#and makes her own memories and absorbs more

[dammit-tazmuir]

A basic timeline if it helps:

(ALSO, if you haven't already, please also read the short stories The Mysterious Study of Doctor Sex and As Yet Unsent before Nona the Ninth!)

In the epilogue of GtN, Harrow wakes up in a hospital bed on the Erebos, the Emperor's flagship, and meets John. She begs him to undo her lyctorhood and "give me back the life of Gideon Nav" (she says the full name), but he says he can't. They talk and she agrees to follow him.

Three days later ("Epiparados" in HtN), Harrow instead has Ianthe help her lobotomize herself, sealing away all her memories of Gideon, so that her brain won't know what to keep absorbing and she won't eat any more of the soul than she already has. Several agreements are made about this between her and Ianthe, and we still aren't privy to all the details, but Harrow leaves her post-lobotomy self all those letters. This also results in her Lyctoral power, while still present, being greatly limited, and her not having a cavalier auto-pilot mode.

Because she can't simply erase memories of Gideon without knowing something's wrong, she instead replaces necessary memories with false ones. With her immense power and grief, she subconsciously pulls most of the ghosts of people who were involved at Canaan House (including Dulcie and Pro) into a river bubble, and they play out false memories like an improv stage play. Whenever Harrow is unconscious, the "play" resumes. This means all the false past stuff "didn't happen" physically in time, but was real within the River, involving real ghosts of real people.

Among the ghosts, both Babs and Colum are conspicuously absent, only implied to have something vaguely resembling them in their place at the beginning. Cytherea makes no kind of appearance. The characters who are still alive and also Palamedes (because his ghost is sheltered in his own bubble) also have basically constructs taking their place, and they die off first. Silas's real ghost seems to be there and to have figured out what's up, and he eventually "kills" the Corona construct and then exits the bubble by his own choosing into the River. Some of the other ghosts figure out what's going on faster than others, and when Abigail realizes she helps Jeannemary and Isaac move on to wait out in the River. The other ghosts stay til near the end.

-

It takes her many more weeks to recover after the lobotomy, but eventually she starts becoming coherent again. John visits her and shows her the not at all concerning reserves of resurrected humans he has, all of whom have been alive but in stasis for 10,000 years. For the first time, he's waking up a new wave of them to send to the Ninth House to help shore up their numbers and give them the ability to keep passing on their culture and such.

He also teaches her about Resurrection Beasts: the vengeful revenants of murdered planets. He says there were originally nine: they've killed five, and there are three more out there. Harrow notes the math doesn't check out but doesn't bother asking.

However, part of what Harrow did to herself was setting it up so that if anyone even tries to say Gideon's name to her, she will physically hear it as "Ortus." In the course of talking, John says "Ortus Nigenad will not have died for nothing", but what he actually says is "Gideon Nav"; Harrow just hears it wrong, and notices that his mouth doesn't move quite right when he "says" Ortus. She starts bleeding and eventually falls unconscious, establishing a trend of bleeding + maybe other complications any time things threaten to remind her of Gideon. Since she said Ortus in return, the last thing she hears is John wonderingly repeating it.

She also did not consider that there could be more than one person named Gideon, but that's the name of the Saint of Duty. In Chapter 1 of GtN, Gideon described how her mom's dead body floated down to the Ninth's surface in a parachute, dead on arrival, with a day old baby in a bio container. When the nuns finally wrangled her mom's ghost back by force, all they got out of her was screaming "Gideon! Gideon! Gideon!" three times before running. They assumed this was a mother desperate to protect her child, and that Gideon was the baby's name, so they called her Gideon.

In fact, her mom was Commander Wake, full name (yes really) Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity. She was a woman who roughly 25 years ago rose up as a demagogue among Blood of Eden— the rebel faction among non-House humans that actively tries fighting the Empire— and united and organized them more than they'd ever been before. And we'll come back to her but she was killed by the Saint of Duty, and was just screaming in anger at him.

-

Harrow and Ianthe are eventually taken through the River to the Mithraem, the space station that serves as an empire base of operation and the personal home of the First.

They meet Mercymorn the Saint of Joy, whose anatomical skills through sheer memorization are just batshit stupid (Augustine says the applications are too narrow, because one would only really need it to kill Lyctors); Augustine the Saint of Patience, who "was a spirit magician like the Mithraem was a box with some bones" (and who John says could submerge half a city into the River if he wanted); and "Ortus" the Saint of Duty, who fights more like a cavalier or an attack dog than a traditional necromancer but can rapidly drain thanergy from others' theorems.

Augustine and Mercy hate each other and at one point Harrow catches a confrontation in the hall where he warns her to "stop playing this dangerous game, the one you said you'd stop." This is later show to be in reference to her conspiring with Blood of Eden, something both of them did in the past, but Mercy was always the "face" while Augustine stayed more distant and eventually backed out. He's confronting her because he's afraid John will kill them both if they find out.

Duty tries to kill Harrow many times. (There's an interesting discrepancy that the first time he tried to do so was "10 months before the Emperor's murder", but it was a few days after arrival on the Mithraem, which itself was 9 months before. I personally have a theory time is physically a little broken but yeah. It is also, notably, not 100% clear who first tried to kill Harrow on the Erebos.) The attempts are later revealed to be kind of on John's orders, though the full order was to fix her OR kill her. Even to John, Lyctors are very difficult to read, so he could tell something was dangerously wrong but not what.

What exactly he was sensing is a little hard to say. Because Harrow is schizophrenic and has had hallucinations since she was pretty young, she straight up didn't notice she was also being haunted, likely by multiple sources. She is never sure if the visions she sees of The Body are at all real, though she wants to believe there's something to them. A common interpretation (though technically debatable) is that when Harrow entered the Tomb at age 10, a piece of Alecto's soul just kind of latched on and haunted her from there on. But also.

Harrow's sword, as in Gideon's two-hander, fucking hates her. As in it literally physically burns her to make direct contact, at least early on. This is later revealed to be because Commander Wake has been clinging to it as a revenant for nearly twenty fucking years. She was in the sword the whole time Gideon had it. What seems to have happened is she clung to something else(? her bones? Gideon herself?) first and then when Gideon was given a sword as a kid Wake latched onto that, but she's been there for so long. (This is also why Harrow even in GtN says she always hated Gideon's sword and felt like it was judging her.)

Then, in Chapter 11, which is only 7 sentences long in total, Harrow "sleepwalks" / is dragged to where Cytherea's body is laid out and wakes up having impaled the body with her sword. Wake's ghost is split, a part still haunting Harrow's mind in the River, a part having moved its physical anchor to Cytherea's body so she can puppet it. This is why the corpse starts moving.

Unbeknownst to possibly anyone alive (it's ambiguous if even G1deon ever found out), G1deon's cavalier (or so we're told but that's a whole extra theory) Pyrrha was never fully absorbed, compartmentalized like Harrow has done to Gideon, though theirs was by accident, "and he took more from me than got taken from you." Pyrrha fronts sometimes and G1deon just blacks out when she does. At one point, Harrow walks in on the Saint of Duty "kissing the corpse" but Duty doesn't turn around and orders in a voice very unlike himself for Harrow to leave and close the door. This is because it's actually Pyrrha visiting Wake; she doesn't turn around so Harrow can't see the eye change.

-

Harrow spends time bonding with John and being taught how to kill planets and also avoids many death attempts that make her a nervous wreck. Eventually she stays awake for six days to keep vigilance and hatches a plan to murder Duty with soup, but John won't let anyone kill each other in front of him, yikes. He forces Harrow to go get some rest and she starts sleeping in Ianthe's room for safety instead. Ianthe has been trying the whole time to play bad boy love interest but forgetting the part where the bad boy is actually nice to the girl, so she doesn't mind too much.

What she does mind is her stupid fucking replacement arm. It's not perfect so she can't bring herself to accept it no matter how much that's messing her up, and she's actively frustrated with herself. Harrow wakes up in a state of zen clarity after a very long rest to see Ianthe stabbing at her arm, because Augustine gave her a few days before he's giving up trying to teach her and she's having a breakdown. Harrow casually decides to remove the old arm and grow her a new one, which apparently counts as sex to Ianthe (I'm only like 10% joking), and Ianthe loves her new arm and is able to function as a full proper Lyctor. As thanks, Ianthe helps Harrow try to set up an opportunity to kill the Saint of Duty.

This involves going to Augustine, who sets up a fancy dinner party. He doesn't tell Mercy why they need to distract John, but promises to keep her BoE activity secret if she helps, and swears on his brother's sword, so she agrees. (Underappreciated bit: He also says he can make sure Duty leaves on cue, and "Trust me, when I want Ortus to go, he'll be giddy-gone." Narration follows "(This did not make sense to you, as a joke.)" But it's. "When I want Gideon to go, he'll be giddy-gone" lmao.) Augustine and Mercy get incredibly drunk and eventually start making out and then pull John into it: Dios Apate, Minor. As casual as everyone is later Harrow gets the sinking but distinct feeling this has happened before. (Because it has, at minimum in reference to Dios Apate, Major, and strongly implied they've just been a messy ass polycule for way longer.)

