse."

But even as he complains, you notice how his expression softens and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, dreamy and even a little proud. Slowly, he steps closer and wraps his arms around you, surprising not only you but himself as well as he pulls you against his chest and presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Y'know, I'm not exactly what you'd call dad material. Most people just call me lazy, reckless, a walking sugar crash waiting to happen," he murmurs into your hair, trailing off as he loosens his arms around your shoulders and pushes you back just enough to get a good look at your face. "But I guess if you’re crazy enough to want me in this with you… I’ll try not to screw it up. Too much, anyway."

Your lips curve upwards and you quickly cover your mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the laugh that dares to escape, but he already picked it up — he might not have reacted how a loving partner should have to such news, but he knows exactly how to ease your tension and bring back that smile he always loves to see on your face.

"We'll do this together, okay? Just promise me one thing," he continues, mischief glinting in his eyes. "If this kid tries to start eating my parfaits or cuts into my dango stash, you’re the one who has to deal with it. I’m not above grounding my own kid for a stolen snack, got it?"

With that, Gintoki gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and pulls you with him to settle on the sofa, cuddled against his side as things slowly return back to normal. Well, as normal as life can get now that he knows a child is on its way. But even if he has no idea what the future holds, one thing is certain—he’ll be facing it by your side.

Taglist: @jaerang @justwolosers @imjustaweirdnerd

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

hey could I be 🦕, if it's not taken?

I also have a request lol, could u do a meltdown comfort fic? ( definitely not requesting this be I had a meltdown over not having the right pasta sauce for my comfort/safe food) like where a male reader has a bunch of little things built up and it spills over when there's no more of readers comfort/safe food and they end up lashing out and having a meltdown because of it

anyways have a good evening,thx!

Hiya, I'm really sorry thats taken 😔 (I need to make a list lmao) - assuming you're not the other 🦕 anon currently in my drafts 😅

I hope this is okay, I don't have autism or meltdowns, so feel free to let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. I don't think the reader in this has a meltdown, he was distressed and then stims to regulate his emotions. But yeah, feel free to let me know if I get anything wrong, I don't want to offend anyone or anything.

Warnings: reader is distressed, meltdown

"(Y/N)? What's wrong-"

"Can you just fuck off?!" Everyone falls silent as the words burst from your mouth. You immediately look down, mentally scolding yourself for yelling at Hotch like that. Hotch. Of all people. Who had been nothing but kind to you since you joined. Who always made sure you were okay. Who was also your boss. "I- I'm sorry-" Your voice is quiet and Hotch has to strain his ears to hear you.

Instead of yelling, like everyone assumed he would, his gaze softens as he looks at you. "How about we head up to my office for a few minutes, okay?" His voice is reassuring and is doing nothing for your guilt and the dread for what he would say when it was just the two of you.

You hadn't meant to snap at him, but everything had just built up and built up and it was your tipping point. You should have just gone home.

It had started this morning when it turns out you had run out of milk - meaning you couldn't have cereal and a cup of coffee for breakfast. Then, you couldn't find the socks you had planned on wearing, you missed the early bus because of how long you had tried to find the socks you wanted to wear, and that made you almost late for work. And then, when you opened the fridge, it turns out someone had eaten the last of your safe foods you kept stocked up in the fridge.

You knew no one on the team would have taken it, they knew you were particular about your food (that's how you had worded it when you first joined the team - they knew the reasoning behind it now, of course but its still how you described it). And they always tried their best to make sure that you had food in the fridge that you liked.

You follow him to his office silently, you don't miss the look he shoots the rest of the team - who quickly make themselves look busy. So you don't feel more on edge than you already do. Your heart twinges at this. You had just yelled at him and here he was, being incredibly sweet to you.

When you reach his office, he shuts the door gently behind him and motions to the couch, you sit. "You don't have to speak until you're ready, whatever you need to do to help regulate your emotions is okay."

You take a moment to process his words before you give a small nod. It takes a few seconds before you gently start to rock, humming gently to yourself. Hotch sits down on the couch, at the other end. He wanted you to know he was there if you needed him, but enough space to do what you needed to. He slowly picked up the book on the coffee table, flicking to the page he was currently on.

Eventually, when your stimming comes to an end, Hotch closes the book. He had been keeping a close eye on you, not really paying attention to the book. He had just wanted to make you comfortable.

"You weren't reading," You state quietly.

"I wasn't," Hotch says with a nod.

"Thank you," You reply. You knew what he was doing - he had done it a few times during similar situations.

"That's alright," He gives a small (rare) smile, "Did you want to talk about what's going on?"

"It's just been a bad day." You shrug, "No coffee, no breakfast, wrong socks, and now no safe food," You felt your cheeks tint pink ever so slightly in embarrassment.

Hotch just nods, "I understand. What snack in particular were you craving?"

"I wanted a chocolate muffin," You shrugged, running a hand over your face. All you could think about was how stupid this all was.

"Is that the Starbucks one?" When you nod, Hotch smiles slightly and rummages about in his desk. "I had a feeling that this might happen at some point. So I stocked up on your safe foods." He said, pulling out a muffin. "There you go. As for drinks, take whatever you fancy,"

You look up, eyes slightly wide at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you,"

"That's alright, and (Y/N)?"

"Yeah?"

"Anytime you're feeling overwhelmed, or if the day isn't going quite right, you're more than welcome to come sit up here, okay?"

"Okay."

[rentsturner]

If you’ve a lesson to teach me… - AT

professor!alex turner x fem!reader

Warnings: established student/teacher relationship, smut, spanking (with a riding crop), oral (male receiving), tiny bit of face fucking, bdsm undertones, unprotected piv sex, sir kink, alex has tattoos, aftercare, teensy bit of angst but lots of fluff, cuddling.

A/n: this is from a request where reader gets a bad grade and Alex ‘punishes’ her. It’s very smutty, but there’s fluff at the end I promise. Thank you as always to my bestie @martinipoliz who wrote like 25% of this fic and is always putting up with me and my moods, couldn’t do it without her. As always, if you don’t like it, don’t read it :)

Today is the day.

The day that you’ve been dreading all week and wishing it wouldn’t come, but it still has.

Last month, Alex gave your class a task which was due last week, and you had barely submitted it on time. Three minutes before the deadline, you were just so relieved that you finished the essay, but not without receiving a disapproving look from Alex as he took the paper from your hands.

To say that you’re nervous about your grade would be an understatement.

You’re fucking terrified.

It was unlike anything Alex had ever given before, and you’re not going to deny that you did struggle a bit coming to terms with some of the subject matter, so that it took you way too long to finally understand it, and even longer to come up with sentences that didn’t sound like absolute dogshit.

You had even tried asking Alex to maybe help you in some parts but then immediately backtracked when he gave you a stern stare that meant you can do this yourself, and so you accepted your fate and gave everything you could and hoped for a miracle.

And who are you kidding? That miracle did not happen.

Because the essay lands on your desk, a large red B- staring up at you, and suddenly getting swallowed by the ground doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.

For you, a B- isn't necessarily bad, but it’s not as good as you usually do. And you know for certain that Alex is not happy with it, by the way he sighs as he hands you the paper and looks down at you pointedly. He taps the ‘B-’ with one long finger.

“Not quite up to your usual standard, sweetheart.” he mutters, quiet enough just for you to hear, and your ears turn red in embarrassment.

And then he’s off, hurriedly handing out the rest of the papers and giving praise to other students, and your heart sinks. To top it all off, you hear him saying “good job, darling,” to the girl sitting at the front while you got nothing. Not even a mere good job too.

You rifle through the pages of your essay, reading Alex’s comments written in red pen. Most of them are constructive criticism, things that you can improve on quite easily, except for the note at the bottom of the page: ‘SEE ME AFTER CLASS’.

You sit through the rest of the class nervously, hands fidgeting, struggling to keep still. Alex notices your restlessness and sends you a stern look from the front of the class. Your stomach twists and clenches just thinking about what he might have planned for you, it’s making you hot and bothered just thinking about it, as well as incredibly nervous.

Alex has talked about punishment before, it’s come up a few times in the relationship that you’ve been having for the past four months. He’s rather very good at communicating and negotiating stuff with you, telling you to be open to him without feeling any shame, and you did.

You told him about the things you wanted to try out and he listened, nodded, indulged your fantasies without making you feel judged or walking on eggshells. Your confession ranged from giving him full authority over you during sex, to negotiating what kind of punishments you’d be comfortable with when you misbehaved. It seems that conversation will be coming in useful now.

Finally, Alex wraps up the class and dismisses the other students. You slowly pack up your notes and pens, waiting patiently for everyone else to filter out the class before making your way to Alex’s desk.

He’s piling up his papers, the sleeves of his white dress shirt neatly rolled up to the elbows.

When your shadow crosses over his desk, he looks up at you. His eyes are soft, but you can tell he’s disappointed.

“I know it was a hard paper, but I did expect better from you, darling.”

“I tried, Al, I promise, I just -”

“Maybe you need a reminder of how hard you should be working. You don’t get to coast in this class just because you’re fucking me. Handing it in with 3 minutes to go wasn’t acceptable either.” He raises his eyebrow at you before going back to stacking his papers.

You stay quiet, guilt and embarrassment rolling in your stomach. He’s right. You’re usually better than this, maybe you have taken your foot off the pedal the last few weeks. It wasn’t like you to hand in papers late, or struggle to write about a subject that you love. But you had been tired recently, it was getting to that time of year where everyone starts to burn out, you included.

Alex seems to notice your silence. He stops messing with his papers and places one hand on your shoulder, brushing his thumb gently along your skin.

“Look, I am a little disappointed in you, darling, and I admit that I expected better. But don’t mistake my disappointment as me being mad, because it’s different. If I was mad at you, I would’ve already bent you over this desk.” He chuckles at that, and you manage to crack a smile too, a jolt of electricity running through you from the thoughts that that comment incites.

“But, this is just me reminding you that just because I’m your boyfriend, that doesn’t make me any less of your teacher.” Alex squeezes your shoulder and you nod at him, understanding what he’s saying. Because he’s right, Alex is still your teacher, and you want to impress him with your work, not coast through his class.

Alex continues marking papers for a bit while you do some revision, taking your usual spot at the end of his desk. He notices you yawning and losing focus after a while, so he offers to order you an Uber back to his flat. You’re practically living at Alex’s place at the moment, half of your clothes and toiletries are there, and it’s a lot easier to go to and from school from his.

Alex walks you to the pick up point, one hand planted protectively on the small of your back - he’s planning to stay on campus for a little longer to finish marking, as he wants you all to himself when he gets home later.

When the Uber arrives, he grabs the door for you, ushering you into the car while he whispers, “I expect you to be naked and kneeling by the bed when I get back. If not, then you’d find yourself in more trouble than you already are.”

You shiver a little at his words, suspecting there would be some element of punishment involved tonight, but now that Alex has confirmed it, you’re incredibly excited. This is something you’ve wanted for a while, and obviously you didn’t want to do badly on your paper, but maybe something good can come out of it…

When you arrive at Alex’s flat, you manage to have a quick nap in an attempt to calm your nerves.

An hour later, you’re kneeling on the floor, ready and waiting. Your skin is coming out in goosebumps, partly from the cool air on your bare skin, partly from the anticipation of Alex arriving home. You rub your thighs together, trying to create some friction to ease the ache in your cunt. The sound of the door opening and then slamming shut startles you a little, your stomach dropping in excitement as you realise Alex is finally back. You hear him drop his bags in the hallway, then his long strides echo through the house as he makes his way up to the bedroom. The suspense is killing you now, you're practically shaking as you wait in your kneeling position for him. You just hope he’s impressed.

The door swings open and Alex enters, a smirk growing as he takes you in, naked and kneeling for him. You swear you see his pupils dilate, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“What a sight to see, really,” he comments, leaning down fully and pressing both of his hands on his knees to meet your eyes. “If only I get to see this every day I come home. Would you mind it, darling? Would you mind if I ask you to be in this exact position every day, naked and vulnerable, waiting for your Sir like a good girl?”

You shake your head, then open your mouth to speak. “I wouldn’t, sir.”

“Good. Because it’d be such a shame if you do,” Alex flashes you a smile, leaning forward to peck your lips. “But let’s not forget why you’re currently here in that position now, yeah? Can you tell me? Tell me the reason why I’m punishing you, wanna hear you say it.”

“I –” your lips quiver, gulping down hard. “Because I got a B- on my paper, sir.”

“That’s right,” he nods, now standing up straight and fixing his posture. “And what am I gonna do to you exactly?”

“Straighten me out?”

Alex laughs softly at your reply, bringing one of his hands up to pet your hair gently. It’s a small gesture yet still manages to make your stomach erupt with butterflies. “Not the words I would use, but sure, darling – I’ll straighten you out.”

Alex quickly discards his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, exposing his arms. You feel yourself gush just looking at them, the veins snaking across his pale skin, marred only by the intricate tattoos extending from his wrists up into the sleeves of his shirt. You think about how the patterns curl around his shoulders, spreading into wings across his back, how you trace them so gently when he’s sleeping, admiring the beauty of him.

Alex interrupts your thoughts, opening his wardrobe and rummaging around in there for a bit. You squirm with anticipation, having no idea what your boyfriend might have planned for you, only knowing that it’s going to be intense.

Alex turns round to face you, a menacing grin plastered across his face, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the object in his hands – a long, slim riding crop, the end a double fold of stiff leather. Your eyes widen, your heart racing as you watch Alex tap the end against his hand.

“What do you think of this, baby? Think you can take it?”

You nod again, but Alex needs more this time”

“Need your words for this, love. What’s your colour?”

“G–Green, sir, so green, please.”

Alex smirks. He takes a few strides so he’s standing over you, stroking your hair gently, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“On the bed, baby. You know what to do.”

He points the crop to the king sized bed behind you, following you as you stretch your stiff legs and make your way over. You sink slowly onto the soft mattress, knowing exactly what position Alex wants you in – ass up, face down. You stretch your arms out in front of you to support your head and try to relax your thighs, presenting your bare cunt and ass to Alex. You can hear his breathing quicken as he takes you in – he’s just as excited as you are.

“I want you to count these out for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

You feel the bed dip behind you as Alex takes his position, then hear the swoop of the riding crop through the air, then a burning sensation on your left ass cheek. God it hurts, but it feels so good at the same time, sending a jolt right to your cunt as you cry out.

“One, sir.”

He lands another one on your other cheek, you whimper as the burn spreads across your skin, and manage to whisper out a ‘Two, s- -sir.”

“Colour?”

“Green, please keep going Al – Sir, more please.”

Seems like Alex doesn’t like the way you accidentally addressed him by his name, and so two more quick swats land on your cheeks in quick succession. You bite into the pillow, feeling the tears welling up as you muffle your scream. It fucking burns. You’ve always been so used to his hands spanking you but never leather.

“Forgotten how to count already, princess?”

“No – no, Sir, just –” you sniffle, swallowing down the sob threatening to spill. “Three a–and four.”

“What’s that? Let me hear you –” he pauses, you try to look back in confusion, but before you can see what he’s up to, he’s already bringing the riding crop for another lash on your ass – much harder than the last four. “– say it fucking louder!”

“Five!” You scream, burying your face into the mattress and pulling your lower torso away from the sheer pain, but Alex places his hand on your waist to pull you back closer. “F–Five, Sir, that’s – that’s five, please, it hurts –”

“Does it?” Alex mocks. “You know deep down in yourself that you deserve it, so count properly unless you want me to bring the number up.”

You can’t bring yourself up to speak since you’re already shuddering from your sobs, your skin burning in pain, just adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It was so much, all at once.

You took 5 more strokes from Alex, forcing out the number and a thank you each time, until the 10th blow had you collapsing onto the bed, shuddering and crying.

“Alright, I think that’s enough, yeah, baby?”

Alex places one hand on the small of your back, rubbing up and down your skin in an effort to calm your shaking form.

“You did so well, baby, I’m proud of you.”

Alex’s voice is softer now, and you suspect you’ve got past the worst of the punishment. His words fill you with warmth, and you nod and hiccup into the duvet, reaching one hand back to grab at Alex’s. He intertwines your fingers, letting you find comfort in him for a few moments.