When Harrow goes looking for Duty during this distraction, though, she finds a trail of blood leading her to the incinerator, and Duty injured and trapped inside. She considers just leaving, even when Wake-possessing-Cytherea activates the incinerator, but "he" looks to her with (dark, but so is the room) helpless eyes and she's too much of a bleeding heart, so she pulls "him" out. It's actually Pyrrha at this point, and once she's out she keeps her eyes closed as she tells Harrow how to effectively ward herself; "You'll be safe from us." She then speaks out into the hall, to Wake, saying this is fine, Wake can kill her, but please just tell her, after all this time, back then, why did Wake bring the ba—

John and co arrive after hearing the incinerator alarms, cutting her off, but she was asking why Wake brought the baby, who Pyrrha firmly believed to be hers/G1deon's and has been mourning over for the past 20 years.

-

In the River bubble dreams, the plot has diverged significantly as "the Sleeper" haunts Canaan House, starts killing people, and the weather turns to shit and stays that way. The Sleeper (who Ortus grimly joked should really be called "the Waker") is in fact Commander Wake, wearing the orange hazmat suit she died in. Gideon's sword is seen in the coffin because it was her physical anchor for so long (or may still be one anchor).

-

Eventually Harrow kills another planet trying to prepare a perimeter to face the approaching RB, and runs into Camilla there, who is this far out looking for Harrow. Camilla examines her and says “Nice intercranial haemorrhage. Kills most of us non-Lyctors.” (In reference to the lobotomy.) Harrow doesn't remember her except as a faceless corpse, but Cam has Harrow examine a piece of Pal's skull to confirm that he's still a revenant, and she meets him in his River bubble, but accidentally brings Wake with her. After a short talk with Pal, who she also doesn't remember, Wake starts threatening to break his bubble and he makes her leave quickly, but asks which bone Camilla has so he knows where to focus his essence, and asks Harrow to remake it into something with mobility, so she turns it into a hand once she's out.

As Harrow leaves the bubble, though, feeling overwhelmed and mixed up, narration for the chapter ends: "But you were always too quick to mourn your own ignorance. You never could have guessed that he had seen me." For the first time, Gideon, who has been the first-person narrator the entire time, directly references herself. Prior to this, though, she did have a lot of parentheticals or other asides, and a running gag of harping on Harrow for not knowing what a pommel was. She's been able to hazily watch everything from Harrow's subconscious.

Outside, Harrow learns the Camilla is now traveling with Coronabeth and Judith, and that all of them are with BoE, though Judith (who is in bad shape) does not appear to be staying by choice and begs Harrow to warn the Emperor he has a traitor in his midst. Harrow does not end up warning anyone.

-

Everyone gets ready for the RB's arrival, and to fight the Heralds, which look like external creatures but are in fact extensions of the RB, like fingers on a hand.

At one point in this last stretch, Harrow sits and talks with John, and he makes the mistake of telling her she'd be a hell of a daughter and he sometimes indulges the wish that she'd been his. She breaks violently and throws herself down to confess that she opened the Tomb as a child, and asks if she killed two of her fathers that day. As far as John is aware, that shouldn't be possible, so he assumes there must have been other burial chambers added in all the outer parts of the Tomb and that one of those is what Harrow stumbled into. Harrow is on one hand betrayed and pissed that he doesn't believe her, and on the other now questioning if she hallucinated everything.

John tries to comfort and absolve her of further guilt, apologizing that she endured so much based on a misunderstanding. But as he tries to brush some hair out of her bleeding face, the act of touching her head makes him more able to see the immediate area and he gets much more serious as he suddenly asks, "Harrow, who the hell has been tampering with your temporal lobe?" and she panics and runs without fully understanding why. He calls after her but doesn't pursue and doesn't bring it up again later, but the last thing she hears is him cursing himself. "Dammit, John! Dammit!"

-

Eventually, the night comes, and where Chapter 39 has John telling everyone "ten minutes to breach", it chronologically goes into the Prologue. Ianthe comes in and begs Harrow to let her help undo what she's done, because she doesn't want Harrow to die here. "Just turn around" bc the Orpheus vibes weren't strong enough lol. But Harrow tells her to fuck off and Ianthe does.

"And you walked toward your death like a lover" (39) / "you went to make war on Hell." (Prologue) (With the noted time breaks here and the capitalization of Hell I have recently been alerted to a theory that Harrow was never trying to fight the RB, but straight up doing some offscreen shit in Hell, but we'll see in AtN I guess.)

Hell spat her back out because Mercymorn stabbed her and left her to get eaten, although she did disable her pain receptors and hadn't intended Harrow to wake up for it. Harrow was left too strong to die quickly and too weak to save herself.

As she blacked out, she started rapidly reinventing the scenarios of her false memories, and we got three chapters of AUs. First is Harrow Nova, where she was born a failed experiment without necromancy and instead became cavalier to an adopted necromantic heir (Gideon). Second is a royal ball where many Houses are sending heirs to try to court and win the favor of Her Divine Highness (Gideon, which is a wild thing for Harrow to subconsciously clock). And then the beloved Coffee Shop AU, where the BARI Star is of course Gideon. Each time, Abigail tells her again, "this isn't how it happens", and the last time "Absolutely not", because that time was threatening to pull the Fourths' ghosts back into things.

When Harrow "wakes up" in the normal River bubble, Abigail helps explain what's been going on, and Harrow remembers and cries for Gideon.

-

Outside, with Harrow's consciousness awol and the dam holding back her essence broken, Gideon wakes up fully in Harrow's body and takes over. She starts fighting Heralds and it's specified that she dies several times while doing so, she just keeps getting better. One Herald also bites off her thumb and she instantly regrows a new one, which is not normal for Lyctors; they'd normally heal whole sections lost as stumps, like Ianthe's arm.

Eventually she runs into Mercy, who sees her eyes and pieces shit together, but Wake shows up and shoots Mercy with a bullet made from Herald carcass and leaves. Gideon has weird feelings and then runs off to find Ianthe. Augustine finds them, sees Gideon's eyes, and runs off. Ianthe gives Gideon Harrow's letter for her, including her sunglasses.

Eventually, Gideon and Ianthe go to John's room, but find him interrogating Wake, so they hide in a coatrack/closet area near the door. The Augustine and Mercy show up to confront John. Then Duty shows up, and stops by the coat rack first, and looks dead at the baby Lyctors, and takes Gideon's sunglasses off her face to wear before ignoring them and moving on, because it's Pyrrha and she needed to hide her eyes from the others. Wake is immensely relieved to see Pyrrha, who immediately shoots her (freeing her ghost).

The worst episode of Maury ever plays out, and at first it seems like Gideon might have been Wake and G1deon's kid, but instead, it's that Augustine and Mercymorn twenty years ago seduced John to acquire a genetic sample. He very specifically tried to avoid any risk of that but Mercymorn's anatomy skills are stupid and Augustine providing extra distraction probably helped. Mercy initially set up several "dummies"/"dolls" using her own eggs, and Wake was intended to use vat womb technology to grow at least one of those into a baby to sacrifice, but "THE EGGS YOU GAVE ME ALL DIED AND YOU LIED TO ME, SO I DID THE IMPLANTATION MYSELF." (This means Gideon is a sort of immaculate conception in that her parents never even directly met in life, but it also involves no less than six different people having sex lmao.)

Their intention was to use blood of a close enough genetic match to John's to break his blood ward on the Locked Tomb to wake Alecto and try to kill him and end the empire. The original plan was to evacuate the citizens of the Houses, too. This is also how Harrow finally got into the Tomb as a kid; "my face was under your fucking fingernails." (This fight and detail was also mentioned in GtN.) This comic by Naomistares beautifully illustrates the explanation.

John appears to have not quite pieced together everything and be pretty shocked. He knew there was something up and playing dumb, but when the seduction part comes into play he gets more thrown off, and then accuses "Did you two just pretend to hate each other?" (Extrapolation: The implications of Dios Apate Minor and Major both— and the fact that Major took them 500 years to successfully plan and pull off, and Minor was the first time they've been with him since— seem to be that neither of them alone could have pulled it off, because the only thing John wanted badly enough to let his guard down was both of them. This is supported by the first time Mercy mentions Augustine near the beginning, he immediately drops his argument and his face lights like a sunrise at the idea they're talking again, to her immense frustration. So when he learns about the conspiracy he is fully willing to believe they just put on an elaborate act all this time to make him more desperate, smh.)

Gideon of course is also very overwhelmed by this revelation, and comes out of hiding to announce, "I'm— I'm not fucking dead!" And of course John looks her over and replies as his first words to her, "Hi, not fucking dead. I'm dad."

This whole confrontation was because when Mercymorn and Augustine each saw Gideon's eyes, they recognized them as Alecto's eyes, Alecto being The Body, A.L., Annabel Lee, the woman buried in the Tomb. But there was no way a random child of the Ninth would have Alecto's DNA, and there was absolutely a way John's DNA would end up on the Ninth, because they worked very hard to put it there. They come to the conclusion that Alecto wasn't just John's bodyguard, as he'd always told them, but his cavalier, and their eyes swapped because he'd done Lyctorhood a better way than everyone else did, letting Alecto survive. (This leaves a lot of unanswered questions, not least of which being why the fuck would Alecto's eyes look like John's now do, and there's reason to suspect that the Lyctor's may have ultimately used the wrong formula but still got the right answer re: Gideon being John's kid, but that's a topic for after NtN.)

They had already been plotting to kill him, but this revelation makes them think that he just casually let them kill and eat their cavaliers with full knowledge there was another way, and that's their tipping point to go from secret plotting to openly "fuck you." (The "we might all die tonight anyway from this RB" might also be a factor.)

-

Back in the River bubble, everyone confronts Wake as the Sleeper, and Abigail and Ortus are able to summon the ghost of Ortus's historical blorbo Matthias Nonius to fight Wake using Ortus's sheer passion as a revenant link. (Ortus brought fanfiction to a magic undead gun fight and won, and we love him for it.) When Harrow sees Wake's face up close, she knows she's never seen her before, but something really bothers her, especially in the jaw (basically identical to Gideon, and they look very alike in general) and the eyes and brows (the most different from Gideon; this isn't said until NtN but it's very offhand, those features she got from John). This very subtly implies that the Divine Highness AU had been inspired by Harrow subsconsciously clocking the slight resemblance between Gideon and John.

Once Wake is gone, the bubble starts collapsing. Ortus, Matthias, and the other soldiers head off to help against the RB. Magnus and Abigail urge Harrow to return to her body, and believe she's just clinging to Gideon's memory and needs to let her go. Harrow begrudingly agrees, but Abigail and Magnus head out into the River (to look for Jeannemary and Isaac and maybe others, and then try to cross it, which Abigail theorizes can be done but people simply don't anymore because they've been taught to wait for a Second Resurrection and most have waited so long they've gone mad). The real Dulcie stays, though, and tells Harrow she has something to tell her.

-

With the confrontation, Mercymorn eventually tells John she'll forgive him if he can look her in the eye and swear to her he loved Cristabel and never wanted harm to come to her. Instead, as she walks into his arms, she slides her hands inside his body and turns him into mist. This does kill him, and there's a solar flare as the sun starts to destabilize, but he Gets Better and kills her instead. He gives everyone an ultimatum to join him or die. Not Gideon though, they just met, yikes, besides that's Harrow's body and he'd rather not punish Harrow too, Gideon can just be rebellious in the John corner it's fine. But finally Augustine asks if he gets a choice, and John says yes and begs him to come back, and Augustine tells him no and then submerges the entire Mithraem to the bottom of the River, near one of the stoma openings. Augustine basically asked if he got a choice just to set up to tell him to go to hell and then physically drag him directly there.

(On the note of literally yes dying but then getting better, this is how Gideon died several times earlier fighting Heralds, and also why she "survived" the nerve gas as a baby. And after the Avulsion Trial in GtN: "'Ha-ha,' said Gideon, 'first time you didn't call me Griddle,' and died. / *** / Well, passed out, but it felt a hell of a lot like dying. Waking up had an air of resurrection"... 😌)

John and Augustine end up wrestling over the stoma, with Ianthe above them. Pyrrha introduces herself properly to Gideon and informs her G1deon just died fighting the RB tonight, so she's alone in the body now. They debate what to do but ultimately end up out in the River too. Gideon thinks to herself that Ianthe could probably help make sure John is swallowed by the stoma but Augustine survives, but instead Ianthe does the opposite. (And. You know. Based on everything Ianthe knows, John dying has a high chance of meaning Corona dying too, along with the rest of the House citizens including the rest of her family, so there's that.)

Gideon finds herself passing out in the water, and then the last thing she sees is Harrow's bullshit dead girlfriend coming to claim her, as Alecto(?) says "in the wrong voice twice removed" something about chest compressions and not losing her. Gideon dies. (Again. But will it stick this time...?)

-

We cut back to Harrow in the River as Dulcie tells her she's certain she can sense someone intentionally moving Harrow's body, meaning there's a high chance Gideon is alive and in control. Dulcie appears to be crushed by falling debris afterward, but had been fully accepting of that risk in interest of the truth here.

Harrow chooses to pull herself out of the River not to her body, but into the Tomb. Nothing about the scene makes sense and it's not supposed to. She crawls into the empty(??) coffin and curls up with her sword and Frontline Titties of the Fifth, then she falls asleep, or dies, or both.

-

Six months later, we follow a girl about her daily life in a city that looks much closer to a modern day settlement than anything we'd seen thus far, albeit a dangerous and wartorn one. She lives with the person who goes to work for her, the person who teaches her, and the person who cares for her. She heals unnaturally quickly and for some reason when other people start to notice that they avoid those people after that. At the end she asks the person who cares for her if she's figured out who she is yet, and Camilla answers, "Not yet."

=============================================

BUT YEAH. I'm happy to answer specific questions if you have them as well. It's my favorite book and VERY worth a reread, but this should be enough to understand what's going on enough to be more confident moving into Nona. (Unsure if you actually meant to reread or were being hyperbolic, but clearing up confusion can't hurt either way!) And then once you finish all three books and all three short stories, you can read ALL of them again together and unlock all the layers of bonus content. >:3

(That is, I encourage reading NtN before rereading HtN unless you wanna reread HtN multiple times, because the added context from NtN and even from a later reread of GtN will enrich the HtN reread all the more.)

Good luck!

I finished Harrow the Ninth so now I need to reread Harrow the Ninth so maybe I will know what happened in Harrow the Ninth

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

[daryltwdixon]

Teach You IV

Summary: Daryl can’t seem to get ahold of himself after the night you spent together. For days, you're all he can think about—your voice, your touch, the way you've unleashed a part of him he never knew existed. Nothing else matters, nothing else feels right, and when he sees you now, he knows he’s coming back for more. Always.

warnings: smut, MDNI, dirty talk, Daryl is a man possessed, pinv, oral, fingering, Daryl's POV

a/n: the amount of messages I've gotten about this fills my little heart with so much joy, you guys!!! thank you for loving what I do :')

not super proofread! sorry! will check later

The late afternoon bathes the room in golden light, casting soft shadows as Daryl watches her. She’s standing there, completely absorbed in some meaningless task—folding laundry, shifting supplies, something so mundane he can’t understand how she’s focused on it when he’s right here. She’s been taking up all the space in his mind, all the air in his lungs, and she has no idea.

Well, maybe she does. She’s the one who did this to him. The one who made him feel insatiable, so utterly out of control over his own thoughts and body.

Daryl leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s just to steady himself. His blood is running too hot, his heart pounding too fast, and it’s all because of her. His gaze drags over her, over the way her shirt clings to her back, the soft curve of her hips, the little furrow in her brow as she concentrates. She’s so calm, so collected, like she hasn’t absolutely ruined him.

Ever since that first night—hell, every night since—she’s been all he can think about. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Feels her. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she felt under him—warm and soft and his. His cock has never been this hard, not at midnight, not first thing in the morning, and definitely not all goddamn day. And it’s all because of her.

His jaw clenches as the memories flood back: her taste, sweet and heady on his tongue. The way she whispered his name, gasping and desperate, like he was the only man in the world who could make her feel that way. Taking her for the first time, the way her body shifted and shivered beneath him as he rocked into her. It was like a switch he didn’t even know existed had flipped inside him, and now he’s nothing but want, need—fucking hunger.

His hands twitch at his sides. He tries to rein it in, to give her space, but it’s useless. His thoughts are wild and untamed, like he’s been starved his whole damn life and she’s the only thing that can satisfy him. He wants to feel her again, taste her again, bury himself so deep inside her that neither of them knows where one ends and the other begins.

And she’s just standing there, so calm, so unbothered. How can she not feel it? Doesn’t she know what she’s done to him?

“Alright,” he growls, the sound low and guttural as he finally pushes off the doorframe, done with just standing by and watching her as he unravels.

Her head snaps up, her hands pausing mid-motion. “Daryl?” she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion at the intensity in his voice.

But he doesn’t answer. He can’t. Words won’t do it, won’t scratch the itch clawing at him, the fire burning through his veins. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his movements rough and purposeful. His hands grip her waist before she can react, lifting her clean off the floor and tossing her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.

“Daryl!” she squeals, her fists playfully tapping at his back, though there’s laughter in her voice. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

He doesn’t bother answering, doesn’t stop. He’s already heading for the nearest surface—the couch, the bed, the table, he doesn’t fucking care. All that matters is her, laid out for him, ready for him to take her apart.

When he reaches the couch, he lowers her just enough to drop her onto the cushions, her legs still dangling over the edge as he looms over her. She looks up at him, her chest rising and falling as she takes him in, her eyes widening slightly at the look on his face.

“You’ve ruined me,” he growls, his voice like gravel as his hands cage her in on either side. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you feel. About how you taste. I can’t think straight, can’t sleep. You’ve fucked me up, woman.”

Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she looks up at him, her breath catching in her throat. She’s not used to this—him talking so much, his words spilling out in a frantic, unfiltered rush. He knows it too. Knows he can be a little aloof, a bit of a dick when it comes to talking about what’s on his mind. But she’d broken him, shattered whatever walls he’d kept so carefully constructed, and now he couldn’t stop the rambling, couldn’t stop the truth from pouring out of him.

His hands travel up her body, sliding over her sides, his rough fingertips grazing her skin, skimming over her stomach. He slots his hips between her legs, pressing her further into the couch as her thighs fall open for him.

“I—” she starts, but he cuts her off, his hands finding her waist, his touch rough but trembling.