“Good girl. But we aren’t done yet. Need you to make me feel good.”

You roll over, wincing as your raw ass rubs a little on the sheets. You aren’t going to be able to sit down for a few days, that’s for sure.

Alex shuffles to the end of bed and sits back on his heels, beckoning for you to come over, a growing bulge glaring obvious in his navy pants.

You crawl over to Alex, swaying your hips seductively as you move, knowing it will just turn him on even more.

You unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly, your hands shaking a little in your eagerness to please Alex. You’re practically drooling at the thought of his thick cock in your mouth. His fingers card through your hair, gathering it into a ponytail in one hand. He pulls your head back a little from his grip on your hair, until you’re looking up at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown from anticipation, his chest heaving up and down under his shirt. God, you wish you could just rip the white fabric off him, run your hands over his shoulders and chest, feel the solid muscle under his smooth, pale skin.

“Slow down, baby, we’ve got all night, yeah?”

You nod your head, taking a few deep breaths before tugging on Alex’s boxers. He helps you pull them down, his cock slipping out, already thick and hard, a dribble of pre-cum leaking from the swollen tip. You wrap one hand around his length, feeling his velvety skin under your fingertips. Alex’s deep groan fills the room as you drop your head to lick slowly along the underside of his cock. His grip tightens on your hair as you suckle gently on the tip, tasting the saltiness of his precum when you flick your tongue over his head. He sucks in a harsh breath, pulling on your hair.

“Don’t tease me now, darling, you’ll just make it worse for yourself.”

You smirk, giving him your best doe eyes, before ducking your head down to try and take him fully into your mouth, feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat and trying to swallow down a gag. You wrap your hand around his base, pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth. You continue looking up at Alex, his face blurring as a film of tears cloud over your eyes.

Alex groans, the deep sound going straight to your cunt and you try to rub your thighs together for a bit of friction, but Alex is quick to put a stop to that.

“Uh uh, darling, none of that. You can have your pleasure when I’m done, alright?”

You just whine around his cock, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can. There’s drool dripping down your chin and tears slowly spilling from your eyes. Even after numerous tries, you don’t think there will be a day in your life where you can fully take his whole nine inches down your throat without choking yourself to death – but whatever, that’s one good way to die.

“Fuck – so good baby, so good to me.” Alex pants, hand fisting your hair roughly as his hips buck against your mouth. You choke a little at the action and your own hands go to grip his thighs for support, a trail of spit dripping down your chin and onto the floor as the fat head of his cock hits the back of your throat again. “Yeah, darling, fucking choke on it – take it all, fucking take it all like the good girl you are –”

You moan at his words, feeling his cock throb in your mouth, so hot and heavy on your tongue. He’s close, you can tell, so you hollow your cheeks and suckle fervently on his length, getting Alex to his climax the only thing on your mind. Alex growls and you feel a tug on your hair as he pulls you off his cock, and you peer up at him, confused. A string of saliva still connects your lips to his cock and you can see it twitching in front of your face.

“Want to come in your cunt, darling.” Alex declares in between pants.

You nod your head eagerly. “Please, sir, want your cock, please.”

Alex nods, pushing you back until you’re lying back on the soft pillows. He grabs your wrists and puts them above your head. “These stay here, okay?”

You nod again, although you're desperate to touch Alex, you know it's better to do what he says. The cuddling can come later.

Alex drapes himself over your body, the fabric of his trousers brushing against your skin as he nudges your thighs apart, his hand dropping down to spread your folds.

“Fuck, baby, so wet for me, you just fucking love getting punished, don’t you?” One long finger flicks over your clit, spreading your slick over your hot skin. He’s right, you're soaked, a result of the spanking and having his cock in your mouth, so ready for him to have his way with you. And so is he, you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg, still sticky from a mix of your saliva and Alex’s precum. You moan as Alex’s two fingers press roughly into your cunt, scissoring and pressing against your walls, trying to find that special spot inside you.

“You’re lucky I’m giving you some prep, baby, bad girls don’t get stretched out before they take my cock. But you’ve done well for me so far, so I’m gonna be generous.” Alex pants into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

He pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on them. Your eyes widen as his face contorts in bliss, licking all of your juices off of his digits. His eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you, his eyes are dark, lust completely overtaking any semblance of reason.

“Gonna fuck you now, darling.”

You both groan in unison as Alex nudges his cock against your clit, grabbing himself at the base to push slowly inside of you. Despite how wet you are, and the few moments Alex spent stretching you out, there’s still a sharp burn as your walls try to accommodate his girth. He’s hot and heavy, throbbing inside of you, and you swear you can feel every ridge and vein as he slowly bottoms out.

Your whole body is trembling, your eyes rolling back into your head, the feeling of Alex so deep inside you almost enough to send you over the edge right there and then. You clench your fists, trying to keep your hands in the position you left them in, fighting the urge to rip Alex’s shirt off and scratch your nails down his back.

“Look at me, baby, look at me while I’m fucking you.” Alex practically growls, grabbing your chin in his hand and turning your face to him.

“Please move, Al- Sorry, Sir, please move.” The feeling of being full is so overwhelming, you need him to move or you might just combust.

Alex just smirks. “I really don’t think you're in any position to be making demands right now, darling. Remember why you’re here, yeah?”

You just whine and nod your head submissively, trying to keep your gaze on his. He lets you suffer for a few moments before finally moving his hips. He pulls out until just his tip is left snug in your hole, then slams his hip back forwards. You scream as his cock drags along your walls, his pelvis rubbing against your clit and his balls slapping against your still raw ass. Within seconds, the fire in your belly is reignited and you can feel yourself approaching your orgasm. You feel like you've been on the edge the whole night, and now, finally, you might get your release.

Alex pounds into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his gasps and moans coming in time with his thrusts. You can feel the sweat dripping down his brow onto your chest, the fabric of his shirt rubbing roughly against your nipples. You’re desperate to touch him, to run your hands over his shoulder, his neck, his hair, and you can’t hold it back anymore.

“Please, sir, p–please can I touch you? Please, I need to.”

Alex lifts his head from your neck, one sweaty lock of hair falling over his forehead as he looks down at you. “Oh really? You think you’ve been good enough to touch me?”

“Y–Yes, please, I’ve been a good girl, I have.”

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Good girls don’t get bad grades, do they?”

You’re truly on the edge now, can feel your orgasm approaching like a runaway train, and you squeeze your eyes shut to try to fend it off, not wanting to come without your arms around Alex.

“You close, baby? Gonna come for me?”

You shake your head desperately. “Please, sir, need to touch you, please.”

“You wanna touch me?” Alex smirks, breathing hard as he drives his cock even deeper, loving the way your walls clench around his length everytime he hits that special spot that never fails to make you fucking shake. “If you wanna touch me, you better cum around my cock and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Now that’s something that’s not very difficult to do. With a sniffle and a loud whimper, you crack open your teary eyes and look at him. He’s watching you very carefully. One of the few things you’ve noticed at the start of your relationship is that he never takes his eyes off of you when you’re cumming – whether it’s around his cock or his fingers or even his mouth, his eyes will always find their way to look at your face as you crumble down from both his generosity and cruelty.

Your vision tunnels to just Alex’s face, his dark eyes, long lashes, pale skin, the little scar under his brow, and you come. The emotions of the past few hours finally catch up with you and you shake and shudder under Alex, clenching and milking him for all he’s worth. He groans and his hips stutter as he reaches his climax as well, a warmth filling you as he empties himself deep inside of you. You sob and bury your face in Alex’s neck, which is damp from sweat. His chain presses against your cheek, cold against your burning skin.

“Fuck, baby, such a good girl, so good for me. Come here, love.”

And finally you move your stiff arms to wrap yourself around Alex, curling your legs around his waist, his softening cock still inside of you. You tug at his shirt, whining into his neck and Alex immediately knows what you want, pulling back for a moment to peel the shirt off his shoulders, flinging it to the other side of the room. His pants are also discarded within moments, until he’s left just as naked as you are. His chest is sweaty and if you aren’t so tired from getting dicked down within an inch of your life, you would’ve taken your time admiring it and maybe leaving a very funny comment that would surely make him laugh.

But unfortunately you don’t have the energy to do all that, you’re sure Alex will understand.

“Tired?” He croons, pressing his hand on your cheek, loving the way it’s burning and still a bit wet from your tears. “You wanna shower, baby? Need your answer here, don’t leave me hanging.”

“No,” you whine, pawing at his shoulder and pulling him closer, purposefully draping his whole body on top of you and putting his head in the crook of your neck. “Stay here.”

You hear him chuckling, his hot breath tickling your neck as his hands then move underneath your back and wrap you up with his body like a big weighted blanket. “You wanna stay like this? All night? You sure I'm not gonna crush you or something?”

“No, you’re warm.”

Based on your short responses and clingy attitude, Alex comes to the conclusion that you’re in one of those moods again. You often get clingy and a bit out of it after a good orgasm, but not entirely in subspace. He would’ve known the tone of your voice if you were, but right now he thinks you’re just a bit floaty, and you think you are too.

“Is there anything you want to do after, baby? Take a bath? Sleep? Order a takeout?”

You don’t know. You’re still very much intoxicated by his scent especially since he’s closer to you than he has been all day. Alex’s aftershave mixed with his sweat is practically making you mewl like a kitten, and you have to stop every urge not to rub your cheeks against him like one.

“How about just lie here for a bit, then take a bath, then order a takeout, then sleep?” You suggest, voice hoarse and raw from getting throatfucked earlier. Wonderful. “And I wanna…” You trail off, a hand snaking up to play with his hair.

“Wanna what?” Even though you don’t see Alex’s face, you can practically visualise in your head that he’s currently holding up his confused expression. Raised eyebrow and all. “You wanna go for another round or something?”

“No!” You giggle, slapping him slightly on the shoulder, which earns a quick nip on your neck and a chuckle from Alex. “Well, not that it’s a problem. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Wanna apologise.” There it goes. Your voice sounds a bit teary and sad, no doubt Alex picks up on that. “I didn’t… mean to have that kind of grade, you know that. It’s just everything has been stressing me out lately and I haven’t really figured out how to fix it yet. I guess overthinking about making it all better kept me from putting all my focus on that paper. I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

Alex doesn’t answer for a bit and you think that maybe he’s thinking if your excuse is good enough, but luckily that’s not the case when you feel his lips pressing soft kisses on your neck and up behind your ear. You flinch a little from being ticklish, a giggle spilling out of your mouth.

“I know you will,” Alex finally says, pulling his head back and looking at your face. “I know you’ll do better, sweetheart. You always do. And I love you for that. You know that if there’s something bothering you, you can always just ask me for help, right? I’m not a mind reader, darling, that’s why we need to communicate. I’m not always with you when we’re in school so I have no idea what problems you might be facing, but if there’s something I can do to help, then please tell me. Okay?”

He’s right. He always is.

“Okay. I understand. I love you too,” you give him a smile, now feeling a little shy under his stare as he brushes your hair out of your face. “I’ll tell you about my problems next time. Would you still help me if it was about your subject, though?”

Alex laughs cheekily at your question, leaning down to kiss your nose. “I’ll think about it. Still depends if you’d be willing to give me something in return.”

“Oh yeah?” You quirk an eyebrow, a playful grin making its way on your face. “And what’s that?”

“What do we say about roleplay –”

You push his shoulders before he can even finish his question, barking out a laugh when Alex only scoops his arms underneath your back again and pulling you closer to him.

“Absolutely not!”

[clare-875]

You're not alone (Levi x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Levi x Reader Summary: You lose someone close to you and Levi tries his best to comfort you. Warnings: Grief, Hurt/Comfort [AOT Masterlist] _____

The letter that had been delivered now slipped from your hands in a mixture of shock and pain. It was as though the very pages burnt your skin, but it was now your heart that lit aflame and your lungs had ceased to work because of it. What? One word slipped from your mind and you could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all, until the dread seeps in. No. You shake your head as you try to steady yourself on the wall of your room. No. A hand grips its way to your chest as you feel the searing and suffocating feeling fill you again. No. No. No. No... Please no. "Please..." Your words are soft as they are uttered in the air but you feel yourself slowly losing control. You search your room as though it would give you answers, but you have read the discarded letter a million times before you let it slip. There was no denying it. Your fingernails seep into the etches of your palms and you feel the faint sting as you dig too deep beneath your skin. There is a stillness to the room around you, but inside it feels as though you are on the brink of collapse, like suddenly you'll fall apart. There was pain; it wasn't a dream.

One tear slips from your eye hot and tracing the curve of your cheek, it is followed by another and another, and another, until tears pour like rain from your irises. Your breath comes in aching increments, but it loses its usual rhythm; like your body has forgotten how to take in Oxygen. Your heart is racing to a pace you can't keep up with and you feel yourself falling to the floor just to stop the darkness that eats its way into your vision. You pull yourself closer to try to shield away the pain, but how do you stop the pain when it's coming from within yourself? They're dead. It was so sudden the news that had fallen into your hands, and abruptly you felt like half the person you were a minute ago. One letter, one sentence and your entire world had turned in your head. You can't breathe. A sob rakes through your body as you pull your legs to your chest and you try to find that rhythm again. Breathe in. Breathe out. But then your mind would flash to memories of them, healthy, alive and beside you; your efforts were fruitless.

"[y/n]?"

You were lost in the storm of thoughts and denial that rang through your head, but through the strain, you heard his voice. Levi. You don't know what compels you to move but you do, standing unsteadily to your feet despite just wanting to remain. You rub your eyes furiously and curse the world for the torture it bids you. "[y/n]? You here?" You hear his voice again from beyond your door, the two of you had shared chambers after all, and he had likely searched the rooms in confusion about your absence. You hold your breath but when you hear the click of the handle it compels you to speak suddenly into the silence. "I-I'll be out in a minute Levi, just wait!" Stillness reaches the room after your abrupt and almost brokenly pleading words. You feel your tears fall from your eyes again. You feel the heaviness in your chest again. You hold your breath and hope that Levi will leave. The both of you had seen so much death already, he didn't need to see you cry over another one. But Levi hears the inflections of your words and the sudden shout that has concern twisting his mind.

"[y/n] what's-"

But Levi doesn't know that you have let the grief consume you again. You can barely help the tears that form and spill. It was like hearing Levi talk confirmed it all; this was real life, someone you adored, someone you treasured, was now dead. It was the final bullet that tore through you and your mind was ablaze with images of them. The memories clouded your minds, of better times spent together; of peaceful times. When you had left to go to the Scout Regiment, they had been apprehensive at first, but that had turned into pride after hearing all you had done to save humanity. In turn, you sacrificed the years beside them; you hadn't seen them in so long. What did their voice sound like again? What was it like to be in their arms? What did their smile look like? It tore you down further; you would never see them, hear them or feel them again. Your mind was playing tricks on you as you questioned every experience you held onto, and the rememberings of a time that seemed so far away. You breathe heavier, you cry harder into your hands, and your form is pulled to the floor again.

Through it all Levi hears it. No method to muffle your cries could hide the obvious turmoil that took place beyond your door. His heart twists in concern, racing as he tries to decipher what had brought you to despair. When Levi hears your sobs get harsher he grips his hand to the door handle but his voice is softer than you had ever heard. "[y/n]... I'm coming in." You don't reply and Levi doesn't even know if you heard his mild words, but he opens the door anyway, worry forcing him to move. When the door gives way, Levi's eyes widen at the sight before him; you were curled in on yourself, shoulders shaking beside your bed, lost obviously in pain or turmoil. Through every loss, every expedition and every challenge the both of you had faced as Scouts, he had never seen you look so lost in your tears as you are now. "L-Levi," your voice shakes, but any amount of bravery to grieve alone had withered by his mere presence; now you desperately craved the man you loved. "[y/n] what happened?" His voice is sharp and urgent, as his mind races through what could've happened to you. Had someone hurt you? Had someone touched you? Had someone said something? Were you-?

"[Loved one]'s dead."

Your voice is dull against the ceasing of his thoughts, and he finds himself speechless. "How do I-, I can't-, Levi-" Your strained words are muddled into incomprehensible fragments. You had questions that reflected the despair in your heart. How do you move on? Can you move on? How do you breathe through the pain; I miss them. Levi looks at you, eyebrows furrowed under the weight of his own heartache as he sees you suffer the cost of love. He berates the world for putting you through this torture he knew so well, and the pain he tried so desperately to keep you from feeling. Grief was heavy and it pulled you down, it made you think that you'll never see the light of day again, and Levi knows the turmoil that comes with continuing to live on anyway. The pain never really goes away; it perseveres and remains contained until it is bearable enough to live with. He knew the truth, but he also knew that was scarcely what you want to hear, so he moved to you.

You shake, shoulders trembling under the weight of your sobs and you curl into yourself further to try and hide away. To hide away from the world devoid of the one you lost, from prying eyes as they look to you in a fit of despair, from life... But Levi wouldn't let you hide away from him. His arms are warm as they are strong and they embrace you, full of safety and full of love. He sits by you as he pulls you in, until finally, you allow your arms to go slack from your body and reach for the man who has you in his embrace. You grip onto his shirt as though it was your lifeline, you listen to the thrum of his heart as though that was all that pulled you to the Earth. Levi caresses the depths of your hair and you feel the pressure of his fingers as he tries to get you to breathe. You try to match his inhales and exhales, you try to steady yourself back to your reality, and through it all Levi doesn't ever let go.

It could've been hours, it could've been days, hell Levi wouldn't have cared if the both of you stayed stagnant for a week. He wouldn't care if your tears seeped through his shirt or you fought his touch, though he was glad when you didn't. Your breath had steadied, your head buried in his chest as he held you close and grounded. Levi struggled to put into words all the comforts he wished he could say; It will be alright. You will be alright. But the truth was graver than that. The truth was that you had lost someone dear to you, someone who has lived in your heart for years and will remain to do so, someone who had brought smiles to your face and enlightened the times turned into memories. The truth was that the pain hurt and things would probably never be the same. Perhaps in time - a time inconceivable to you today - the memories that turned into bullets would become fond again, and you would reminisce the times spent with the person you adored with a smile.

But today, you had lost and you are grieving, and you needed the comfort Levi would always give. When stillness encompassed your features you looked up hesitantly to the raven-haired man who held you. You witnessed the love and sorrow reflected in his eyes as they bore into yours. It made tears well up once more but you forced them to stay in place. "Levi..." You muttered as you placed your head against his chest, exhaustion now brimming from the pain you still bore. "Don't die... don't leave me." There was silence in the air that surrounded you and you didn't know when you had fallen into sleep's temporary remedies, but you did. Unbeknownst to you, Levi felt his heart wring at your words. He looked down to see you asleep and still in his embrace. He held you closer. "I won't." He whispered the words into the darkening room; he didn't care what the world threw at him, he would always fight to be by your side. He vowed to make your life a little lighter, a little more bearable and make you feel a little more loved. Especially in the times you lost.

He would be there to remind you; you're not alone.

So he stayed with you into the deep hours of the night: there when you awoke and there when you felt your grief again.

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter 1 - Snare

Not sure if I’m going to cross post here as well, but I’ll post the first chapter… in case I only continue it on AO3, this is the link

Chapter II

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is fictional. Please take care, read the warnings and avoid if you think this content may be triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, Stalking, Kidnapping, Obssessive Love, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Drugging, Breaking and entering (Chrollo out here committing all the felonies)

Word Count: 5k

The rain had seeped into the cracks of the cobbled alleyway, rendering the stone slippery, dampening the aged brick walls caging the narrow passage, darkening the view even more. Straining eyes could only make out bulbous orange glows of faraway street lights, legs numbed from the cold autumnal air and unrelenting rainfall toiling to keep a rapid pace and avoid slipping on the damp stones.

Slowing down was not an option. Neither was turning back and choosing a different path. Over the sound of the roaring rain, soft footsteps could be heard, not too far away. Growing closer. Or perhaps it was a mere figment of an imagination much too vivid and active, and the danger was only the product of a life of warnings and cautionary tales. Like a monster under the bed.

Thirty steps. Thirty steps to the safety of the main street. Breath puffing in clouds of haze, raindrops adorning lashes, hair sticking to the skin, knees weak and unsteady.

Twenty.

It was closer now. Almost real.

Ten.

Almost tangible, close enough that the alleyway seemed to lengthen, dilating, making the main road impossible to reach. One slip on the damp cobblestones could spell demise.

Five.

The light was closer. People could be seen walking through the street, carrying umbrellas or hurrying through the rain. Safety.

One.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thundering in your ribcage, the sounds of the bustling street filling your ears, enveloping your heaving chest in relief. People walked by you, and you blended with the crowd, heading to the station. You had walked that alleyway a thousand times, and you’d never felt that dread, that feeling of being hunted. Targeted. Your bones had turned into ice in your body.

You had never been particularly impressionable, but in the last couple of weeks, you’d felt watched. But when you turned towards the alleyway, your eyes wandering around the street behind you, there was no one. You shook off the horrible feeling in your gut that told you to run and hide, and sought refuge in the warm underground station, tapping your phone at the gates and descending the stairs. No one was behind you. No one was out to get you. You were safe. You were going to go home and make yourself a cup of tea before you went to bed early.

You got on the train, sitting in a fairly crowded carriage, taking out Pride and Prejudice from your bag and resuming from where you had left off that morning. It was one of your favourite books, and you had read it dozens of times, but you still got some nostalgia for it from time to time.

The minutes passed, and you forgot all about your gut feeling in the alleyway, your mind immersed in the world of Elizabeth Bennett and her witty quips that always made you smile. She almost made you lose track of the stops, but luckily, you heard the announcement and stood up, hastily putting the bookmark at the page you had reached and hurrying to the platform.

Luckily, you lived a mere two minutes from the station, in the outskirts of the city, where trains could be heard even with the windows shut and the curtains drawn, but at least, you could afford your own place. It wasn’t all that bad, truly. It was a small house, reminiscent of a cottage with its brick walls and small rooms, and its low ceilings. It was cosy, covered with plants and books, it even had a small fireplace that was your pride and joy. You’d filled it with pillows, blankets and trinkets that had caught your eye in thrift shops and fair markets. You locked the door behind you, taking off your drenched coat and your damp boots, hating the feeling of wet socks clinging to your feet. You took them off too, deciding to have a hot shower before bed.

You had finished late at work, to the point where your boss had offered to get you some dinner, and you had gladly accepted, blinking your tired eyes at the computer screen to stay awake.

You were overworked and underpaid, but you needed that job desperately, and therefore, you made it a habit to gamble more unpaid hours for a more stable future. With the hope that one day, your hard work would pay off, and you’d get a promotion. So far, you’d been unsuccessful.

However, the week was now done, and you prepared yourself for a free day of peace. Saturdays were your favourite days. You usually tried to get up before nine, so that you could make the most of them. You made pancakes, went for a walk to the park next to your house, bought lunch at the quaint brunch stall by the lake and on good days, you ate under the weeping willow on the shore, basking in the sight of the tree branches swaying on the surface of the water, the water lilies crowding the shore and the sunlight reflecting on the lake. After that, you headed to the library in the city centre, where you would have spent all day if you could. You usually visited the market before you went home, and then, you would watch a film and head to bed later than usual. Sundays were your cleaning days usually, unless you wanted to meet up with a friend or needed to run errands.

You had no idea that Saturday would be the last chance for you to experience all those things.

The library was quiet that day, even though the rain had continued to pour down the city since Friday morning and people usually flocked there or to the museums and cinemas when it was gloomy outside. In your opinion, it was the best time to be at the library: the big, arched windows of the upper floor offered a scenic view of the storm brewing outside, and the warmth of the orange lights and the mahogany bookshelves of the antique library made you feel cosy. You were sitting on a plush green armchair, your favourite spot in the corner of the upper floor, right by the window and the classics section. Something about the smell of the old books that were gathered there offered you comfort.

‘Excuse me, miss’ you heard a soft, masculine voice say, timbre smooth and rich. You lifted your eyes from your book, looking at the man in front of you. Your stomach dropped for a second, and you swallowed, trying not to stare. He was around your age, perhaps a few years older, and the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life. His lean, tall build was highlighted by smart black trousers, a simple maroon jumper and a long, black coat. Round, slightly upturned grey eyes sat in a face of sharp cheekbones, angular jaw, delicate and yet masculine nose and well-defined lips stretched into a slight smile. He was wearing an odd bandana of sorts on his forehead, but it did nothing to dampen his looks. Shoulder-length black hair fell in unruly strands around his neck and shorter bangs that covered parts of his forehead, and round turquoise earrings shone on his ears, the bright hues contrasting against the beautiful dark hair.

‘Uhm- yes?’ you murmured, righting your posture a little under his gaze.

‘I was wondering if you dropped this bracelet by any chance’ he said, lifting a hand, your gold bracelet dangling from his tapered, willowy fingers. You glanced at your wrist, clearing your throat.

‘Yeah- yes, thank you, that’s mine’ you said, holding the book with one hand and lifting yourself up, extending your hand. Instead of giving it to you, he held your hand and wrapped it around your wrist, clasping it and giving you a smile. Your breath threatened to falter, and you were almost hypnotised by him as he gave one last stroke to the back of your hand before he let it go.

‘There. Should be safe from slipping now’ he said, and you noticed he was holding a book in his hand. The Picture of Dorian Gray, one of your favourite books. So not only was he handsome, he also had good taste.

‘Thank you’ you said again, smiling at him. He nodded.

‘I’m Chrollo’ he said, extending a hand. You shook it, giving him your name in return, and he said it himself, as though he was weighing it on his tongue. It sounded good in his voice. Soft, like a gentle caress on your spine. It made shivers run down your spine.

‘I’ve never seen you here before’ you said conversationally, hoping your social skills hadn’t been too hindered by your nervousness around someone so attractive and charming speaking to you.

‘This is my first time visiting this library, actually. I have only recently moved here, and I happened to walk by and see this building, and I had to visit it. It is truly beautiful here. A very pleasant place to read in peace’ he said, and you nodded along. He was so like you, you thought the same of this library. It was your special place in this city.

‘I feel the same way. I come here every Saturday, just to escape the daily life for a while. How are you finding the city? Are you here for work?’ you asked, finding yourself drawn to that stranger for some reason. There was something fascinating about him, something enigmatic. Or perhaps it was just the way his grey eyes seemed so intense, as though he could read your mind. He was like a lead character in a book.

‘I am. The city centre is quite beautiful architecturally, but I haven’t had the chance to partake in much sightseeing’ he said, ‘and you? Why are you here? Work, or is this the city you grew up in?’

‘No, I grew up in a very small town you probably never heard of. A boring place. I came here to find some work a couple of years ago’ you said, hoping that before the conversation ended, you could get his number. You hadn’t been in the dating scene for a while, and though you were busy, this stranger was just too intriguing. He seemed so intelligent, soft-spoken and genuinely interested in you.

‘I see. I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Allow me to buy you a coffee before that’ he said, putting down the book in a basket by the banister. Your stomach felt warm, and you chuckled nervously, finding it hard to keep eye contact when he was staring at you so intently.

‘Oh, no, you’ve already found my bracelet, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Besides, the prices here are outrageous’ you stammered. Did he like you? Was he truly... flirting with you? This was more like a scene out of a romance book rather than real life.

‘Please, I insist’ he smiled, and you could not say no.

‘Oh, well... thank you. That’s really kind of you’ you said, following him towards the stairs. Chrollo’s eyes softened, and he shook his head.

‘It’s my pleasure’ he only said, smoothly, nonchalantly, as he started to descend the stairs, with you following close.

The cafeteria was placed near the entrance, and you had always deemed it too expensive as a treat. But Chrollo did not even have a change in expression as his eyes followed the menu on the chalkboard on the wall.

‘What would you like?’ he asked, and you eyed the drinks and the corresponding prices, gaze trailing to seek the cheapest one.

‘Uhm... just a coffee would be fine, thank you’ you said hesitantly. He let out a soft sigh.

‘I would not offer it to you if I could not afford it. What would you really like?’ he asked, a sly smirk on his face. Your cheeks felt hot, and you smoothed the front of your jumper in an attempt to calm the embarrassment of him calling you out.

‘A chai latte, please’ you murmured, and he nodded, seemingly pleased as he made his way to the till and took out a black leather wallet from the pocket of his coat. When he came back, he was holding your drink along with his. From the smell, it was black coffee. Quite in tune with his gothic appearance.

‘Thank you, Chrollo’ you smiled at him, holding the cup with both hands when he handed it to you, warming your cold fingers.

‘It was a pleasure to talk to you. I hope to see you again soon’ he said, standing closer to you, his fingers reaching to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath until he stepped away.

‘Me too’ you murmured, earning another slight smile from him as he walked away, sipping his coffee and disappearing behind the corner that led to the exit.

You smiled, fingertips reaching to your cheek, the skin feeling warm where he had touched you.

You found you could not wait until the next Saturday, hoping he would remember that you’d said you’d be there and visit the library again.

Your Sunday was spent running errands, getting a haircut, visiting your friend who was in the hospital following a fall from the stairs that had resulted in two broken legs and a concussion. He was quite optimistic despite saying that he had had no idea how he’d fallen, that he’d just felt pain on his nape and then he had lost consciousness. When he’d woken up, his legs were horribly broken and bent as he had fallen from a flight of stairs.

You’d just seen him the day of the accident in the morning, and he had seemed fine, not dizzy or anything. Although he’d been reminiscing about a crush he’d had on you years ago, which to you was odd, as you had had no idea he had ever liked you.

Nevertheless, the doctors had said he’d been lucky to survive because his head trauma was nothing short of dangerous. You were just glad he was in good spirits and looking forward to getting better.

You smiled slightly, turning the keys to your door and stepping in, holding the letters you hadn’t yet opened as you walked into the living room.

The first one was your electricity bill, the second one a useless letter of invite to a neighbourhood church meeting-

‘Hello, darling’

You let out a scream, your heart skipping a beat as you spun around, the letters falling to the ground, and your terrified eyes set on the man who was lounging on your sofa, sipping a cup of tea from your favourite mug.

Chrollo.

It was Chrollo. The guy whom you’d met the day before. The kind, handsome man who’d found your bracelet and offered to buy you a coffee.

‘W-what are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How did you get in?’ you stuttered, taking a trembling step back. He took another sip, setting your mug down.

‘I came to visit you. You have a very flimsy lock, it’s very unsafe’ he said calmly, as though his words were not completely insane. He’d broken into your house? Was he- a stalker? The presence you’d felt in the alleyway… was that him?

You felt nausea coil in your gut, making your head spin with fear and horror.

Another step back. His eyes were on you. Calm, unfazed. He was smiling slightly, as though amused. But he was sitting, and you were less than ten feet away from the door. But it was locked. You needed time. At least a few seconds of advantage.

Your phone. You would call the police whilst you talked to him. But your phone was in the hallway. Not with you.

‘Chrollo- please go away’ you tried pleadingly, hoping it would make him spare you. It did not.

‘There is no need to worry. I won’t hurt you, darling’ he said, voice soft and sweet. You shivered, and when you saw he was taking another sip of his coffee, you bolted to the door.

Your fingers had barely managed to graze the keys when he appeared in front of you, blocking the door, clucking his tongue against his teeth. How had he managed to get there so quickly? What was he going to do to you?

The kitchen. You needed to get to the back door. Maybe grab a knife and stab him.

‘Now, now, this would be much easier if you just listened’ he said, but you did not wait for him to grab you. You made a beeline for the kitchen, and you had almost reached the handle when he once again appeared in front of you. You flinched, stumbling back, spinning to the counter and grabbing a large knife. Chrollo let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. I admire your efforts, but that won’t help you. Put it down’ he said easily, one hand in his pocket as he approached you. You swallowed heavily, cold sweat clinging to your spine as your fingers tightened around the handle until you thought you could feel welts stinging your skin.

You could hear the hammering of your heart in your ears, the heavy sound of your panting.