“Please,” he mutters, his voice low and desperate, almost trembling with the weight of his need. His hands glide over her sides, brushing against her ribs, feeling the heat of her skin through her thin shirt. “I need you. Every inch of you. Right fuckin’ now. Tell me yes. Please, say yes.”

Her cheeks flush even deeper, the red blooming across her neck and chest as she stares up at him. And then, slowly, her hands lift, sliding up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice a soft, breathless sigh. “Yes, Daryl. Always yes.”

It’s all he needs. An inhuman noise rumbles deep in his chest, primal and desperate, as his lips crash against hers, needy and unrelenting. His hands grip her thighs, pulling her flush against him as he kisses her like a man possessed, all teeth and tongue and sheer, insatiable hunger.

"Goddamn," he mutters against her lips, his voice shaking as he pulls back just enough to look at her. His hands slide further up her legs, gripping her ass, his thumbs imprinting into the soft curves of her skin. "You've got me so fucked up. I can't think about anything else. Just you. Just this.'

His lips trail down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point as his fingers hook into her shorts. He doesn't wait for permission this time; he knows she's all in, knows she's just as wanton as he is. He tugs them down in one rough motion, taking her panties with them, leaving her bare and spread out before him.

His gaze drops to her center, and he groans, his head tipping back for a moment as he fights to keep himself together. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and reverent,"So fuckin' beautiful. So goddamn perfect." His hands grip her knees then, spreading her wider as he lowers himself between her legs.

His breath is hot against her skin, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she wants him most. Her sex glistens for him already, the sheen of slick luring him in.

"Daryl," she whines breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips lift off the couch.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against her slick heat, dragging up to circle her clit with slow, deliberate precision. The taste of her hits him like a drug, and he groans, his hands tightening on her thighs as he pulls her closer, needing more. 

"You taste so fuckin' sweet," he mutters against her, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

Her cries spur him on, her thighs trembling against his shoulders as he works her over, his mouth relentless and hungry. He licks and sucks and nips at her, devouring her like she's the only thing keeping him alive, like her pussy is the last source of water in a barren desert. He still didn’t know how to do this right, not really, but he knew what her gasps meant, knew what the shiver in her thighs told him. And God, he just wanted to keep making her feel that way. His tongue falters for a moment, unsure if he’s going too fast or too slow, but then her hips roll against him, and he takes that as a sign to keep going.

"Daryl," she whimpers, her voice trembling as her fingers tug harder at his hair. "Oh, fuck-don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Her pleading only fuels him, his tongue moving faster, his lips sealing around her clit as he slides two fingers inside her. Her body arches off the couch, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as he curls his fingers, stroking her exactly where she needs him. Her body responds instinctively, her words no longer coherent as her hips buck against him, riding the wave of her climax as it crashes over her.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. His mouth and fingers work her through every shudder, every breathless gasp, coaxing every ounce of pleasure out of her until she’s trembling beneath him, her chest heaving as she collapses back onto the cushions.

But he’s far from done.

She’s still shaking when his pace begins to slow, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her slick heat as if to soothe her overstimulated body. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts, her fingers gripping the cushions beneath her, but before she can catch her breath, his fingers curl again, pressing against that spongy spot inside her.

A sharp cry tears from her throat, her hips jerking involuntarily as the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through her.

“Daryl—” she starts, her voice trembling, but he just hums against her, his tongue dragging over her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Want another,” he mutters, his voice muffled against her skin, his words punctuated by the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers working her over. “Want more. Gotta see you like this again.”

Her head tips back, her body arching as overstimulation teeters dangerously close to overwhelming. “I—Daryl, it’s too much—” she gasps, but the words are lost in another moan as his fingers curl deeper, stroking that spot inside her with an almost maddening precision. If there was anything Daryl learned from their first time together, it was that he needed to know every single nook and crevice of her that made her come undone. Either with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He was determined to learn her body inside and out. 

“You can take it,” he growls as his lips seal around her clit again. His tongue flicks against her, faster now, relentless, as if her pleasure is the only thing that matters. “You’re so good for me, baby.”

Her body tightens beneath him, her nails clawing at the cushions as her thighs tremble around his head. She’s teetering on the edge again, the line between pleasure and too much blurring as his words and his touch send her spiraling. The second always comes so much faster than the first, it’s like a domino falling inside her lower belly.

She was falling apart because of him. He couldn’t believe it—still didn’t really know what he was doing—but her gasps, her moans, they told him he was doing something right.

“Cum for me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse but commanding. “Wanna feel you again. Wanna hear you,”

Her body responds before her mind can catch up, her hips bucking against his mouth as another wave crashes over her. She cries out, her voice raw and broken, her walls clenching around his fingers as she tumbles over the edge for the second time.

He groans against her, his tongue slowing as he works her through it, coaxing every last shudder and gasp from her trembling frame. When she finally collapses fully against the couch, her body spent and trembling, he presses one last kiss to her inner thigh, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

As he moves to kneel between her legs again, her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as her legs wrap around his waist, anchoring him to her. She’s still trembling from her release, her body pliant and warm beneath him, but she reaches up to capture his lips in hers, tasting herself on his now swollen, wet lips.

“Please, Daryl,” she says against his lips–now it was her begging him, and God if it didn’t take every last drop of restraint to wait for him to hear what she wanted next. How the hell did she look like that, sound like that, just because of him? He didn’t understand it, didn’t feel like he deserved it, but he was desperate to be worthy of her. He’d give her anything. Anything. 

“What is it, baby? What do you want? Tell me,” he groans against her, his hips rutting into her, the wetness of her center staining his jeans where his bugle meets her clit. “Need you,” she whines, gasping when he drags his hips against her harder, “Please. Fuck me, Daryl.”

That’s all he needs. His hands fumble at his waistband, his urgency making his movements clumsy as he shoves his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself. His cock is already hard, throbbing and aching with need as he grips the base, positioning himself at her entrance.

He pauses, his breath ragged as he meets her gaze again, his forehead pressing against hers. “Tell me if I’m hurtin’ you,” he murmurs, his voice low and shaky.

“You won’t,” she reassures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his arms, her touch grounding him. “I trust you.”

The words send a wave of warmth through him, his chest tightening as he pushes forward, the tip of him sliding into her with an agonizing slowness. He groans, low and guttural, as the heat of her surrounds him, and her gasp mirrors his, her nails digging lightly into his skin. 

This is all he’s thought about for days—taking her on the nearest surface, spreading her open, and burying himself deep inside her. The way she’d feel wrapped around him, her body clenching tight, pulling him in. But no amount of imagination, no desperate strokes of his own hand, could have prepared him for the way the real thing feels.

“God,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he sinks deeper, his hands trembling against her hips. “You’re so—fuck, you’re so tight.”

Her walls flutter around him, pulling a low groan from his throat. He can barely hold himself together, the heat and wetness of her stealing every coherent thought from his mind.

She moans softly, her hips tilting to take him in further, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “It’s too—too much, too big—” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and something he can’t quite place.

His movements falter, his body stiffening as a rush of panic washes over him. He freezes, afraid of hurting her, afraid of pushing too far. His hips still as her words echo in his head, his hands trembling where they grip her hips. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” he asks, his voice tight with worry, his brow furrowing as he looks down at her.

Her hands slide up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his scruff. Her breath is shaky, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no fear in her eyes—only heat, only need.

“No,” she breathes, her voice trembling but steady. “It’s not that. I just—” She pauses, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly. “I’ve never—never had someone so goddamn big.” Her voice breaks, her hands tightening on his arms as her hips shift beneath him. “You stretch me so good, Daryl. It’s just… overwhelming. In the best way.”

Her words send a bolt of heat straight through him, his cock twitching inside her as a low groan escapes his lips. “Jesus,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against hers. “You can’t say shit like that, woman. Gonna make me lose my mind,”

She laughs softly, the sound breathy and full of affection, and leans up to kiss him, her lips warm and teasing. “Then let me take over,” she whispers against his mouth, her fingers sliding down to his chest. “Let me show you how good you make me feel.”

He hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing against her hips. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low and rough, his gaze searching hers.

She nods, her smile widening as she cups his face again. “I’m sure,” she murmurs.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, his arms steadying her as she shifts beneath him. When his cock slips out of her, both of them hiss at the sudden loss of warmth, but she gently pushes at his chest to move up. And he moves with her, settling back against the cushions as she straddles his hips.

The sight of her above him, her body glowing in the soft afternoon light, takes his breath away. Her hands rest on his chest for balance, her legs bracketing his sides as she sinks down slowly, taking him back inside her inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands finding her thighs, his fingers pressing into her soft skin as his head tips back. 

Her moans match his, her body adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. “You feel so good,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she begins to move, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. “So good, Daryl.”

His hands slide to her waist under the hem of her shirt, steadying her as she sets the pace, her movements growing bolder with every passing second. The rhythm she creates is intoxicating, her body rising and falling above him, her warmth enveloping him completely.

“Let me see you,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent as his hands slide up her sides, his thumbs brushing over her ribs, his touch deliberate and worshipful. “Let me see these incredible tits, hunny.”