When he took another step, you swung at his stomach. Your wrist was caught in an iron grip, and you hissed in pain, your fingers loosening instinctively until the knife clattered to the ground.

Your eyes burnt with tears, and you tried to punch him, which only resulted in your other hand being caught. Thrashing wildly, like a caged animal, you kicked and pulled to no avail.

Chrollo was too strong. Inhumanly so. He was like a brick wall, completely unfazed by your attempts at escaping or hitting him.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ you screamed your lungs out, until one of his hands lifted to cover your mouth and he pushed you against the wall, trapping you against it.

‘Shh, shh. You are being such a brat, my love. This is all futile, can’t you see? Where’s the sweet girl I met yesterday? The one who could not stop blushing and smiling at me?’ he asked against your ear, pushing his body more into you. Your eyes widened as you felt a hard bulge against your backside.

No. No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not to you. Not here. This was your safe haven. Your home.

You screamed, sounds muffled by his hand, and he let out a sigh.

‘You have nothing to fear. I don’t plan on acting on my desires as of yet. However, your defiance is starting to irritate me. I’m going to have to take more drastic measures’ he said, and you felt his hand leave your mouth briefly and return pushing a cloth to your mouth and nose. Your heartbeat shot up as panic gripped your stomach, and you held your breath, kicking and thrashing, unable to get him off you until you had to breathe in that sweet-smelling scent. He held it there for a few seconds, and your head immediately started spinning, your ears starting to ring.

‘I’m truly sorry to have to do this, darling. If you’d been compliant, I wouldn’t have had to knock you unconscious’ he said, and your legs wobbled when he pulled it away, to the point where they could not hold your weight and you slumped to the ground. He caught you, holding you against him, and even though you tried to fight back, to push him away, your body was limp and it would not do what you wanted it to.

‘What… did you give me?’ you breathed, vision blurry, your body completely numb. He pushed away the strands of hair from your face, stroking your cheek.

‘Shh. Just an incapacitating agent. This will make you sleep for a few hours. Close your eyes, my love. You must be so tired after all that screaming and thrashing. You can rest now, I’ll watch over you’ he said gently, and you blinked slowly, trying to see him through the dark splotches in your field of view, trying to curse him, to beg him to leave, but your mouth would not move anymore. Soon, the darkness pulled you in and made you its prisoner.

Chrollo smiled, stroking your soft hair, tracing the skin of your jaw and lips. He hadn’t been able to hold himself any longer after having made contact with you. He’d first seen you a month earlier, in that picturesque library where you were curled on a green armchair, completely spellbound as you read Pride and Prejudice in front of an arched window. He had been entranced from the first moment he’d seen you. It wasn’t just your appearance, though he was convinced there was no woman more beautiful than you were, but your mannerisms, your soft smiles as you read specific lines, the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were concentrating, the natural innocence that radiated from you, that had been what had truly ensnared him. That moment, he’d decided that he needed to know everything about you, from your hobbies to your favourite colour to your life story.

He had never fallen in love, but the feeling that had bloomed in his cold heart must have been love: it was desperate, all-consuming, and yet so gentle and calming. It burnt and soothed his soul at the same time. Images of you plagued his every second, and he could think of nothing but to have you all to himself. Why should the world be allowed to benefit from your presence? Why should people be allowed to leer at you, desire you, want you for themselves? He wanted all of you to be consumed by him just as every part of him was consumed by you. He did not want to share your affection with anyone else.

He had followed you home many times, making sure you were safe. After all, you didn’t even know how to use Nen. You were so delicate, like turquoise and amber gemstones. So beautiful, yet so easily broken. With his new love for you came a heart-wrenching fear of losing you: in a world like that, you could never protect yourself. Only he could offer you enough safety.

Despite being a normal civilian, your intuition and gut feeling was impressive. Sometimes, he had to rely on Zetsu in order to avoid being sensed by you. You had a keen sense of danger. Not that it would help you.

Your house was little, much too inadequate and meagre for someone who deserved the most beautiful things the world had to offer. But you would not have to live in this dingy neighbourhood, with the train tracks so close to your windows, for much longer. Despite the grimy neighbourhood, your cottage was cosy. Decorated with everything that made up your lovely personality, Chrollo had felt his chest swell with warmth as he walked silently around the living room the first time he’d broken in, examining your collection of books, seeing which ones were more tattered, lines on the spines of cheap copies. You deserved the feel of an antique book in your hands, not one of those second-rate editions. He could tell from the décor how much you loved this place. He would make sure you had plants, a fireplace, paintings and books and whatever else your heart desired.

All the treasures in the world had been made for you, he’d decided. And he’d steal them all. Then, he had wandered to the small bedroom connected to the living room. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, he could see your sleeping form curled under the blankets, lips parted and breath steady and heavy. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful. He had the urge to slip the blanket off you, hold you to him, bury his face in your hair. But he didn’t. Not when he could not see your reaction. He wanted you to be awake, wanted you to want him to do all those things.

Temptation had taken him as far as stroking your hair, bending his head to press his lips against the top of your head. The scent of it, so sweet and reminiscent of a spring meadow, had almost made him groan.

He had visited you at night more often, and every time, he would dream of you afterwards, always waking up burning with desire. He needed you. Needed you all to himself. And so he resorted to doing what he did best: steal you.

He knew your patterns well after a few weeks: you worked a contemptible job undeserving of you Monday to Friday, and often stayed late, to the point where you would have to walk back to the station in the dark through dingy alleyways. It was completely and utterly unacceptable. On Saturdays, you walked through the park near your house and then went to the library in the city centre. On Sundays, you stayed home. Before he stole you, though, he wanted to speak to you.

The Sunday he had planned to meet you as you went about your errands, he had seen you visit a man you seemed friendly with. You had gone for lunch with him, laughed at his inane jokes, smiled at him. Chrollo had gotten closer to overhear the conversation, finding out that the swine was infatuated with you. Jealousy he had never felt in his life had burnt hot and bitter in the pit of his stomach, and he had barely been able to restrain the urge to kill him there and then.

But he couldn’t, not in front of you. You were too precious and sweet to bear such a sight. And he would need to make it painful, as punishment for the crime committed. He also did not like the idea of you shedding tears for that moron. No, he would have to kill him after he stole you. It would not do for you to weep for him, be consumed with thoughts about him, when Chrollo wanted him to disappear from the face of the Earth. It did not mean he couldn’t inflict pain on him in the meantime, though.

So that was what he had done. It was a meagre consolation, mere crumbs of reprieve for his resentment, but at the very least, he had had the pleasure of seeing him fall on his legs in the worst way. The worst possible fractures would be there, possibly incredibly painful and inoperable. He hoped the hit to his head had not made him a vegetable. He wanted him cognisant and receptive when he returned to visit him.

Because of the little mishap, he hadn’t been able to steal you on that Sunday and had had to wait one more week, which had only fuelled his bitterness for your acquaintance. However, it had also given him the possibility of meeting you at the library on the following Saturday. And God, you were truly delightful. Sweet and shy, kind and trusting. He had had to leave, or he would have stolen you right there and then. He could see you liked him, his touch. You had been keen to have more. And he would be delighted to grant your wishes.

Which was why he had chosen the next day to wait for you at your house. And now, he finally had you in his arms, though you had been a little recalcitrant. It had saddened him to have to render you unconscious, and the fact that you had seemed so frightened despite him reassuring you he had no intention of harming you was deeply displeasing. Still, he would be a liar if he denied that your fervour and defiance hadn’t tempted him, too. You had just been thrashing in his arms, rubbing against his body in the most sinful ways, and he had only wanted to have you at that very moment. But it would not do. You had been too scared and taken aback to enjoy the encounter, and he planned to make it unforgettable for the both of you.

So he had merely resorted to knocking you unconscious so you would stop causing a commotion.

He picked you up gently, lowering you on the sofa whilst he went to see if there was anything he needed to take with him. He could get you more clothes, ones that would look perfect on you. But he still got you a few handpicked garments for the time being, including your prettiest lingerie, which was utterly ravishing. He could hardly wait to see it on you and tear it off your body.

Your perfume was on the dresser, and he happened to have developed quite a liking for it. It wasn’t as expensive as something he could have gotten for you, but he could find a substitute for it that resembled its scent in the future. For now, he put it in the bag he’d taken with him. None of your books were of any significance, he had memorised the ones you liked the most and planned to get you antiques of those. Jewellery was also not an issue. He could get you so much better. Rubies or emeralds would look stunning on you, he thought. He got your passport, wallet and phone, just to throw off the police, and closed the bag. He put the knife you’d tried to use on him back in the holder and exited the house, putting the bag in the trunk of his car and going back to get you. You were still unconscious, sprawled on the sofa, and he checked once again that no signs of struggle could be seen before he picked you up, took the keys from the dresser next to the front door and closed the door behind him.

He lowered you on the backseat, closing the door and letting out a sigh as he walked to the front and locked the doors before he drove away. You were finally his.

Chapter II

[arabellavernierwrites]

i chose you. will graham.

summary : will graham had felt himself slipping away for months. after a particularly grisly nightmare, he finds himself being comforted by his partner who can’t help but reassure him. (can be read as gn!reader)

word count : 944

warnings : nightmares , anxiety , panic attacks , unstable mind , insecurities , fear of hurting others

a/n : hello everyone ! it’s been a while. truthfully , i had been having a bit of a rough time. i apologize for the leave , but i want you all to know that i have received your requests , they are in my ask box and i will be getting around to them ! thank you so much for all of the love and support you all continue to show me. i truly am so appreciative of it and find it motivates me to write even more. that being said , this is my first hannibal fic ! i would love to write more for it , so please let me know if you all would be interested in that. and please send in requests !!! i want to write for you ! i hope you like the story. thank you all again for the support. have an amazing wonderful incredible day ! love you all !

it was a cold, rainy wednesday night.

it wasn’t rare for the weather in virginia to be like this. sprinkles, drizzles, downpour. it was all the same to you.

you glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. its electronic glow read 8:53 p.m. it was still early in the night. you and your partner, will, hit the hay early this evening. will had sipped on a small glass of whiskey before declaring himself drowsy enough to go get in bed.

you had followed him up the stairs, a small army of dogs on your heels as you trudged up the wooden steps.

“i think i’m gonna read,” you announced, tossing the sheets aside.

“oh yeah?” will smiled gently, “your new one?”

“yeah, i’ve got just over 60 pages left and i want to get it done before friday,” you adjusted your pillows.

“i’m expecting a review when you finish,” will stepped out of slippers, lying down next to you.

“like i’d ever pass up the opportunity,” you grinned, reaching for your book, “lamp or reading light?”

a timid look settled on will’s face, “lamp. please”.

a few months ago will had started having nightmares. they were grueling, each night a horror film of his most traumatic moments, deepest fears, and haunted past played on a nauseating reel in his mind. since then, will had liked to keep the bedroom lamp on. he found it comforting to awake from his grisly slumber to a well-lit, familiar place.

“lamp it is,”

will sunk into the mattress beneath him, drifting off to his nightmarish dream world, a place his sleeping figure visited far too often. once you heard the soft, steadying of his breath, you propped yourself up under the covers, resting against the wooden headboard as you began finishing your book.

37 pages or so later, here you were, glancing at the clock that read 8:53.

a small shake of the bed startled you. looking down at the man next to you, you swayed again as his body jolted.

his shirt had seemed to change color in the past half hour as his sweat had drenched the cottony fabric. his breathing had become uneven, sharp and jagged, clawing at the oxygen around him, begging for sweet relief from this panicked suffocation that encased his lungs.

spasming, sweat, hyperventilation. you knew what was coming.

you placed your book down beside you, preparing yourself for the storm of will that was brewing beside you.

his wet shirt clung to him as his shaking turned to convulsions. his arms and legs thrashed around, trying to fight off the dreadful scene that played in his mind.

your heart raced, fearful for him as you reached forward, resting a protective hand on his shoulder.

“will,” you shook him carefully.

the hideous sounds that ripped from his chest frightened you.

“will,” you shook harder, terrified that he was actually going to suffocate himself, “will!”

his body lurched forward, a gasp escaping him so loud it seemed to silence the rest of the world.

he looked like he was being pinned down, the way his body uncomfortably pressed into the bed, an attempt to make himself feel grounded.

escaping from his nightmarish state didn’t appear to help to ease his mind at all. his breathing was still frantic and his eyes shot around wildly.

“sweetheart,” you gently wiped a few strands of wet hair from his forehead, cautious as to not spook him.

he placed a desperate hand on the back of yours, a pool of comfort flooding his chest. your tender touch breaking down the icy walls that trapped his harrowing thoughts.

“will,” he was still trembling, his mental battle still not quite over, “look at me”.

you started pulling away, afraid your physical presence might be overwhelming while he was still so raw. will moved to grip your wrist, pressing your palm back to his cheek.

he breathed deeply, bit by bit, the life returning to his eyes.

“how am i ever supposed to save anyone when i can’t even save myself?” he whispered sullenly.

“i wouldn’t say it’s all your own doing,” you stroked the side of his damp face, “there’s a lot of people that put a lot of pressure on you. people that would rather see you drown trying to help them than allow you to swim to shore”.

“what if i can’t save you?” he met your eyes, his gaze timorous.

“that’s not something you have to worry about,” you reassured him.

“well it is,” he pressed.

“you don’t have to save me, will. i’m okay. i’m here, in this moment, in bed with you,” you offered.

you were met with silence.

he gnawed on his bottom lip as thoughts bounced around his brain.

“what if i can’t save you from myself?” he stressed, his real worry coming to light.

“i don’t need to be saved from you. you’re not holding me captive, i choose to be here. i choose to spend my nights with you, reading books and drinking whiskey and caring for dogs because i love you, will,” you brushed the hair from his forehead, “there’s nothing else i would rather do in this world than be here with you”.

for a moment, the air was still. a blanket of calm had quieted everything except for the pattering of the raindrops that hailed from above.

he rolled over, his face falling into your chest as his shoulders quivered.

“i’m afraid,” he choked out.

“i know you are,” you pulled him flush against your body, massaging your fingers through his hair, “but i’m here for you. i’m always here for you”.

[katethewriter]

An Hourglass

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After 8 months on a mission, Wanda and Natasha come home to the worst news they could have imagined.

Words: 1k~

Warnings: terminal illness, cancer diagnosis, I may work in a Dr's office but that doesn’t mean I’m good at medical jargon, angst, just angst, no happy ending

A/N: Someone made a comment about me posting the fluff fic yesterday, so I thought I'd post some angst to even the score. 😂 hehehe, I hope you enjoy, may want to grab the tissues

Sitting in the window seat, you stare blankly out at the city. The sun is almost ready to set. The streets below are filling with night lights.

You see none of it however. Your eyes just gaze, as your mind moves faster than you can keep up. A million thoughts race through your mind, but you still think of nothing.

Numb.

That's what you are. It's how you've been for days now.

Numb and waiting for anyone to bring you back out of it.

As Natasha and Wanda enter your shared home, they notice that everything is near exactly the same as when they left. They weren't expecting a complete remodel, but 8 months could warrant a new piece of furniture or new wall decor.

They call out for you and walk further into the home, desperate to wrap their arms around you after so long apart.

Natasha quickly makes her way through the house, continuing her search upstairs.

Wanda was following closely behind, until they passed through the kitchen. She stops short at the kitchen island, where papers are spread about.

The letter head is what stands out the most. Thomas Hospital. Her anxiety picks up as she reads a doctor's name followed by "Oncology".

Dread fills her more as she scans over the papers, only certain words and phrases catch her eye.

"Patient Name: Y/n L/n-Maximoff-Romanoff"

"...Lung Cancer..."

"...Stage Four..." "...Metastatic..."

"...spread to lymph nodes, kidneys, stomach and liver..."

"Treatment: Palliative." "...Prognosis: 3-5 months."

The Sokovian's heart drops to her stomach.

No. This can't be happening. She can't lose anyone else.

She can't lose you.

Wanda grabs the papers and darts upstairs.

When Natasha strolls into the bedroom, she can't but smile at the sight of you.

"Lyubov," she calls to you, but you don't respond. She kneels in front of the window seat, looking up to you.

"Y/n," Natasha says lightly, placing a soft hand on your knee.

Still numb, you turn to her, but it's like you don't see her. Your eyes almost stare through her. Worry growing in the pit of her stomach.

Your wife's eyes shift to the pamphlet dangling from between your fingers. She can only read the title: "Living with a Terminal Illness".

Her hands shake as she gently takes it from you. She skims the front page for a few seconds, before looking back to you with a new fear in her eyes, "detka, what is this?"

For the first time since you woke up this morning, you're brought to the edge of awareness. Your eyes softly focus on Natasha; your expression still lost.

A movement in the doorway draws your attention, and you slowly look up. Wanda stands in the doorway holding a few papers, and you know. You know she knows.

The witch joins the widow in kneeling in front of you. She tries her best to hold back the tears in her eyes as she asks, "is it true, love?"

All you can manage is a nod.

Quickly, Natasha takes the pages from her other wife and reads as fast as she can.

"You could have called us," Wanda strokes your knee, "we would have come, detka."

You look around you, slowly coming back to awareness. "They... they said it was probably n-nothing. They just wanted to double check," you say in a daze, "...I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

Her heart breaks even further. Even going through what must have been a terrifying diagnosing process, you were still thinking of them first.

The widow looks up from the now tear stained pages, "when did you-?" She stops short, unable to finish the sentence.

"L-last week."

Guilt grip both of them. They've been away on a mission, and you've been left to go through this alone. You shouldn't have been alone.

They should have been here.

That's something they will have to wrestle with for the rest of their lives.

"We're here now," Wanda reassures, reaching up to stroke your cheek. "We're not going out again. You don't have to go through this alone anymore."

Natasha sniffles, setting the papers aside, "We'll be with you the whole time... and we don't even know what this means."

You look to her sadly.

"We don't," she raises her shoulders, "we'll take you to see Cho. She's the best doctor in the world. She can help us." She takes your face into her hands, "we could still have so much time together, so many years. Ok?" She smiles reassuringly, until you nod.

Your numbness finally falls away, and you're left with the overwhelming fear of the situation. Fat tears begin to roll down your face with no sign of stopping.

Your wives sit on either side of you and wrap their arms around you. They stay until you have cried out all of your fear. They let you take all the time you need.

Four months later, when the once happy home feels cold and empty, Natasha and Wanda will kick themselves for spending so much time away. Time they can never get back.

8 months they should have spent with you.

When it gets quiet, they mourn…

You and all of that time they let slip through their fingers like sand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: part 2?

Edit: it’d be more like a part 1.5, those last 4 months.

[captainsophiestark]

The Reunion Scene

Westley x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Princess Bride

Day 10 Prompt: "It's alright, I'm here now."

Summary: Westley and his love reunite after she shoves him off a cliff, before realizing who he was of course.

Word Count: 1,070

Category: Fluff

A/N: I'm reading the Princess Bride novel and apparently "The Reunion Scene" in the book between Westley and Buttercup is a bit of a running gag (the wikipedia article can give a quick walk through for anyone curious), so I decided to write it! In the book, it's described as a three page scene, which is about the length of this. For anyone unaware of the wild lore behind the novel, I highly recommend a Wikipedia deep dive, it's very entertaining

Tagging @auroracalisto as my fellow Princess Bride fan :) Hope you're having an amazing first semester teaching!!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I planted both hands against the chest of the man before me and shoved with all my strength, sending him careening over the cliff's edge. He'd killed my dearest love, and now returned to mock me, to dare imply I hadn't loved Westley. Whatever happened to me, I couldn't stand this man a minute longer. I shoved him of the cliff, listening to whatever he screamed as he tumbled to the ground below.

"As... you... wish..."

My heart stopped in my chest at the words of my love coming from the mouth of the Dread Pirate Roberts, tumbling down from the cliff I'd just shoved him off of. My Westley, alive, and falling. It couldn't be possible, but it was.

"Westley!" I cried, immediately rushing to follow him down the cliff. I tried to keep my feet under me, and I made it some of the way before gravity caught up to me and sent me tumbling, head over heels. I landed at the bottom, right next to Westley, who still wore his mask. Our eyes locked, and despite the lingering pain from my fall, I surged forward and ripped the mask from his face.

Staring back at me, by some miracle, was Westley. My farm boy. He looked different, older, stronger, and a little of the soft innocence had gone, but he was here. Not dead, like I'd thought him to be for the last three years. Alive, and now, with me.

"Oh, Westley!" My heart sang as I flung my arms around his neck. Without a second's hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. I moved to kiss him, but to my surprise, he pulled back.

"Won't your betrothed take issue with you kissing another man?"

"Humperdinck? Westley, I've already told you, I don't love him-"

"And yet you agreed to marry him. There was not a moment these past years I didn't think of you. But you agreed to give up on me, on love."

Now it was my turn to pull back a little. My brow furrowed, but Westley's expression didn't soften as his piercing blue-gray eyes surveyed me.

"Westley, I thought you dead," I said plainly, still a little shocked at his reaction. "Not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you, to mourn you. My heart was ripped out of my chest the day news came of your death, and I've had to live every day since dealing with the loss of my love.

"And besides that, Westley, I didn't seek the prince out. He found me, and proposed, since he was looking for a wife and found me beautiful. He knows and accepts that there's no love in our union, and he made it very clear that refusing a request from the crown prince would result in death. Death I would gladly accept, if I had ever thought there was any chance of you returning to me from the dead."

A cold fire lit behind Westley's eyes at my words, and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low and quiet.

"He's forcing you to marry him?"

I shrugged. "There are worse fates than being Queen, Westley. But none of that matters, not now that I know you live. Nothing matters at all anymore, Westley, so long as we are together."

He sighed, pulling me to him again, resting his forehead against mine. I brought my hand up to his chest, resting it there so I could feel his heartbeat and reassure myself that this was real. Westley was truly here.

"It's alright, I'm here now," he said, reading my mind as his hand came up to gently stroke my cheek. "My ship waits for us not far from here. It's not going to be easy for us... we'll have to go through the fire swamp..."

"We'll make it through," I said, running my hand through the hair at the base of his neck now. I smiled at him, all the love in my heart glowing through. "We'll make it through anything together."

"Then we haven't any time to waste. We must move quickly."

"Wait!"

Westley froze, halfway up from our position on the hill, but he sank back down at my outburst. His eyes never left mine once. His eyebrow quirked slightly in silent question, and I didn't wait to give him his answer.

I rushed forward, kissing Westley hard, like I'd wished for a chance to do every day for the past three years. He immediately returned the kiss, pulling me into his arms and holding me so close to his chest I could feel our hearts beating in sync.

There have been five kisses in the history of the world deemed so passionate, so perfect and full of love, above and beyond anything else that's ever happened. I was no expert on it, but in that moment, I knew this one blew every other kiss before it away.

Neither one of us wanted to pull away, but finally, Westley did. He kept staring into my eyes, gravity trying to pull us back to each other, but with a grimace of regret he leaned further back.

"We really need to keep moving. If we're to stay ahead of your pig fiancé, we have no time to waste."

"Just promise me a million more moments like this, for the rest of our lives."

Westley smiled. "As you wish."

I beamed as Westley pulled me to my feet, and the two of us began heading through the ravine we'd tumbled into and towards the Fire Swamp, hand in hand.

No doubt, the challenges ahead would be dire and terrible beyond imagining. But I knew confidently that we would survive them. My Westley was still in the world, and even better, he was with me. There was no other ending but for the two of us to be happily together.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[scummy-writes]

A Dousing Perversion

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Gilbert/Reader

Words: 1616

Tags: Piss, Piss Drinking, Piss Kink, Cuddles, Reader has vagina

Summary: Gilbert has an odd request, but you decide to let him indulge.

It’s difficult trying to feel confident when you’re so vulnerable and exposed, even with a man who has such a damning reputation built upon him resting before you. Fire burns across your cheeks the longer you take in the scene of Gilbert on his knees, his hands resting on your thighs as you ponder his obscene request. You mull over how casually he asked such a thing from you, but there you were, entertaining the idea regardless.

Gilbert’s thumbs gently work at your inner thighs, massaging comforting circles against the tense muscles. His gaze is calm, lovingly patient as he looks up at you. Your heart pounds, recognizing the look in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

Fine, he says. With such an easy-going smile on his lips, that knowing look that you wish you could curse. It’s as though he can read your thoughts so clearly, turning your pages with ease.

You find your voice again, with a deep breath, “I think a certain doctor would disagree.”

“You don’t believe me?”

His voice is a pout, but his expression stays the same, only his grin spreading when you sigh, your fingers tangling in your dress.

“Forgive me for being nervous.”

“Don’t I always?” More cheek. Enough to make you recognize how much you love this man, even through the huff you give.

“You do…”

“So,” his index fingers slip under the sides of your underwear, testing their give, but going no further than that. Familiar warmth, resting at your hips, “will you?”

The question hangs in the air as you debate. As each second ticks by, Gilbert still sits between your legs. Humming to himself, comfortable toying with your clothes, your thighs, yet there isn’t an erotic intention to each caress. He’s just happy to touch your skin, have contact that only he’s privy to. 

It’s moments like these that you realize Gilbert’s respect for you rests high. There were times that he may bully you into submission, to twist your words to play into his games- however there were lines he wasn’t keen to cross. Lines like your comfort with sexual pleasures. His patience was limitless with most of your timidity in bed, even if he was keen on prying your unspoken desires out.

But his requests, for what you had considered far more perverse than you had encountered in your books? He offered reassurances to hesitant questions, his attitude towards the subjects made clear that your word was final. The knowledge that you were safe in his hands, that this was not something he expected, only asked.

That, in the end, is what drew your answer out. 

.

His breathing is… Ragged. Barely so, but in your hyperaware state, it’s all you can focus on. Each puff tingles against your folds as he holds your lower lips apart. He smacks his own together at the sight, tongue darting out to lick his lips, as if supplementing the want of tasting you.

It’s been…Arduous. Minutes passing with you standing rigidly, his mouth so close to your clit as your calves and arms ache with how tense your body is. Your focus keeps breaking, unable to get your bladder to work with your mental pleas.

It’s now that Gilbert looks at you, the heat against your cunt dissipating as he moves back to do so. Fresh embarrassment forms as he spots the way your eyes prickle with frustration. You see him start to talk, opening his mouth to do so, and it’s then, as your nerves hit a peak, that your body finally listens.

It’s an unsteady spurt, one that splashes onto Gilbert’s thigh and onto the tile of the bathroom, filling you with dread for immediately making a mess. Your muscles clench with the realization, but Gilbert acts fast, ducking his head back between your legs.

His lips find your clit at first, the jolt of pleasure causing you to take in a sharp breath, before lapping just below- and it starts once more. Another nervous gush, this time continuing in earnest with your eyes clamped shut.

Gilbert gasps, the stream hitting his chin before he manages to readjust, moving to catch what he can into his mouth.

The sensation of his mouth there, hearing what overflows hit the floor in a quiet trinkle… It’s mortifying in ways you did not expect. Half of you wants to back away, shame eating away at your core, disgust trying to take over your senses.

Yet Gilbert persists. His grip tightens, and you can feel the tremor of excitement that runs through him. It’s quick how he shifts his position, moving to be able to drink easier without wasting too much, but you hyperfixate on the puddle growing beneath you, wetting the underside of your heel.

Gilbert says nothing, but his mouth stays busy. You can hear how he tries to gulp mouthfuls in the beginning, but after being able to ruminate on the taste, he lets you hear his groan. Soon, your urine cascades from his chin, and down his body- he moves back to let this happen, to let your warmth soak into his clothes.

On impulse, you want to stop yourself, but one look at his expression stills your breath. 

His eyes are hazed over, watching how your fluid exits your body and lands on him. His breathing is so minimal you’re scared he’s stopped completely, but a shiver and moan proves otherwise.

Trailing your eyes down his body, the way his clothes now cling so tightly along his chest, torso, his pants… you see the outline of his erection, straining against the dampened fabric.

.

An itch tingles at your skin, another shallow breath eases out of you to soothe it.

It’s what you’ve been doing as Gilbert cleaned up in the bathroom while you waited on the bed, trying to keep your nerves at bay while you battled the flurry of thoughts in your mind.

Gilbert drank from you. Gleefully. Nothing you had done previously during sex had incited such a reaction from him, and you were troubled, trying to figure out what that meant. How you felt.

It was true that shame consumed you the most, making your nails crawl along your skin, but you were painfully aware that was just a conditioned response. That in any other context, the act of pissing on Gilbert would have been disgraceful.

But he had wanted it. And after all the ways he had indulged you in bed, you wanted to attempt giving to him as well- especially since he so rarely propositioned you in such ways.

You curl in on yourself, bunching the covers close. 

Truly, what were you scared of? That he would look at you differently from now on?

Gilbert?

He had caught the look in your eye, as you saw his degeneracy. You’re not sure what he saw there, but it was enough for him to ease you to rest against the rim of the tub, keeping yourself steady. 

And…He cleaned you. His tongue roamed between your legs, savoring the last drops you had to give. It followed the trails left on your thighs, up to between your lower lips, letting out soft groans with the mixture of your arousal and urine.

From that moment on, the grip he held eased. He coaxed you with words you couldn’t focus on, but the cadence of his voice was enough to allow yourself to be washed traditionally.

With such loving murmurs and brushes with cloth, why were you allowing yourself to be so riddled with abashment?

Light peeks into the room as the man of your thoughts comes in from the bathroom. There’s a pause to his steps, then they’re more determined, yet careful.

Careful, to where they’re not loud. Careful, in the way he eases his weight onto the mattress. Careful, in the way his palm gingerly meets your side, settling in behind you.

No words come out. Instead, he slides his arm around your middle, nosing the side of your neck. The action is familiar, and you ease into him- just enough for him to understand you’re not fearful of his presence.

“I love you,” A pause, waiting, and then he continues, “what is on your mind, little rabbit?”

Too much, truthfully. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but the need for reassurance runs high. Quickly, you tangle your fingers with his, and he squeezes your hand in return.

“That… You…” Words fail you, but you persist, trying to formulate what your mind buzzes about, “Would you be upset if I said I’m not sure I could do that again?”

“No,” The reply is quick, firm, and you doubt it for a second.

So, you challenge, “but you were so-”

“When it comes to these matters, I value your willingness more than anything else.” His grip tightens momentarily, “I may understand that your will is buried under layers, but I want it there, little rabbit.”

Breathing comes a little easier, but your muscles ache with your stubbornness. Slowly, you quietly whisper your next concern.

“You… Didn’t finish.”

His laugh is soft, muffled as he relaxes against you, “I finished just as I wanted. Don’t worry.”

It’s hard not to, even when he says so. Gilbert knows you far too well, however, and hums against your skin.

“I don’t always want to cum. I want to endure the sensations for as long as I can manage, to let them overtake my senses…” He trails off, “I’m satisfied, little rabbit. Now, I just want to rest with you.”

That, you could do. All the ache ebbs away as you allow yourself to uncurl, to let him embrace you fully.

“That’s all I want, too.”

folds my hands. do I even explain myself? is there an explanation? all I can say is that I do not foresee me writing this topic again, at least not any time soon.

Taglist (Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @yarnnerdally @katriniac @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bakaneko-chan @skoetiepoetie @bestbryn @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lokis-laugh @queengiuliettafirstlady @candied-boys @drachonia @keithsandwich @bubblexly @ridiculouslly-ridiculous @portrait-ninja

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[jrob64]

Pet for Rent, Chapter 1/4 (The Meet Cute) A CS Modern AU Story

For those of you who read "Sowing Seeds of Trust", you might remember that my dog Zeke had a starring role in it. To my great heartbreak, he died of cancer last June. When we rescued him, the shelter had named him Ernie, and he will be referenced with that name in this story.

Life without a dog proved to be very lonely, so at the end of August, we rescued another dog. The sad story of the dog in this story is what really happened to our new dog. He was named Norman and we renamed him Winston, just like in the story. That's actually him in the pic set with his 'ducky'.