Her smile widens, her lips parting as her hands slide up her body, grazing over where his own rest on her waist. She takes her time, teasing, before finally gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. The discarded fabric lands somewhere behind the couch, forgotten, as her bare skin is revealed to him.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate. His head leans forward like he’s being pulled by some gravitational force he could never—would never—ignore. His lips find her breast, his mouth latching onto a nipple with a low, guttural groan.

His tongue flicks over the hardened peak before drawing it into his mouth, sucking softly. Hands tightening on her waist, his thumbs brush over the curve of her ribs as he holds her steady while her hips continue to rock over him. 

She gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her hips grind against his. “Daryl,” she breathes, her voice trembling with pleasure. “God, yes, yes, yes,”

Her words spur him on, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his mouth moves to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His tongue swirls, his lips pressing kisses along the soft swell of her skin, as though he’s worshipping every inch of her.

“You’re incredible,” he mutters between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with awe. “Fuckin’ incredible.”

Her head tips back, her moans spilling from her lips as her hips roll against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through them both. “You’re the one making me feel this good,” she whispers, her voice thick and breathy. Her hands slide down to his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin as she pulls him closer. “This is all you, Daryl.”

Her words ignite something primal in him, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, guiding her movements as she rides him. The pace quickens, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, their breaths mingling as the tension builds between them.

“You’re all I want,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he looks up at her, his gaze dark and full of need. “All I fuckin’ think about.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she sighs, kissing him between breaths, “You’re all I ever think about, Daryl,” you shift your hips and panting, add: “Only man I want, that I need.”

And then it happens. The control he’s been clinging to, the restraint he’s forced himself to maintain, snaps like a taut string stretched too far. Something wild and unhinged breaks free inside him, the monster he’s tried to keep buried roaring to the surface.

Before she can even register the shift, his arms are wrapping around her, pulling her down against him so her stomach is flush to his chest, her breasts pressed into his face. She lets out a surprised yelp, her hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders, but it’s quickly overtaken by a sharp, guttural moan as he buries himself deeper inside her.

“Daryl!” she gasps, her voice trembling as her hands cling to him, the couch, anything she can grab to stay steady.

He holds her tight, his muscles flexing as his arms cage her in, his body taking over completely. His hips snap up into her, relentless and unyielding, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with her cries and his ragged groans, creating a symphony of raw, primal need.

Her head falls back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she screams his name, her voice hoarse and broken with pleasure. And if she wasn’t moaning loud enough to disturb the neighborhood before, she sure as shit was now. The sheer force of his movements has her teetering on the edge of oblivion, her body trembling and she takes everything he’s giving, not able to form words or coherent thoughts anymore.

“That’s right, baby.” he growls, his voice raw and unrecognizable, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he knows he’ll leave marks. “Take that fucking cock, you’re so good, so perfect for it. Like your sweet pussy was made for me,”

The words pour out of him without thought, his mouth brushing against her chest, her neck, her collarbone, anywhere he can reach. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, barely aware of anything except the overwhelming need to take her, to claim her, to lose himself completely in the heat and softness of her. He’s never known anything like this, where the words are even coming from, where this monster in his chest has escaped from.

Her body arches against him, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as she clings to him, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling his hair, “Daryl—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he growls, his hips driving up into her harder, deeper, his cock swelling as his own release builds. “Wanna feel you. Wanna hear you scream my fuckin’ name.”

And she does. Her body tenses, her thighs trembling as her release slams into her like a tidal wave. She cries out, her voice raw and ragged as her walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, her pleasure washing over her in uncontrollable waves.

The way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes and shudders in his arms, is enough to send him spiraling after her. He groans, his head tipping back as his hips jerk erratically, his cock pulsing as he spills into her, filling her completely.

His chest heaves as he holds her against him, his body trembling from the force of his release. They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, their breaths mingling as the intensity of what just happened sinks in.

When he finally loosens his grip, his hands slide to her back, stroking her soothingly as her head rests against his shoulder. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against her ear.

She nods, a breathless laugh escaping her as she lifts her head to meet his gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair sticking to her damp skin, but her smile is soft and curious, a hint of awe in her expression.

“I’m more than okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of lingering pleasure and surprise. Her fingers trail lightly over his chest, and her lips curve into a teasing grin. “But… I feel like I unleashed something in you I didn’t know was there.”

His brows furrow slightly, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he looks away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…” he mutters, his voice rough with embarrassment. “Ain’t never felt like this before. Never had—never been like this with anyone.” His gaze flickers back to hers, unsure but steady. “Guess you… bring somethin’ out in me.”

Her eyes soften, her fingers tracing along his jaw as she tilts his face back toward her. “Something incredible,” she says softly, her smile widening. “I like it. A lot.”

His lips twitch into a small, lopsided grin, his hand coming up to cup her face as his thumb brushes over her cheek. “You… you’re somethin’ else,” he mutters, his voice low and full of affection. “Don’t even feel like the same person I was before you.”

Her heart swells at his words, her chest tightening as she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulls back, her smile is full of warmth. “Guess I ruined you in the best way, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, his forehead pressing against hers as his arms tighten around her. “Yeah,” he says, his voice soft but sure. “Guess you did.”

“S’okay,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder. “Think you’ve ruined me too.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, his breath stuttering as his grip on her tightens. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough and low, like he doesn’t quite believe her but wants to more than anything.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a soft smile as she breathes in, her forehead still against his, “Never thought I could feel like this—this full, this… complete. It’s all you, Daryl. You’ve changed everything.”

For a moment, he can’t speak, his throat too tight, his chest too full. Instead, he presses his lips to hers again, the kiss deep and slow, filled with everything he can’t quite say.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

okay sooooo

i had this little thought right

okay so maybe like reader has been a part of the inner circle for a looooong time like since the batboys were kids and they've all been friends forever, naturaly azriel has been in love with her since then, and a few years ago he realised they were mates (she doesn't know)

this one time she walks into the townhouse in just a bra and trousers, casually just walking in drinking coffee while the rhys and cass are just flabbergasted (cass being cass is eyeing the goods real hard because shes always been hot and he knows it) rhys is smirking and all (hes no less honestly)

then az walks in and hes just like what the fuck, she tries to explain smth happened to her shirt on the way and hes just grumbling and takes off his own shirt and is like put this own (cass is naturally making comments that make az's blood boil)

then you can choose where that goes from there

lmfaoooo im so sorry i couldn't get this idea out of my head

its okayyyy if you can't write it!!!

hi! sorry it took me so long to post but i've been really busy with university and only now have i had some free time.

anyway, here it is! thank you so much for this request, i loved writing it!

i hope you like it! 🫶🏻

my hero

azriel x reader | a small but very happy incident. words: 2.2k

masterlist

tick 

tack

tick 

tack 

"ugh," a heavy groan escaped your lips at the sound of the clock. you seated slightly, your head pounding without mercy. 

as you looked at the window, your eyes fought against the early sunlight, before adjusting and finally allowing you to fully open them.

it took you a few seconds to remember your surroundings, and to be honest, to remember anything. 

the confusion didn't last long when all the memories from last night hit you all at once. 

you had gone out for the night with morrigan. you went to rita's for a girls night.

a night with a lot of drinking and dancing and singing and drinking again — mysterious headache solved.

you looked down on you, seeing the shiny short black dress you had chosen for last night specifically. 

you passed your hands through your messy hair and took a glance at your bedroom, absorbing the chaos that a very drunk you had caused.

how could just a person cause such a mess?

tick 

tack

tick

tack

"ugh!" a loud annoyed groan left your lips again

at the sound of the clock that kept attacking your brain. 

before you could think twice, you turned and reached out to punch the clock, causing it to fall to the ground.

you lowered yourself on the bed sheets with an arm over your head.

this was going to be a very long day.

and that's when it you.

your eyes and two seconds later, your legs were fighting against the bed sheets. 

after losing that battle, you ended up falling to the ground with a loud noise. 

a small 'huff' came out of your mouth before getting up and running to the clock as quickly as possible to check the time. 

10:07 am

"oh, shit."

you were late for your internship at the clinic.

"oh, shit."

you quickly begin to look for clean clothes at the same time you try to get rid of your dress. 

you manage to find something that looked relatively clean and put it on, your heart racing as you tried to get your hair to not look like a complete mess.

when you finished putting your hair in a more presentable state, you hurried to put on your shoes, but when you noticed the time again, you only managed to put on a sock before grabbing the first pair of shoes in sight and running out of your room. 

as you run for the stairs, you didn't have time to react before a body collided with yours and spilled coffee all over your t-shirt.

the hot contents against your skin forced you to let out a small scream and dropped the shoes to the floor as you struggled to pull the fabric of your t-shirt away from your body. 

"shit, shit, shit!" you cursed at the same time you blew on your t-shirt.

great, as if your day wasn't already going badly. 

"sorry," a small voice said.

you met your attacker's gaze as you looked up to see a beautiful female with green eyes and brown hair — morrigan's friend. 

right, you had forgotten that she had come home with the two of you — with mor. 

the female looked mortified as you stared at her annoyed. when you saw her opening her mouth to say something, you quickly stopped her.

"don't," you raised your hand at her, you didn't have time for this, "just. . .just go."

you pointed at morrigan's bedroom, whose door was slightly open. the female followed your direction, shrinking a little as she passed through you.