This was supposed to be a short, sweet story, but somehow turned into 4 chapters. Updates will be once a week.

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom and also to @beckettj and @zaharadessert for helping me understand the football (soccer) system in England.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 7754

ALSO POSTED TO A03 & FFN

Story begins under the cut

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Emma Swan flopped down onto her sofa with a sigh. Since their beloved dog Ernie died three weeks ago, she had come to dread her eight-year-old son Henry’s bedtime. Every night when he said his prayers, he ended with, “God, please tell Ernie I love him and miss him, and please send me another dog. Amen.”

Her son knew the chances of getting a dog were slim to none because of his soccer practices and games, and Emma’s schedule for her new job at the sheriff’s station. They had no time to train a puppy.

Understanding why he couldn’t have a dog didn’t make his heart hurt any less. Her heart was just as broken, knowing the sadness and loneliness Henry was experiencing.

After decompressing for a few minutes, Emma’s searching hand located her phone on the end table. She unlocked it and opened her Discord app, selecting the icon representing the parents’ group of Henry’s second grade class. Sitting up a little straighter, she typed a message: Does anyone have ideas of how to help Henry get over the loss of his dog? He keeps praying for a new one, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog to get one with our busy schedule.

She watched the screen intently for a couple of minutes, but when no names appeared to show that someone was answering, she tossed the phone onto the couch and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

Forty minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, going through her nightly routine and changing into her pajamas, she went back into the living room. Television held no interest for her, and realizing she finished her last library book the previous evening, she picked up her phone to mindlessly play a game. Upon unlocking it, her screen opened to the Discord page and she saw three replies to her question.

The first two simply expressed sympathy for the loss of Ernie, but the third one offered a helpful suggestion. Have you thought about ‘renting’ a dog for a day? The animal shelter just outside of town offers that option. We did it for my mother when her Maltese died. The post ended with the web address for the shelter.

Emma immediately pulled up the site and, after searching the homepage, clicked on the tab for ‘services’. Scrolling down the list, she saw ‘Rent-a-Pet’ and selected it. As she read the description of how the program worked, she idly twisted strands of blonde hair around her index finger.

It sounded like a great compromise for their situation. For a donation to the shelter in the form of money, bags of pet food, treats or toys, one of the available animals could come home with them for several hours. The dogs and cats were guaranteed to be docile and house-trained, and could be adopted by the ‘renter’, if desired.

Clicking on the link taking her to the bios of the pets currently housed at the shelter, she filtered it to include only canines. Pictures of nearly two dozen dogs filled the screen, each more adorable and aww-worthy than the last.

Quickly ruling out any that were guaranteed to shed fur all over her house or were bigger than her son, her search was narrowed to nine prospects. She knew her rambunctious son would be keen to play outside with the dog and walk him or her to Storybrooke’s dog park, so a tiny fru-fru pup was out of the question, too. That left six.

She selected one at a time, reading about their breed and temperament. When she brought up the picture of the fourth candidate, the big, chocolate brown eyes and happy expression nearly made her heart melt.

‘Norman’ was a mixed breed and very little was known about him, because he was found tied to a stop sign in the middle of Portland, Maine. He was guessed to be a cocker spaniel mix and was approximately 1-2 years old. His black fur looked sleek and Emma knew he probably wouldn’t shed. A short video showed him romping and playing with another dog in the fenced play yard of the shelter.

Saving the page, she brought up the calendar on her phone and checked their schedule for the rest of the week. Henry had an early soccer game on Saturday, which would be over by 10:30, leaving the rest of the morning and afternoon free. Switching back to the shelter website, she hit the ‘Rent-a-Pet’ button again and began filling in the information, selecting ‘Norman’ when it gave her the choice of animals.

She decided not to tell Henry about the plan, opting to surprise him with it instead.

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“Great game, kid,” Emma complimented her son, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Your pass to Avery was a nice assist. That goal turned out to be the game winner.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry grinned around his mouthful of granola bar. “That’s the first time all season we beat the orange team.”

“I know, and I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Emma fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket, before picking up her lawn chair and water bottle.

“Are we gonna get ice cream?” he asked, before cramming the rest of his snack into his mouth.

“You just ate a granola bar and a banana, and lunch will be in just an hour or so,” she laughed. “I have something else in mind.”

“Whaisit?” he queried, the unswallowed food muffling his voice.

“Well, I know how much you miss Ernie, and Violet’s mom told me about a program at the animal shelter that lets you rent a pet for a few hours,” she answered slowly, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. “So, I signed up to get a dog for you to play with until three o’clock this afternoon.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, swallowing down the rest of his snack as his eyes grew wide. “Really? You can do that?”

“Yeah, we’re scheduled to pick him up at eleven. What do you think about that?”

His exuberant shout of joy and sprint to the car was all the answer she needed.

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Emma couldn’t keep up with her son once he unstrapped his safety belt, exited the car and bounded toward the front door of the shelter. He was already ringing the little bell on the counter for service before she made it inside and chided him lightly for not waiting for her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and light blue eyes entered through a door, the barking of dogs stifled when it clicked shut behind him. He gave them a dazzling smile and greeted them warmly with a hearty ‘good morning’.

Emma reached forward to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan and this is my son, Henry.”

“David Nolan,” he responded, shaking her hand, then doing the same with Henry.

“My teacher’s name is Mrs. Nolan, the same as yours,” the boy told him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in second grade at Storybrooke Elementary, would you?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“Ah, well, that means your teacher is my wife!”

“Wow, cool!” Henry exclaimed. “She’s the best teacher I ever had!”

David’s grin grew even wider. “That’s good to hear. She tells me all about her students every evening and she thinks yours is the best class she’s ever had!”

“It’s quite a coincidence, meeting you here,” Emma commented with a smile.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret I met the two of you. Now, what can I do for you today?”

Emma pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen a few times. Then she laid it on the counter and turned it to show David. “I signed up for the Rent-a-Pet program. Here’s the email with my confirmation.”

David peered down at the screen and used his finger to scroll down a bit. “I see you chose Norman,” he commented, looking up at her.

“Um, yeah. Is he a good dog? I don’t want any messes in my house or car.”

“He’s a great dog,” he assured her, reaching back to the wall behind him to lift a leash off of a hook. “Gets along well with other dogs, seems to love kids, and is generally a very happy little guy.”

Henry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we take him to the dog park? Ernie always loved going to the dog park.” His countenance dropped, a small cloud of sadness passing across his features.

David shared an understanding look with Emma. “Of course you can take him. I’m sure he will love it! Would you like to come back with me to get him?”

The boy turned to look at his mother. “Can I?”

“Sure, kid. I think I’ll come back, too, if Mr. Nolan doesn’t mind.”

“The more, the merrier,” David said cheerfully.

He waited until they joined him on the other side of the counter, then opened the door to the large room full of animal cages. Immediately, the sound of barking, howling and meows filled their ears.

“They get very excited when they know someone is coming back here. I think the animals closest to the door are spies and tell the others,” David joked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Emma walked behind Henry, watching him turn his head left and right to peer at the occupants of all of the pens.

“Aw, Mom, look at that little puppy! He’s so cute! Aw, that dog seems sad. I bet he doesn’t like being in a cage. Look Mom, they have cats here, too.” His litany was continuous as they slowly walked down the aisle between the enclosures.

Finally, David stopped in front of a pen and turned to them, gesturing toward the dog inside. “This is Norman. He has a sad story, but he’s kept his sweet temperament, haven’t you, boy?”

As if in answer, the black dog stood up, his tail starting to wag as he realized the man was talking about him. Henry dropped to his knees in front of the cage, placing his hands against the wire. “Hi, Norman! My name is Henry. Would you like to come home with us for a little while?” The dog’s tail was wagging so fast, his entire body wiggled. “I think he understands me, Mom!” Henry said excitedly.

As David slipped inside the pen to clip the leash to Norman’s collar, Emma asked, “Has he ever been rented before?”

“Several times,” David answered, straightening up once he had the leash attached. “He’s always done really well.” Opening the door of the kennel again, he allowed the dog to go ahead of him, out to where the boy still knelt.

“Hi, boy,” Henry crooned, running his hands over the dog’s head.

Emma bent down and stroked the sleek fur on Norman’s back and sides. “He’s so soft,” she commented.

“He appears to have the coat of a cocker spaniel,” David said, “but he’s definitely a mixed breed.” He watched the boy and dog interact for a few seconds before holding out the looped end of the leash. “Would you like to lead him out to the lobby, Henry?”

He looked up at Emma with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay, Mom?”

“How is he on a leash?” she asked David. “He won’t pull my kid’s arm out of the socket, will he?”

David laughed. “He does fairly well, but if he gets excited, he can get pretty rambunctious. He’ll be fine just going to the lobby, but you might have to walk him out to your car instead of Henry.”

“Sounds like a deal, kid,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.

Henry eagerly accepted the leash and started off down the aisle. “Come on, Norman. Come on, boy. You’re gonna like it at our house. We still have some of Ernie’s toys and balls.”

Emma and David trailed behind. “How long ago did you lose your dog?” he asked.

“Almost a month and Henry is really struggling with it. He and Ernie were best buds.”

“I’m sorry. That’s rough, especially for a kid.”

“And his mom,” Emma added. “I never realized how much I loved that dog, until he got sick and I knew we were going to lose him.”

“Hopefully, Norman will give you both a few hours of enjoyment and help ease the heartache a bit,” David said, before hurrying forward to pull the door open for Henry and the dog.

While David printed off the paperwork, Norman sniffed around Henry, who sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling when the dog licked his ears. “Ernie used to do that too, remember, Mom?”

Emma smiled down at him. “Yeah, you must have very tasty ears. Maybe you should start washing them better.”

“I won’t need to, after Norman washes them!”

She turned back to finish signing the papers. “It’s nice to hear him laughing again. He hasn’t done much of that lately,” she confided to David.

“I think this will be good for both of you and Norman. He really likes being around people. I’m very surprised he hasn’t been adopted yet.”

“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

David shrugged. “This tends to be a slow time of the year for adoptions. Summer is over and school is back in session, so people don’t have as much time to welcome a new dog into their house.”

“That’s the boat we’re in right now,” Emma commented.

“Once it gets closer to Christmas, people will come in looking for pets to give as gifts. That’s good, but also bad, because about a quarter of them are brought back when they realize a pet is more work than they anticipated.”

“We got Ernie from the shelter when Henry was two. He was already five years old, house-trained and had all of the annoying puppy behaviors out of his system.”

“Most people want puppies instead of adult dogs, but there are a lot of advantages to getting an older dog.”

“Norman doesn’t seem to be very old.”

“I’d say at least two, but he’s pretty chill. Once he runs out of energy, he becomes a couch potato.” David collected the paperwork and tapped it on the counter to straighten it. “Well, that’s all I need from you. Norman is yours until three o’clock.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted, causing the dog to start barking.

Emma reached down to take the leash. “Don’t get him all riled up right before we put him in the car, kid.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry apologized. “I just can’t wait to get him home! Can he sit in the back with me?”

“Sure, but first you need to thank Mr. Nolan.”

Henry popped up from the floor and looked back at David. “Thanks, Mr. Nolan! I’ll take good care of Norman, I promise!”

“My pleasure, Henry. Have fun!” David grinned.

Mother and son exited the building, with Norman leading the way, tugging excitedly on the leash. “Slow down, pup,” Emma laughed.

Henry ran ahead to open the door of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle, sliding the front seat forward and clambering into the back. As soon as Norman reached the car, he hopped in and sat on the seat beside Henry like he’d done it every day of his life.

“Well, that was easy,” Emma commented, removing the loop of the leash from her wrist and tossing it beside the dog. After closing the door, she circled around behind the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and choked up at the sight meeting her eyes. Henry had his arms wrapped around Norman’s neck with his eyes closed and his head resting against the dog’s.

Emma was sure the time with Norman was going to be good for both boy and dog, but she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when it came time to bring him back to the shelter.

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Emma was barely able to get Henry to eat when they got home, and had to reprimand him for sneaking Norman bits of his sandwich. The dog, for his part, sat politely while they ate, not begging or whining. She was impressed with his behavior, remembering how she had to break Ernie from begging at the table when they first adopted him.

Henry and Norman bonded quickly as they chased each other around the small backyard, playing with a tennis ball and squeaky toys from Ernie’s toy basket. Emma sat on their small patio, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of happy barking and her son’s laughter. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, posting it to the Discord group and tagging Violet’s mom to thank her for the idea of renting a pet.

  Just after two o’clock, Emma suggested taking Norman to the dog park before going back to the shelter. They played there for forty minutes, then the three of them returned home and piled back into the car. Once again, she caught sight in the mirror of her son hugging the dog and sighed, but instead of dreading Norman’s return, she decided to enjoy every minute of happiness it was bringing to Henry…and herself.

Their time with the dog was over all too soon. After Emma parked the car at the shelter, Henry got out of the car and trudged to the door with the leash gripped tightly in his hand. Norman seemed to sense the boy’s mood and walked slowly beside him, his head hanging low.

David was at the desk to greet them again, an understanding look at his face at the dejected look of all three of them. “Was he good for you?” he asked.

“He was great,” Emma answered, rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back. “Wasn’t he, kid?”

“Yeah,” Henry quietly agreed, his eyes trained on the floor.

“You know, you’re welcome to rent Norman, or any of our other dogs, anytime you want,” David said.

Henry looked up. “But what if someone adopts him?”

“Well, that would be a good thing for Norman,” Emma reminded him.

“I guess,” Henry sighed. He knelt down beside the dog, wrapping him up in another hug. “I’ll miss you, boy, but maybe I’ll see you again.” The dog licked his cheek, eliciting a small giggle. Then Henry stood and held the leash out to David. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I had a lot of fun with Norman.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” David said, accepting the leash and moving around the counter. Patting the dog on the head, he added, “I hope we’ll see you again, soon.”

Henry turned pleading eyes to his mother. “Can we do it again next weekend, Mom?”

“You have Avery’s birthday party next Saturday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry nodded, then bit his lip in contemplation. “The next weekend, then?”

Emma laughed. “We’ll see.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s head. “Be a good boy, Norman. You’re welcome at our house anytime.”

After saying their goodbyes, they watched David take the dog toward the door leading to the back. Norman turned and gave them a sad look before following the shelter worker through it, tearing at Emma’s heart even more.

She swallowed hard and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

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The sadness soon wore off and for the next several days, Henry talked almost incessantly about all of the fun he had with Norman. Emma checked their schedule and saw that Henry had another early game three weeks later, which would be the last game of the soccer season. She relayed that news to Henry, asking him if he wanted to rent Norman again that day, and was answered with a very enthusiastic ‘YES!’

She nearly forgot to make the reservation, only remembering three days before, while waiting to pick Henry up from practice. Quickly, she pulled up the website and filled out the form, glancing up often to see if Henry was coming off the field because she always liked to meet him as soon as he did, instead of waiting for him in the car.

Emma was especially glad they decided to rent Norman Saturday, since Henry’s soccer team lost their final game by one goal. His downcast look was soon replaced with excitement when she reminded him that they would be going to the shelter.

When they arrived, he bounded out of the car and waited impatiently for his mom to join him, before practically sprinting to the door. It took a couple of minutes before David emerged from the back, beaming a smile when he saw them waiting at the counter.

“Henry! Emma! I’m very happy to see you again!”

“We’re here to get Norman,” Henry said excitedly.

A puzzled look crossed David’s face. “I’m sorry, but Norman is already being rented by somebody else today,” he informed them.

“What?” Henry asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Then he turned to Emma. “But Mom, you said we would be getting Norman.”

Emma was already pulling the email up on her phone. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Nolan. I reserved Norman when I filled out the form. See?”

She turned her phone for the worker to see it. David looked at it carefully, then pointed to the screen. “It looks like you didn’t ask for a specific dog.”

“I didn’t?” she questioned, then looked at her phone more closely, her heart dropping when she saw the blank space beside the ‘requested animal’ inquiry. “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry when I filled it out and I must have missed that question.”

“We have several other dogs,” David consoled. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun with one of them.”

“No I won’t,” Henry pouted. “I only want Norman.”

“Henry…” Emma started, but was interrupted when the door behind her opened.

“Good morning, Dave,” said a deep voice with a distinctive British accent.

Emma turned to see the newcomer and nearly swallowed her tongue. The man standing before her had to be a mirage, because surely someone that handsome didn’t really exist. He had a lean physique clad in dark jeans and a maroon henley, with a tantalizing view of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned neckline. A black leather jacket completed his ensemble. His chiseled jawline was covered with a pleasing amount of scruff and his dark, windblown hair was falling over his forehead. He sported a wide grin and, between that and his deep blue eyes, Emma was mesmerized.

She was suddenly very aware of her own appearance. Henry’s early game meant she had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, donned an old hoodie and stuffed a beanie over her barely brushed hair that morning. Her face was free of makeup, unless you counted a few stray flecks of mascara that stubbornly refused to come off when she washed her face the previous evening.

“Hey, Killian,” David greeted.

The man’s - Killian’s - eyes had settled on Emma, a glint of curiosity evident in them.

“Oh, um, come on Henry,” she said, after several moments of silence. “Let’s get out of this man’s way.”

“But Mommmm…” he whined.

Emma put her hand on his shoulder and guided him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”

“I’m in no hurry, Miss,” Killian began.

“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m afraid I created a problem that might take a while to straighten out, so please, go ahead.”

“In that case, thank you very much,” he smiled. Turning his eyes to David, he asked, “Is Winston ready?”

Emma was surprised to see the genial shelter worker furrow his brow at the other man. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”

Killian shrugged. “He looks like a Winston to me, and he answers to that name when he’s at my house.”

David glanced at Emma and Henry and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Grabbing a leash off of a hook, he said, “Give me a minute,” then he pushed the door open and disappeared into the back.

“Are you adopting a dog today?” Henry asked Killian.

“Alas, no. I just moved into a small apartment here three months ago and am still trying to get everything organized and put away. Being in a new town has been a bit lonely at times, so I’ve been coming here now and then to borrow a dog for a few hours.”

“That’s why we’re here, but somebody is taking the dog I want,” Henry grumbled.

“Henry, that’s enough,” Emma reprimanded. “You haven’t even looked at any of the other dogs.”

“None of them will be as good as Norman.”

Killian’s brows raised. “Did you say Nor-”

Just then, the door behind the counter opened and David came through, trying to control a very excited dog.

“Norman!” Henry cheered, dropping to his knees. The dog started jumping toward him, wildly licking his face as soon as he reached the boy.

“I thought you said he was already rented today,” Emma questioned David.

“He is,” he replied, looking pointedly at Killian.

Emma followed his gaze and saw the other man watching the interaction between Henry and the dog with a sheepish look on his face. The pieces began to click together and she asked, “Wait a minute - is Norman the dog you’re renting today?”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re here for the same dog.”

“But you called him by another name,” Emma continued.

“He’s the dog I’ve rented every time and he just doesn’t seem like a Norman to me, so I started calling him Winston,” Killian explained.

All three adults stood looking at the whirlwind of fur jumping all over Henry, who was giggling so much, he could hardly catch his breath.

Finally, Killian spoke. “It seems as though Win-, I mean, Norman, has made his choice. Please let Henry and…his mother have the dog today, Dave.”

“Emma,” she informed him. “My name is Emma Swan, and you don’t have to do that. You had him reserved first. Besides, Henry needs to learn he can’t always have his way.”

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my time with the dog, knowing how sad it would make Henry,” Killian responded. He took a step forward and offered Emma his hand to shake. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

As they shook hands, David cleared his throat. “Um, I have an idea of how to work this out. It’s a nice day, so why don’t all of you take Norman to the dog park together?”

Emma and Killian both whipped their heads around to stare at him. He seemed to shrink back a bit before stammering, “I mean, that way you could all spend time with him and get to know each other at the same time. You’ve been saying you’d like to meet more people in Storybrooke, Killian, and that’s where Henry and Emma live.” Looking at Emma, he added, “I’ve gotten to know Killian pretty well because he sings in the church choir with me and Mary Margaret. He’s a good guy.”

Emma slowly turned her eyes back to the very handsome man whose hand she suddenly realized she was still holding. She dropped it quickly, as she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Then she looked at Henry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman sprawled across his lap. He was looking up at her with hope in his eyes.

Meeting Killian’s gaze once again, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Emma.”

“You wouldn’t have to go all the way back into Storybrooke,” David said. “There’s a small dog park at the end of the walking path, where a lot of people take dogs they’re thinking of adopting.”

“Please, Mom?” Henry pleaded. “Norman would like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Emma took a look at the pair and groaned, “It’s bad enough when you use the puppy dog eyes on me, kid. Now you’ve got the dog doing it, too.”

Killian chuckled lowly, the sound of it making Emma’s stomach flip in a very pleasant way. “I would hate to disappoint the two of them, so I’m game if you are, lass.”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation for a few seconds, before saying, “Okay, but on one condition - you let me pay half of the rental fee.”

“I already paid the fee online,” Killian said.

“So did I, so I guess that takes care of that.”

“Not really,” David said. “You both paid, but you’re only renting one dog. I should reimburse each of you half of the fee.”

“Keep it,” Emma and Killian answered at the same time, then both laughed.

“The shelter can always use a little extra money, can’t it, Mr. Nolan?” Emma asked.

“Please call me David. And of course we can, if you’re both sure you don’t mind.”

As soon as they affirmed their answer, David walked around the counter and picked up the end of the leash. Handing it to Emma, he said, “In that case, Norman-slash-Winston is yours for the next four hours. You can bring him back sooner, if you like, but I’m sure he’s going to love getting out for a while. Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s usually a couple of food trucks near the dog park on Saturdays. Have fun!”

Emma and Killian thanked him, then went out the door with Norman straining at the leash, and Henry skipping along beside him. They quickly found the sign marking the path and started walking it.

After several paces, Killian turned to Emma and asked, “Is it me, or do you feel like David just set us up?”

“One hundred percent,” Emma laughed.

“How long have you known him?”

“David?” she questioned. At his hum of affirmation, she said, “Henry and I rented Norman three weeks ago and that was the first time I met him. David, I mean, not Norman. Well, it was the first time we met Norman, too. His wife is Henry’s teacher. Again, I mean she’s David’s wife, not Norman’s.” She knew she was rambling, but the thought of spending several hours with the gorgeous stranger was making her nervous.

Killian laughed. “That’s a relief. I borrowed Win-, uh, Norman three times and he never once mentioned being married.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh - mostly because what he said was funny, but also in relief that he responded to her embarrassing prattling with humor, instead of judgment.

“So, if Dave just met you, he probably doesn’t even know if you’re married or dating anyone. That was a little presumptuous of him.”

“Are you fishing for information, Mr. Jones?” Emma teased.

“Killian will do,” he grinned. “And…perhaps?”

Before she could answer, Henry ran back to join them. “Can I take Norman, Mom? He’s walking really well on the leash, so I don’t think he’ll yank my arm out of the socket.”

She looked at Killian, who raised an eyebrow with a bemused look on his face.

“That’s something I said when we picked Norman up the last time,” she explained. Handing the loop of the leash to Henry, she said, “Don’t get too far ahead of us, kid.”

“We won’t,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Emma turned her attention back to the man beside her. “To answer your non-question Killian, no, I am not married or dating anyone. It’s just Henry and me, and always has been. When I told his father I thought I might be pregnant, he didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if I was or not.”

Killian absorbed this news for a few moments before responding, “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if the two of you might be better off without someone like that, anyway.”

“Oh, definitely. Henry is more mature at eight than his sperm donor was as an adult. I was young and foolish, but I had to grow up fast once I became a single mother.” She watched her son trying to get Norman to walk beside him, then turned to look at Killian. “Sorry, that is a lot more information than I’m sure you wanted to know.”

“No need to apologize, Emma. I did ask, in a roundabout way.”

“So what’s your story? Did you move here from England, or am I misreading your accent?”

“You got it right,” he chuckled, then took a deep breath. “There was nothing left for me in England. My brother moved here soon after our mother died two years ago, and once I found out my girlfriend was actually a married woman, I needed a fresh start.”

“Ouch,” Emma commented.

“Aye, and now I’ve probably shared more than you wanted to know.”

“We’ll call it even, and promise to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the day,” Emma said.

“Deal.”

“You said your brother moved here. Does that mean he lives in Storybrooke?”

“Aye, he followed his heart and it led him straight to this quaint little town.”

“Who does he date, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s engaged to the town librarian, Belle French.”

“Liam is your brother? I guess I should have figured that out since your last name is Jones.”

“It’s a very common name, lass. Yes, Liam is my brother. I gather you know him?”

“Belle is one of my best friends, so I know him through her. She used to babysit for Henry quite often, when I was a waitress at Granny’s.”

“Ah, the famous Granny’s Diner!” Killian exclaimed. “I visit that establishment frequently. She makes the best lasagna.”

“I think you meant to say the best grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma grinned mischieviously.

“I’ve yet to try those particular delicacies,” he smirked.

“Try them,” she advised. “I guarantee you’ll love them.”

Looking ahead, they saw they were nearing the dog park and picked up their pace. They caught up with Henry and Norman just before reaching the entrance. There were about a half-dozen dogs running around the park, some loose and others on leashes.

“I think it would be a good idea for Mr. Jones to take Norman before we go in,” Emma told Henry. “He’ll be able to control him better if he gets too excited.”

“Okay,” Henry said, willingly handing over the leash.

“Thanks, lad,” Killian smiled.

Henry went through the first gate, holding it open for his mom, followed by Killian and Norman. When they were all in the buffer zone, Henry opened the next gate leading into the main part of the park.

“You’re raising quite the gentleman, Emma,” Killian commented, after he entered with the dog.

“He has his moments.”

They all watched Norman as he began sniffing around excitedly, then pulling on the leash when he noticed the other canines sharing his space. He nearly yanked Killian off of his feet with his enthusiasm to meet new friends.

The next twenty minutes were spent chasing the dog and trying to settle him down. After a few of the other owners left with their animals, Henry found a tennis ball and engaged Norman in a game of fetch. The adults sat on a bench to observe the pair, laughing at the clumsiness of the dog.

Emma noticed Killian rubbing his shoulder. “Alright there, Jones?”

“I think he might have pulled my arm out of the socket, Swan,” he quipped.

“Very funny, smart guy,” she said, making him laugh again. They watched for a few more minutes before Emma asked, “Do you have a job in Storybrooke? I started working at the sheriff’s station three months ago and I don’t remember seeing you around town.”

“I’m an architect. I was able to keep my job with the firm in England by working online and attending meetings with clients and my colleagues via Zoom. All of my time is spent in my office at home. It’s not ideal, but I appreciate my boss being willing to make concessions for me.”

“Do you plan to get a job here eventually?”

“Aye, if I decide to stay.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Living in Storybrooke has been quite an adjustment.”

“I get that. We moved here from Boston when Henry was two. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, was our neighbor there, and when she decided to move back, she talked me into coming with her. At first, I had a hard time getting used to the peace and quiet. That was one reason why I adopted Ernie - just to have a little more noise in the house.”

“Ernie?” Killian questioned.

“Oh, he was our dog. We had him for six years, but he died a couple of months ago.” She pulled her phone out of the pouch of her hoodie and swiped to reveal her lock screen. “This is a picture of Henry with him.”

“Beautiful animal,” Killian commented sincerely, taking in the photo of the brown and white spaniel. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Emma sighed, locking her phone and returning it to the pocket. “Henry grew up with him and he’s had a really hard time with it. Someone suggested renting a pet from the shelter to help him work through it, and that’s how we ended up renting Norman.”

“They seem to really like each other.”

“Yeah, they got along great the first time. That’s why I signed up to get him again, but I was in a hurry when I filled out the form and forgot to ask for a specific dog.”

“Ah, that explains the mix-up,” Killian remarked.

Another half hour passed while they chatted easily, until Henry came over and flopped down on the ground, quickly joined by Norman. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure, kid. Put Norman back on his leash and we’ll go find those food trucks Mr. Nolan mentioned.”

They soon located the food trucks just down the sidewalk from the park. After discussing their options, they decided to get pulled pork sandwiches from the barbeque place. It was obvious that people who took their pets to the dog park frequented the food trucks, because each one had bowls of water set out in front of them and containers of dog biscuits on their condiment tables.

While they waited for their food, Henry tried to teach Norman to sit, rewarding him with pieces of the biscuits when he obeyed.

“He’s very good with him,” Killian noted.

“He prays for another dog every night, but our schedule is so busy right now. Plus, it’s such a big responsibility and I’m not sure Henry is ready for it. I might be wrong about that though, seeing how he is with Norman.”

After eating, they followed the sidewalk a little further and spotted a playground. Emma and Killian sat on a bench, with Norman sitting between them as they watched Henry play on the equipment.

“You know, we’ve lived in Storybrooke for six years and I never knew this playground existed,” Emma commented. “We don’t come this way very often, because whenever we go out of town, we take the road going south.”

“It appears to be fairly new,” Killian observed. “Perhaps they constructed it when they built those apartments over there, because they don’t look like they’ve been there very long.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I remember when they were being constructed a couple of years after we moved here, which means they’re less than five years old.”

They lost sight of Henry for a few seconds when he climbed a ladder up into a tower. Suddenly they heard him shout, “Hey, Mom! Look what I found!” and saw him coming down a twisting slide with his arms over his head, clutching a tattered looking soccer ball.

He landed at the bottom and came running over to them. “Someone must have forgotten this at the top of the tower. Wanna kick it around with me?”

“Sure, kid,” Emma answered, hopping up from the bench. “It looks a bit deflated. Are you sure it’s even going to roll?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. Placing it on the ground, he gave it a kick and watched it roll across the grass. “See?”

A black streak flew past him, with Killian following close behind shouting, “Wins-, I mean, Norman! Come back here!”

The dog ignored him, but stopped when he got to the soccer ball. He was trying to pick it up in his mouth when the three humans reached him. Killian was able to kick it away from him, directly to Emma, who stopped it with her foot, then booted it over to Henry. Norman ran from one to the other, in hot pursuit of the elusive ball.

The ‘keep away’ game kept them entertained for a long time. They ran, shouting instructions to each other and laughing until all of them were completely out of breath. Norman was able to intercept some of their passes, but they always managed to get it away from him before he was able to pick it up and run off.

Finally, Emma declared that she had to take a break. Picking up Norman’s leash, she said, “I think we should take him back to the food trucks to get a drink and buy a couple of bottles of water.”

“Aww, Mom,” Henry complained. “I’m not ready to go yet. Can’t I stay here? Killian will stay with me, won’t you, Killian?”

“First of all, you should call him Mr. Jones, and secondly, you’re putting him on the spot, which isn’t cool,” Emma admonished.

Henry looked appropriately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Henry, but if I may be so bold, I don’t mind you calling me Killian. That is, if it’s okay with your mother.”

Henry looked to his mom, who considered for a few seconds, then gave him a nod of approval.

Killian put his arm across Henry’s shoulders and walked him the short distance to where Emma was standing. “I’d be happy to go get the water, Emma.” He took the end of Norman’s leash from her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

While he was gone, Emma sat on the bench watching Henry continue to kick the soccer ball around. Killian and Norman returned a few minutes later, handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her.

“Do I owe you anything for this?” Emma asked, unscrewing the lid.

“Not at all. I think I can afford to buy a lovely lass a bottle of water.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of the adjective, still rueing the fact she met such a handsome man while looking like she just rolled out of bed. As she was getting ready to take a drink, Henry kicked the ball and sent it sailing over their head, causing Emma to duck and spill some of the water in her lap.

Henry ran over, stopping in front of her. “Oops. Sorry, Mom. I was trying to kick it at the teeter-totter.”

Emma brushed at the water droplets, looking around to locate the teeter-totter, which was at least twenty feet away from the bench. “Not even close, kid.”

Killian stood up. “Perhaps I could give you some pointers, lad. I was a rather good football player when I was younger .”

Henry’s forehead creased in confusion. “I play soccer, not football.”