"idiot!" you cursed quietly. 

you looked at your bedroom and considered your options: the chances that you may find a new clean t-shirt in the middle of that mess, were very low and you were already late.

so you gave up and made your way down the stairs, starting to unbutton your shirt before completely taking it off, leaving you in your black lacy bra, and entering the kitchen.

rhysand and cassian who had been enjoying a late breakfast found themselves speechless upon your entrance. 

their gazes followed you as you moved to the sink and started working on removing the stain.

the males shared a gaze between them, identical smirks forming on both of their faces.

"good morning, y/n." rhysand greeted you as he took a sip of his tea cup.

you jumped startled, your eyes found theirs immediately, "gods, i didn't see you there."

rhysand's smirk grew wider. "oh, we know."

"did you get mugged?" cassian asked as he took in your figure.

you were barefoot with only one sock and shirtless.

"what?" you asked confused. 

cassian's eyes roam over your body.

"oh, no, morrigan's friend though it was a good idea to spill her coffee all over me. freaking idiot," you murmured the last part, still focused on the task in hand.

cassian let out a snort "well, i'll make sure to thank her personally for this amazing view."

you rolled your eyes at his comment "oh, shut up, cassian. we grew up together, we've all seen each other naked at one point."

rhys smirked and grew before adding "sure, but we were either kids or teenagers at those times." 

cassian glanced at his brother, amusement all over his features "maybe we should go back to those times."

with another roll of your eyes, you tried to suppress a smile at your friend's comment while trying to get rid of the stain.

as on cue, the shadowsinger entered the kitchen to join his brothers for breakfast.

instead, he was surprised with a view of you shirtless — his shirtless mate.

the very reason, rhys and cassian had begun to tease you in the first place. 

what made this whole situation much funnier — the fact that you weren't aware of this detail. 

and things had just become a lot more interesting now with azriel in the room. 

his eyes widened at the sight of you but when he turned to find his brothers, his eyes darkened and a low growl was released.

"nice of you to join us, brother," cassian said casually as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

he can practically feel the heat coming off of azriel, like smoke coming out of his ears.

"what's wrong, az?" rhys asked him, knowing exactly what was going on but seeing azriel riled up was too funny to miss it.

at the sound of their voices, you looked up and your eyes found a pair of hazel ones.

"oh, hi, azriel." you greeted him with your sweet smile — the one he liked so much.

the shadowsinger found himself melting at your words, at the way you said his name. 

his eyes instantly softed, a small blush coming to his cheeks and a goofy smile on his lips, "h-hi, y/n." 

you gave him a warm smile before going back to your task.

azriel regained his composure at the sound of his brothers' muffled laughter. 

he sighed and rolled his eyes at their behavior, he hadn't catched a break from them since he revealed the mating bond on one drunken night.

cassian elbowed rhys gently in the ribs to get his attention, when his eyes found his, the general gestured with his head to the shadowsinger. 

"hey, az" cassian tried to contain his urge to laugh, he knew what was about to happen. 

"what?" azriel managed to say, his eyes still on your figure.

"we were just talking. . ." cassian started, his voice teasing "about going back to those times when we were teenagers." 

azriel face scrunched in confusion, he shot his brother a look. 

"you know," cassian continued, his peripheral vision caught rhys trying to control himself  "those times where we didn't care about being naked in front of each other." 

both rhys and cassian snorted at the sight of azriel's face turning red.

"what?!" the male let out a little too loud then he had intended.

rhys proceeded, "yeah, you know. when we didn't care so much about formalities. don't you agree, y/n?" 

you rolled your eyes again at rhys comment, "i think you two have too much free time" you chuckled, "cauldron has mercy on the poor females that will ended up as your mates."

"hey!" both cassian and rhys protested.

azriel smiled at your comment, but it fell when he observed both of his brothers eyes roaming over your body, grins splattered on their features.

azriel moved to the edge of the table, placing his hands on the surface of it before giving them a glare and clenching his jaw.

"stop looking at her like that before i break your faces" he threatened through gritted teeth. 

cassian and rhys were quick to lift their arms in surrender, both muttering a small "yes, sir." 

azriel rolled his eyes in annoyance. his attention was caught when he heard you cursed quietly. 

he sent one last warning look to the two males before moving to stand behind you.

he was so close, that all it took was another step of his for your back to be pressed against his chest.

azriel would love to know the feeling of that sensation, but he remained where he was.

he peeked through your shoulder and saw that you couldn't get rid of the annoying coffee stain. 

"gods, madja is going to kill me for being late." 

without a second thought, azriel took a step back.

"here," he told you.

you turned to find him taking off his own shirt.

your eyes roamed his body — his sun-kissed skin, his muscles, his illyrian tattoos. 

you loved those tattoos. 

"put it on," he extended his hand to you, holding out his shirt.

"oh, that's not necessary, az. i-"

"it's okay, y/n. i- i want you too. by the way, why don't you go get your shoes and i'll take you to the clinic? it's quicker that way and you don't have to walk." 

your face softened, "really? you would do that?" 

the corner of his lips lifted for a small smile, only you to make him feel this way.

"of course." 

you grabbed his shirt, "ugh, thank you, az."

you put it on and azriel tried to not let the sight of your small feature into his too big of a shirt to affect him, but he failed when his heart skipped a beat.

you moved forward and grabbed his cheeks, kissing him on the left one.

caught off guard, azriel tried to hide the fact that his skin had heated up under your touch. 

a new blush came to decorate his cheeks. 

"hm. . .i-" the male couldn't find his words with the sound of his heart roaming in his ears. 

"you're my hero, az" you gave a big smile before making your way to the stairs to collect your shoes. 

azriel stood there in the middle of the kitchen with a hand making it's way to his face to touch the place you kissed him.

cassian and rhys burst out laughing, not being able to remain composed of their brother in love. 

cassian got up from his seat and walked towards his brother, clasping a hand on his back.

"behold of the big bad scary shadow-," cassian leaned over in laughter, "shadowsinger" he managed to complete. 

rhys appeared on his other side, "oh, brother. only if your enemies could see you now, they would think how big of a fool they are."  

azriel clenched his jaw again, and when he turned to answer them, he was stopped by a honey-sweet voice.

"i'm ready," you told him from the entrance.

once again, the shadowsinger was left completely disarmed.

a goofy smile reappeared on his face. 

he didn't even spare a glance at his brothers before making his way to you, "let's go then."

cassian and rhys were left in the kitchen laughing to themselves.

•••

the trip to the clinic was quick.

azriel landed softly on the ground, keeping a hand on your waist and another on your back to make sure you were stable.

you took a step forward before turning to him.

"thank you again, az. you literally just saved my morning." 

and there it was that goofy smile again.

"oh, it's nothing really. my pleasure." 

you let out a small giggle. you reached forward, surrounding his neck with one of your arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek again.

azriel's heart raced and his voice caught in his throat. 

you took a step back "you're my hero, azriel. what would i do without you?" 

you caressed his cheek with the back of your hand before giving him one last smile and moving towards the clinic.

"hm, i-" was all the male managed to say while watching you entering the clinic with his shirt.

he watched as you grabbed the door, and turned to him to wave goodbye. 

azriel returned the gesture. it was at that moment that he realized how much power you had over him.

he didn't push away that feeling, in fact he embraced it.

it was about time to let the walls he had built so long ago disappear. 

and you were the right person for that.

azriel made a decision at that moment.

at the end of the day, he would come pick you up and ask you out on a date.

he would buy you flowers, tell you how he felt and take you to dinner.

he just hoped you felt the same way.

and that you said yes.

a/n: thank you for reading!

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because i couldn't find your blog.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[rubyvhs]

bittersuite | d. winchester

synopsis. you & dean are having an argument, you use your powers to do something he doesn’t approve of tags. 1k words, slightly religious talk, angst, angry dean, talking about wanting a family series masterlist

"I don't know why it's wrong, Dean!" You're not shouting, you haven't ever actually raised your voice so it's not surprising, but Dean's is sure getting loud.

"Because the leviathans are on our ass every fuckin' day! If they sense angel activity and we're found out it'll be your fucking fault." He points at you, aggressively and you have a feeling in your chest you just don't understand. Well, you understand it but it feel horrible. How could anyone ever want to be human? Even interacting with them is detrimental to your intellect. Especially the way he’s swearing so much.

You should apologize, and you're about to, but he's even angrier now. "Every time I tell you to do something, you never goddamn listen—" You shut your eyes and you immediately think of heaven's gates. When you open your eyes, you're in… Kansas? Lawrence, Kansas to be specific. And infront of the Winchester's house, no less. 

There's a woman inside, she's running after a child and you can't help but smile. You're not sure what's so amusing about it but it's almost like you can imagine that being Dean and his mother. Her running after him, this house being their own, him growing up not hunting. 

You know that's not possible, you know he was chosen before he was even born, you know vessels are made before they're even human, but it's comforting you in some way. It comforting to think that there could be another universe where the Winchesters were just themselves.

You don't notice it but you're somehow in front of the door, knocking. A man opens the door, "Hi. I'm…" an Angel, is what you've learned to say when you, Sam, and Dean meet monsters. An FBI agent when you meet any type of authority. Just a Guardian Angel when you meet other Angels.