Killian chuckled as Emma explained, “Killian grew up in England and over there, soccer is called football. They call what we play ‘American football’, don’t they, Killian?”

“Aye, lass. Sorry to confuse you, Henry.”

“Oh, I never knew that. So, how good were you?”

Killian rubbed a finger behind his ear, ducking his head a bit. “I played in a semi-professional league for a couple of years and actually tried out for a professional club, before I decided to go to Uni and become an architect instead.”

“Wow! Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “You probably know even more about soccer than my coach!”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows a bit more than a volunteer coach for a youth league team.” She took the dog’s leash back from Killian. “Norman and I will sit this lesson out.”

Killian attempted to wink at her. “As you wish, Milady. Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do.”

She smiled fondly, watching the two of them passing the ball back and forth for a while, before pulling out her phone to catch up on her social media apps.

When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw Killian giving Henry instructions for controlling the ball as he dribbled it down the field. Apparently, they were using two trees as the goal and Henry was moving toward them quickly, while trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the ball under control. When he kicked it from quite a distance away, the ball hit one of the trees and ricocheted away.

Killian went to retrieve the ball and took it back to where Henry was waiting. He squatted down in front of the boy and began talking to him, gesturing now and then to different parts of the field.

Henry listened intently, nodding once in a while. When Killian finished speaking, he stood up and did a short demonstration of how to move the ball back and forth from foot to foot. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder, walked the ball further away from the trees and set it down.

Henry lined himself up behind the ball and looked up at Killian. After getting a reassuring smile from him, Henry started dribbling the ball across the ground with shorter, more controlled kicks, while Killian jogged beside him, shouting encouragement. This time, he got the ball much closer to the trees, before giving it a powerful kick that sent it shooting right between them.

Killian whooped as Henry raised his arms in victory, giving a triumphant cheer. What Emma saw happen next put a lump in her throat. Henry flung his arms around Killian’s waist, hugging him tightly, and Killian returned the hug, rubbing his hand over her son’s head as he looked down at him with a proud smile on his face.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

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[destourtereaux]

his #1 best friend - james f. potter x fem!reader (part 2)

read part one first!! summary: after a month of dating james, you come to discover some bizarre flutterings within your heart. the problem is, you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same way… wc: 2.1k taglist: follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs!

prompts (from @novelbear): “sad…i have a blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with.” “don’t say that, i love every minute spent with you”

a/n: it’s been so long since i've written anything! praise the winter holidays for allowing my creative juices to flow again :) also… i tried some angst in this one! it’s not great, but it’s my first time, and it was pretty fun to write. i hope you enjoy!

It had been a week since you made the unnerving discovery of your developing feelings toward your best friend. You repressed them as best you could…but it’s as they say: the heart wants what the heart wants. It was just bad luck that yours wanted James Potter, while his wanted Lily Evans.

Now, everytime the Gryffindor paid for a date, it was no longer a moment of happiness; instead, it served as more of a reminder that this was simply a deal between the two of you – nothing of substance. Worse, you knew Lily was slowly taking more of an interest in James, a fact he eagerly reported on every mealtime, a reminder of the ticking countdown on your ‘relationship’. Although you knew that whatever you two had was foundationally fake, you couldn’t help but dread the day you would have to say goodbye for good.

The next month was a big month for Gryffindor. The first official Quidditch Cup matches were about to begin, following the months of recreational play. The game was Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, and James had been spending every waking minute with his team on the pitch. You, on the other hand, were preparing for some grueling midterm exams. The Quidditch athletes might have gotten them postponed, but you weren’t as lucky… So, while James was coaching and running drills, you were practically breathing DADA, Charms, Transfiguration and whatnot. This led to a lot of all-nighters for both of you, and only a brief, exhausted conversation before you both drifted off into sleep.

******

On the day of the big game, James was hyped. No matter how nervous he may have been on the days preceding the match, he only ever felt excitement on the day of. After one of his famous pep talks to the team, they were off.

A few moments later, James scored his first goal, welcomed by thunderous applause from the red and gold crowds in the stadium. But his mind was on one person and one person only. As he flew past the stands, his eyes searched for you instinctively, sifting through the hundreds of spectators. In fact, the action was so automatic that he never stopped to process how just a month ago, it would’ve been Lily he was looking for.

Much to James’ disappointment, you weren’t in your usual row, where he’d grown accustomed to you screaming with the crowd and smiling at him with unbridled joy. He glanced around in concern – just where were you? You usually never missed a match…

He stored a mental reminder to look for you immediately after the game, and rejoined his team.

******

You didn’t mean to miss the game. It’s just that you had been studying so hard lately, skipping meals and losing sleep in order to keep your grades up. One moment you were reading over the Potions textbook and the next, you were fast asleep, cheek pressed onto the page.

This was how James found you. Instead of joining in the festivities in the Common Room, he found himself pulling away and heading up the girls staircases. He pushed open your dorm door, hoping you were alright, and found you curled in your chair, hair strewn over the pages of your book, wearing his Quidditch jersey.

And just like that, his concern and disappointment melted away, leaving behind a warm feeling in his chest. ‘You look good in my jersey’, he thought, before covering you with a blanket and turning off the lights.

******

You woke up an hour later. You rubbed your eyes, drowsy for a second. Then, realization hit as you caught sight of the time… “Shit. I missed the game.”

Your first thought was of James, and you practically ran out of your room in a rush to find him and apologize. You hurried up the boys’ side, passing by the celebrations without a second thought. Shoving open James’ door, you find him asleep on his bed, a peaceful expression of happiness on his face.

‘I guess he must not have noticed that I was away,’ you thought, with a pang of sadness in your heart. You mumbled a quick ‘Nox’ and turned away, heading back out so as to not disturb the exhausted Gryffindor, but you’re stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Aw, leaving so soon, Y/N/N? That’s sad – I have this blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with…” he pouts. 

Your heart leaps, and you roll your eyes at him, “you’re so cheesy, Potter.” But you climb in beside him regardless, revelling in the heat radiating off of him. “You’re like an oven – how are you this warm?”

“Maybe it’s so I can keep you close,” James jokes, still half asleep, “we all know you’re basically cold-blooded.”

You scoff, “wow, and I was going to apologize for missing the big game.”

“Y/N? Apologizing? Now that, I’ve got to see,” James laughs, and dodges the slap you try to land on his arm – curse those Quidditch reflexes. “Oh come on, Y/N/N, I’m kidding! I missed you at the game today. Seriously.”

You wince, “I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep. I was prepared for it too!” pointing at your attire.

The boy smiles, looking at the jersey you’re donning, and kisses your forehead. “I know. You look stunning, honest. It definitely threw me off to see your spot empty though. You’re my good luck charm, you know.”

Your heart jumps at these words, betraying your brain’s messages to stop believing in this - whatever this was. Your cheeks bloom with red, and you’re glad the dark of the room hides their flush. “Yeah yeah, save the lines. We all know that’s your ‘Lily flower’” you poke with a forced laugh, ignoring the pang in your chest.

To your surprise, James doesn’t join in. Instead, he pauses, as though confused, before offering up a slow smile. “Ah, but she’s not here right now, is she? Y/N, you are the only girl for me. Swear on Godric.”

You laugh awkwardly. He’s joking, you know he is. The whole of Hogwarts knows of James’ undying love for Evans, it’s like a part of him. So why is he acting as though you even hold a candle to Lily’s flame? Screw it, you think. You might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts. And so, your smile is genuine as you drift off to sleep in the Gryffindor’s warm embrace.

Hours later, Sirius and Remus head up after the party to find the two of you, fast asleep in James’ room. They sigh simultaneously, wondering why the hell you’re both so blind.

******

You were able to make it to the next game! Midterms were basically over, save History of Magic, but you already knew that was a lost cause. And so, you headed to the pitch along with the rest of the school, clamouring and cheering for Gryffindor.

You were the first face James noticed when he looked over at the crowd before the whistle. You smiled at him, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. James beamed back, so lost in thought of you that he almost got in the way of a pass between his chasers.

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of fear, but thankfully, he recovers, and the bastard even has the audacity to wink at you before flying away. What an idiot, you think, as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

******

Gryffindor won again, beating Ravenclaw, albeit narrowly. James stumbled off his broom, tackled by his team members as they formed a huge heap of cheers and joy.

As soon as he could extricate himself, he pushed himself up to find you smiling at him, a bouquet clutched in your hands.

“For you! I read somewhere that guys never receive flowers, and I found that so sad. So, here you go. Congrats on another match well played, Potter.”

James is glad his cheeks are still red from the game because it helps conceal the blush spreading like rapidfire across his face. He takes the bouquet with one hand, then pulls you into his side with the other, landing a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, Y/L/N. This means a lot,” he whispers into your hair, amidst the whistles from his teammates.

******

Back in the Gryffindor common room, music is blasting, and everyone is in high spirits. As you climb in through the portrait hole, James asks if you’d like some punch, and heads over to get some for the both of you. You’re left with Remy and Sirius on the couch, both of them looking at you with knowing smirks.

“What?” you prompt.

“What do you mean, what?” Sirius responds, “You like James. It’s rather obvious.”

Your cheeks immediately redden, and you deny it at all costs. “As if. In case you forgot, we’re fake dating. Emphasis on fake!”

Remus chimes in at this, “In the beginning, sure, but anyone with vision can tell that it’s not an act anymore. Do you know how many pranks James has blown off to spend time with you?”

You laugh at this, “maybe James is just growing up, you guys.”

“Prongs? It’ll be another 10 years before that happens,” Sirius quips, but stops as he follows your line of sight.

There, near the punch table, is your date, talking to a certain redhead. Scratch that. He was never yours. You knew this would eventually happen, so why does it still hurt like so?

Turning away so Sirius and Rem don’t see the tears welling up, you excuse yourself immediately, ignoring their protests. Running out of the common room, you curl up on a window sill looking out at the darkening sky as the tears come rolling down.

******

It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally hear a familiar voice. The very voice you could recognize anywhere and yet wish it were not here.

“Y/N! What is going on? I came back with the punch and you were gone. Sirius and Rem are giving me the cold shoulder too?”

You quickly wipe away the tear tracks off your face, hoping you don’t look too devastated. “Did Lily finally ask you out? Is the deal done?” you smile weakly, committed to the very end.

“What are you talking abou–” James starts, but you cut him off.

“I’m happy for you, Jamie, I really am. But it hurts right now. So I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone for a day or so. I’ll get over it,” you force out, knowing the last part is a lie.

James opens his mouth again, but you lift a hand. 

“I know it was stupid of me, I mean we made a contract, for Godric’s sake! How did I still manage to mess up? I went into this knowing that every date we went on, every moment we shared would be fake. Fillers for until you could repeat those same activities with Evans. So why do I still feel so bad?” you choke out, before the tears in your throat silence you.

James winces, and pulls you into his chest, stroking your back.

“If you would just let me finish, Y/L/N! You’re so stubborn, honestly. First of all, don’t say that. I love every minute spent with you. You’re kind and brave and so incredibly funny. Don’t ever think like that again. Seriously,” he starts, “and second, I was going to say that Evans never asked me out. In fact, she was congratulating me on how good you and I were together.”

You pull away and meet his eyes, stunned. “I- what? I’m so sorry James. I guess it just didn’t work ou–”

Now it's James’ turn to interrupt. “No, Y/N/N, you still don’t get it, do you? It’s not Lily for me anymore, it’s you. She was right, you make me better. I just never realized until now.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. James Potter, the golden boy, liked you back. Your face breaks out into the first genuine grin in hours, and you finally let yourself believe it.

Seeing this, James laughs, and steals a kiss on your cheek. “Now that you’re happy and all, how about we talk about your little spiel just now?” he prompts, waggling his eyebrows. 

You elbow him, ignoring his protests, “how about no. I think we should pretend this never happened.”

“Not gonna be that easy, Y/L/N. Weren’t you just crying over me? James teases. “Hey! Wait up!” he cries out, hurrying to catch up as you hop off the ledge and walk away.

As you near the portrait hole, he finally reaches you again, and swings an arm around you.

“So… does this mean I can kiss you now?”

“James!”

******

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[novasintheroom]

036. Heart Break

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.8k

♡ Warnings - mild angst

♡ Description: Vash's actions catch up to him in the form of a letter.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3.

Part 1 ---- Part 2 (you are here!)---- Part 3 ---- Part 4 ---- Part 5

The first letter comes three weeks and a day later.

“Got a letter for ya.”

Vash doesn’t look up from the shop’s window display of guns and bullets.

“Hey…hey!”

The man taps Vash’s shoulder. He finally flinches. “Who, me?” Vash turns, surprised to see someone just standing behind him. How far away was his mind?

The man looks him up and down. “You’re Vash, right?” He’s a thick man; stout. A broom mustache sweeps his upper lip. Small holster for a pistol at his hip. He isn’t reaching for it, but Vash keeps it in sight.

Vash lets out a nervous laugh. “Do I know you? I’m sorry, it’s been a minute since I last came to town!” A truth – it’s been almost twenty years.

A tomas-pulled wagon drives past and kicks up dust. The man – courier, Vash realizes, seeing the official symbol of an arrow with a letter on his hat – spits to the side, a hunk of tobacco splatting the dirt. “Friend o’ yers passed through a few days ago. Said to look out for someone like you if you came by.”

Again, the pistol is in sight. The man reaches for it. Vash tenses, ready to run and – the courier reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small, folded envelope. Without preamble, the man hands it to Vash. “Tall, red coat, looks like a kicked puppy…yeah, gotta be you.”

Vash takes it like it will bite his fingers. It’s a dirty little thing, crinkled horribly on one corner and bent at the other three, but intact. In neat handwriting, his name scrawled across the front: “For – Vash S.”

The courier clears his throat and holds out a hand. Vash blinks at it, uncomprehending. “Twenty-six C-cents. For the parcel delivery.”

Oh. He’d forgotten that – he hadn’t gotten a letter in – “Ah, right, um, lemme just – “ He pats his pockets, inner, outer, and finally finds a few loose coins. They clink into outstretched palm, and he hopes it’s enough.

The courier counts, then recounts. He nods and hands back two C-cents. “Much obliged. See us at the post office if you want to send something back. Just down the road, by the toma range.” He ambles off, already setting sights on someone else in town. It’s just Vash and the letter now.

Carefully, he peels back the top of the envelope. His mind is awash with dread when the first pieces of curling letters meet his gaze: your handwriting. A piece of yellow paper is tucked into the folds, and he pulls it out.

It’s upside down, and he sees the slanted, scrawling handwriting first before he knows what it says. Flipping it around and right-side up, he reads over what you’ve written him.

Vash,

I get why you left. I wish you’d talked with me beforehand, but I get it. I tried following, but you know how to disappear.

You know you can trust me. I’ll keep all your secrets, don’t worry.

You’re my best friend. I think you’ll always be. Please be careful wherever you go. I’ve drawn a map on the back of my route for the next few months. Find me when you screw your head on right. I’ll gladly be waiting.

Forever yours,

______

There’re little circular wrinkles on the paper. Tear marks. You’d been crying when you’d written this. Vash sighs and holds the papers to his head. It has the faintest smell of apples to it from the lotion of your hands.

It’s tempting to feel his heart break. He takes a quick whiff, then turns the page over.

It’s a neat but crude drawing of the southernmost area of the region. You’ve got about fourteen towns marked down, with their names underneath and a trail of arrows winding between them with approximate dates. According to this, you’re at Trenton’s Hill, three towns over. You’ll be distributing library books and trying to set up new routes along the way. All to help the education of the people.

Good. That’s exactly what he wanted. You’re using your time and your degree as you should be, instead of following him around. He almost puts the paper in his pocket when he sees you wrote something at the bottom:

                P.S. – Did you hear about the guy who had his left side cut off? He’s all right now.

It startles a laugh out of him. Leave it to you to make a joke out of…well, whatever this situation is now. Again, he sighs. He won’t deny he’s missed you. But this is for the best. He looks again at Trenton’s Hill, and makes a mental note to go the opposite direction.

The letter goes in a pocket, and he goes on his way – sure to pull it out and look over the words again for nights to come.

dividers