"I'm Cherry." You make up. "And I… I am a friend of the Winchesters. They used to live here." When you were assigned to come down to earth to kill Cass for disobeying Heaven, you had to study Dean fully. You watched his entire life, every single second he's been alive until you met is engrained into your memory. 

It feels horrible, you know if he ever found out he'd be angry at you but you didn't know you'd grow to like the Winchesters as much as you did. 

"Honey," he yells for his wife, you presume. The woman who dean and Sam helped when they came here years ago shows up with a smile. "Friend of the Winchesters."

Her eyes widen. "Of— why? Is something wrong? We haven't felt anything." You shake your head, looking down at the seven year old. 

"Hey, little boy." He smiles at you and then hides behind his mother's leg. "I'm sorry, your son is just adorable. There's nothing wrong with the house,I only…" but you have nothing to say. You have no idea what you're doing or why you're ruining this couple's evening or why you're like this. You miss Dean. 

It clicks that's you had left mid-argument just now, on their porch. And that if you close your eyes, your bound to get back to dean. So you don't blink, just look up at them and see them moving to make room for you. You smile and enter the house.

"We were just about to have dinner, wanna join us?" You nod eagerly, looking around. You remember all four years of Dean's life in this house so vividly, way more than even he does, and it's exhausting. Because in taking his memories, you absorbed his emotions too and they are painful. They're too strong for a man to bare.

You sit down on the table as they plate everything and when they sit down, they offer you their hands. The woman, Jenny, smiles. "We pray." You take her hand immediately, connecting your other one with her older Son Sari, and he does the same with his seven year old sister, Richie. 

"Lord, thank you for the food we are about to eat." And then it ends. And then they eat and your hands are mostly still outstretched waiting for more. It takes a minute for Jenny to snap you out of your trance. "Cherry, you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sorry, I— Dean needs me. I need to go see him." She doesn't say anything, just takes your hand before you run out of the room, closing your eyes once you reach the door. 

"Did you find her? Well do it faster, Cass—" it's familiar. It's everything you've been craving ever since you left. It's only been a few hours but it's dark now, which is probably why they were having dinner. Right. They. Because you had dinner with a family.

A family that prays. Or pretends to, it’s only being gratefulness for being given something. But have they prayed as they make the food? Do they ask god to give them strength? Do they study the books? Why did you pray with them? Who would you pray to?

They’re the people you turned your life around for. You’ve been alive forever and these humans, who are only sometimes grateful, are who you’ve rejected order for. Especially this human.

"Dean?" He turns around, his gun automatically pointed at you and you can't help the smile on your face. He released a breath before talking two long steps to you and pulling you into his chest. 

"God, Angel, where were you? Are you okay?" He lets go, taking a quick look. When he realizes your fine, his eyes become furious. "What were you fucking thinking? Don't you ever do that again," you're about to stand up to him, the same way Cass sometimes does, but then he says, "don't run away when you know I can't chase after you."

"You were shouting."

"We had a disagreement, it's normal." Is it? Are the loud voices and anger normal? "Please just talk to me before ever doing that again." 

"Okay."

"Where did you go?" He asks, his voice still slightly tense. Maybe he doesn't trust you after all this time, thinking you're just waiting for the angels to rise after Cass's disappointment as their leader. 

"Lawerence." He doesn't ask anything after that. But when he hugs you again, he hears your soft mumble. "They had a family." Yeah, they did. You never will, though. 

&. notes !! guys I promise he’ll be nice next time (maybe)

join the taglist. @loverslantern @justwhisperingfantasies @saltcxrcle @blossomingorchids @darling-eos

@ltotheucyy @daylighted @clean-and-claire @1967barracuda

[anareblogz-posts]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐬

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -Theo Nott's world shifts when he sees Y/N Y/L/N. Theo imagines what it would be like if her name were different—if it fit more harmoniously with his own. 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

Theo Nott walked through the bustling corridor of Hogwarts, he found himself involuntarily pulled into a conversation by his best friend Mattheo Riddle.

“See that girl?” Mattheo murmured, nodding his head discreetly in the direction of a group of students gathered by the window.

Theo followed his gaze, his eyes landing on a figure bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. There, leaning against the windowsill with a book in her hand, was Y/N Y/L/N. The sun caught the highlights in her hair, making it shine with a subtle brilliance that seemed to cast a halo around her. Her focus was entirely on the pages before her, yet there was an aura of effortless grace about her that immediately drew Theo in.

Theo blinked, feeling a sudden shift in the rhythm of his thoughts. He’d seen Y/N around, of course—Slytherins often crossed paths in the common room, during meals, or in classes. But today was different. There was something magnetic about the way she was absorbed in her book, a tranquil confidence that seemed to set her apart from everyone else.

Mattheo’s voice cut through Theo’s reverie. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he repeated, as if trying to engrain the name into Theo’s memory. “Isn’t she something?”

Theo nodded slowly, his gaze still lingering on Y/N. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She is.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if assessing the name itself. Y/N Y/L/N. It was a name that fit, he supposed, but it felt almost… too plain for someone who seemed to radiate a quiet elegance. He found himself imagining how different it would sound if it were changed.

“Y/N Nott,” Theo said softly, almost as if testing the name out loud. The idea made him smile just a little. It wasn’t that he was particularly attached to his own last name—far from it. It was more about how it rolled off the tongue, how it felt like it might fit just a bit better with her own unique presence.

Mattheo’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What was that?”

Theo shook his head, realizing he’d been caught lost in thought. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

Mattheo shrugged and began to walk away, leaving Theo with his thoughts. Theo’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, even as she shifted and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her attention never straying from the book.

Theo sighed softly and turned away, the idea of Y/N Nott lingering in his mind like a pleasant daydream. It was a strange feeling, this almost love at first sight, but it was undeniable. As he walked off to his next class, he found himself looking back once, just to catch another glimpse of Y/N, the girl whose name felt almost like it was meant to be his.

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, I don't know if this story makes sense because I've read and reread it a thousand times - and honestly at this point words and languages ​​seem like a distant concept. I swear I try not to write notes, but they are so cute. Aaron is secretly a big gossip, period. wc: 3 592 Omg😭😭 I took three exams worth 1,000 points. I got full marks in two and 950 (in math). CHAMPAGNE POP🍾 Continuation

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You had a date.

Romantic? Just friends?

It doesn’t matter because it was with him, and you would be whatever he needed right now. Talking to him was good, not just because he was handsome – that certainly didn’t hurt the eyes. But because you could be yourself. Not the star. Not the phenomenon. Not the face in the campaigns, on the covers, on the playlists of the whole world. And best of all? He sees you, appreciates your humor without the intention of adjusting it, accepts your excesses, your intensity, your clumsy way of expressing affection disguised as sarcasm.

This is so rare it hurts.

He’s not the kind of person who lies to please. You realized that the first time you met him, when he made no effort to pretend he knew who you were. And his frankness in admitting it was almost disconcerting. But more than that, there was a silent certainty – one that grew inside you every time he looked at you in silence.

He’s not going to expose you.

You just know. Even if everything goes wrong, he won’t turn memories into ammunition. He won’t rush to the first interview or podcast with twisted stories and empty words. Maybe this will all go up in smoke when the tour starts, when you’re crossing time zones and your schedule eats up everything. But for now, it’s worth a try.

You adjusted your dress one more time in front of the mirror, twisting your body from side to side to make sure it was exactly how you wanted it: elegant, sexy, but simple – as if you hadn’t spent a lot of time choosing it.

Were you looking forward to seeing Aaron again? Of course not, why would you be? Just because he’s gorgeous, smart, polite – and extremely hot? No, of course not. You’d just spent an hour on makeup, half an hour choosing the perfect dress, twenty minutes fixing your hair, and at least ten minutes applying your lotion and perfume. A self-esteem ritual that you followed to the letter.

But this has nothing to do with him, it’s about feeling good about yourself. Totally about that.

“Wow,” Lisa’s voice snapped you out of your trance. You blinked slowly, trying to absorb your own image in the mirror.

“Did I overdo it?” you asked, adjusting your diamond necklace as you watched her in the mirror.

She looked you up and down. “I wouldn’t say it was overdone…” she replied with an amused smile on her lips. “That outfit and that perfume. Do you want this man to survive dinner or are you trying to cause a breakdown in his nervous system?”

You let out a low laugh – which came out more nervous than you’d like to admit. “So, he could have run when I sent flowers to his office, but he didn’t. So I think he can handle this.”

She looked down at your body again, pointing to your ass. She looked back up at your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I don’t think this man has ever seen an ass like that.”

“Lisa!” You scolded her with an incredulous laugh.

She just raises her arms in false surrender, her smile full of provocation. “Are you sure you’re not trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” You go to the closet to look for an oversized jacket that matches the dress.

“Cinderella, your Prince Charming is at the door-” Chris walks in with his cell phone in his hand, his sentence trailing off halfway. His eyes run up and down you, he stops, leaning against the doorframe. “Wow… I was going to make a joke,” he continues, still dazed. “Something like ‘don’t come back after midnight or I’ll turn you into a pumpkin’… but honestly? If this man has two brain cells working, he’ll propose to you before dessert.”

“I told you,” Lisa adds in the background, her arms crossed and a smug smile on her lips.

“You guys are a constant attack on my humility.” You stop in front of the mirror, taking one last look at your appearance, applying lip gloss with precision. Taking a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Okay, wish me luck.”

“We know you, you’re not the one who needs luck. I just hope he doesn’t have a family history of heart disease.”

“Christopher,” you hummed in warning as you walked to the door. He held his hands up in surrender—clearly enjoying himself.

When you opened the door, for a full second you forgot how to breathe. There he was—standing just inside the entryway, in the soft light of the garden.

Aaron Hotchner.

His casual attire said more than any expensive suit ever could. The lack of a tie, the slight crease in his shirt sleeves, the perfectly tailored dark jeans—everything about him screamed carefully unpretentious elegance.

“You need to step up the—” the sentence trailed off in your throat as his eyes met yours.

You smile, frowning slightly. “I need to emphasize what exactly?”

“I… I was going to say something, but right now I can’t remember,” he confesses, almost in a whisper, his eyes still locked on you. “You look beautiful.”

Your smile grows. For a second, you forget the nervousness you’ve been feeling all afternoon. Everything feels so… light.

He swallows hard, trying to compose himself as he holds out the bouquet to you. “I… I got this for you.” The sound of your laughter as you accept the bouquet makes something bubble in his chest—had he really noticed how beautiful you are already?

“You’re officially forgiven,” you say, looking up at him over the petals. “But only because I brought flowers… and these jeans.”

He arches an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you continue, your tone soft. “But I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I might need to fill your office with flowers just to balance things out.”

He chuckles softly, opening the car door for you. “While I appreciate the thought, it would raise a lot of questions that I wouldn’t have the answers to. And consequently, my phone would be hacked before the third delivery.”

You nod slightly, settling into the seat. “Delivery before eight o’clock, noted.”

He gets in on the other side with a slight smile on his lips. “If I may ask, what’s the deal with the flowers?”

You smile, looking at the bouquet for a moment before turning your eyes back to him.

"They're pretty, they smell nice… they have this way of accompanying people on both good and bad days." You pause for a moment, looking away at the road ahead. "I usually send flowers when I want to thank or congratulate someone… Sometimes, just to let them know I'm thinking of them." An amused smile plays on your lips. "There's this crazy conspiracy theory that says I 'silence' my competitors. My fans like to joke that I send them flowers just so they know I know where they live."

He lets out a short laugh, looking at you as he keeps his hands firmly on the steering wheel. "Well, now I'm wondering why you want to fill my office with flowers."

"I can send one to thank you for picking me up, one to congratulate you on being so handsome, and one just to let you know I'm thinking of you." You shrug, your eyes turning to him with mock innocence. "You can interpret it however you want."

Aaron turns his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I have to give credit to your quick wit, the way you combine conversation with flirting is admirable.”

You laugh, bowing. “It’s a gift, thank you.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, the silence between you comfortable. The restaurant was beautiful. The tables were dark wood, with crisp white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the center. The walls were adorned with subtle artwork and pendant lights that reflected a golden hue into the room, giving it a soft, cozy glow.

But the place felt… deserted.

You let Aaron guide you to a table, murmuring a “thank you” as he pulls out the chair for you to sit, still silently scanning the room, a little confused. He sits across from you and just watches you for a moment, as if trying to figure out what you were thinking before you have to put it into words.

“Um…” He clears his throat, hesitating a bit before continuing. “I… asked my friend if I could bring you here after they closed.”

Your jaw drops before you can stop it, surprise written all over your face. He notices it instantly. His gaze changes—almost alert.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly, leaning forward slightly. “I still remember how big the crowd was that day. I just wanted to make sure you felt comfortable.”

You blink in surprise. The revelation hits you like a warm wave—unexpected, but gentle.

Your gaze softens as you watch him silently, absorbing the warmth behind the gesture.

“That’s…very kind, Aaron. Thank you.”

He looks away, unsure what to make of your thanks. But you notice the way his shoulders relax. The slight twitch at the corners of his mouth—and the way he tilts his head slightly downward to try to hide it.

“I haven’t told you this yet, but I recently found out that someone on my team is a fan of yours.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows, genuinely curious. “How did you find out?”

“Remember that gala event you showed up at unannounced?”

You hum in response, tearing off a piece of bread the waiter had just brought to the table.

“So… Events like this usually don’t require the entire staff to be present, one representative is enough – in this case, the boss. As usual, everyone came up with some crazy excuse to leave.”

“Wait.” You hand him half of the slice. “I get that these events can be kind of… boring. But giving away free food and drinks? That’s almost a crime. Do they really try so hard not to go?”

Aaron smiles, accepting the piece of bread with a slight nod. "You have no idea. Morgan once said he couldn't come because he had an appointment to get his hair cut."

You frown, chewing slowly. "That sounds pretty plausible to me," you mutter in confusion. "How exactly does that fall into the category of lame excuses?"

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his smirk slowly widening. "Morgan is bald."

You stop mid-chew, your eyes widening—and then you burst out laughing, putting your hand in front of your lips, trying not to spit out the bread you just put in your mouth.

"You've got to be kidding," you say, still laughing, biting your lower lip—in an attempt to maintain your composure.

"I wish it was." He shakes his head with a feigned tired expression. "He even tried to explain that it was specifically 'keeping up with the finishing touches.'"

Your laughter intensifies—this time uncontrollably. You lean back slightly in your chair, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye with the tip of your finger.

“Keep up with the polish?” you repeat, panting between laughs. “That’s brilliant. Absurd, but brilliant.”

Aaron smiles, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep your composure at that moment.”

“And what did you say?”

“I couldn’t answer at the time, I just stared at him trying not to laugh. It was one of those moments where you have to look away, as if you were breaking the fourth wall, it was so absurd.”

You fan yourself with your hand and take a deep breath, trying to stop laughing. “Okay, I understand the level of commitment, I can get back to the main topic.”

“Well, the other day, Penelope was waiting for me at the elevator door. As soon as I got on the floor, she bombarded me with questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

"Was it true, was she there? Did you see her up close? Is she pretty? Oh my god wait, did you talk to her? Did you get close enough to smell her perfume? If so, was it good?" He counts on his fingers as he speaks. "When I said you stayed a while after the presentation and talked to whoever came near, I thought she was going to cry."

You let out a low laugh, raising your hands in surrender. "Okay, you convinced me, now I have to meet her in person."

"Just let me know, she would sort out that office if she didn't take a sedative first."

"Imagine if she found out who took me home."

You notice how your shoulders tense at the comment, quickly correcting yourself. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, if my flowers bother you you can tell me, I won't be upset."

He seems to hesitate before lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips. “I don’t want to seem disinterested – believe me, that’s not the case. You’re so beautiful, smart and funny, it would be a sin not to notice you. I just…” He avoids your eyes, focusing on the glass of wine on the table. “I just have to be honest, I’m at least ten years older than you, I’m divorced with a child, my work takes up practically all of my time.”

You smile, the uncertainty in your voice so palpable that you want to walk around the table and hug him. “Well, if it comforts you in any way, I already knew all of this and I still chose to be here.”

“I don’t really know how to deal with this,” he admits, a little embarrassed. “I mean… I’ve been with Haley since college. That was twenty years ago.” He lets out a laugh "And I found that I could handle it all. Work, marriage, being a father. I thought the silence between us was so tired. Part of the routine. But deep down, I knew. I knew she was pulling away… And yet, I stood still. I didn't get closer, I didn't try to stop her." His eyes lower, looking at the glass in his hands. "And now, every time I think about opening up again, it feels like I'm leading you into a minefield. That at any moment, something will happen. I don't want to hurt anyone again. Especially you."

He pauses, still avoiding your eyes "That's what I have to offer you. I don't want to start something I can't sustain. You deserve more than halves."

You stay silent for a few seconds, absorbing the weight of his words, trying to find the right words to react to his sudden confession.

"Well, since we're talking about it…" you begin with a small smile. "My life is chaotic, I can't do anything outdoors without some crazy guy with a camera following me around - and that's been the case since I was twenty. I'm barely at home, when I'm not traveling on tour I'm in the studio recording, or in the warehouse rehearsing, or doing interviews and performing at festivals."

He raises his eyebrows gently, turning his gaze to you.

“I’m a huge perfectionist, and it interferes with pretty much every aspect of my life. I know I seem confident, with the flirting and all, but I went to therapy for a few years and realized that I have a tendency to sabotage my relationships. I figured out that it was because, deep down, I don’t think I’m good enough.” You pause, laughing humorlessly, absently fiddling with the napkin next to your glass.

He watches your monologue in silence.

“Oh, I can be a bitch too when I’m focused on my work and it’s not working out as it should. You have your demons, I have mine.” You rest your face on your hand. “For now, just tell me what’s good.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps looking at you with a small smile. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

You were getting ready to leave when a tall man came out of the kitchen. He approached, drying his hands on a kitchen towel as his eyes went from you to Aaron, and then back to you.

“No way,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you. When recognition dawned on him, he looked directly at Aaron with an expression that was a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Man… there’s no way you pulled that off.”

Aaron looked away with a low sigh, a slight blush appearing on his face. “James…”

“Sorry, it’s just that when you asked to bring someone here after hours I thought it was a serial killer, like dinner with Hannibal. It didn’t cross my mind for a second that you’d come here with what? The third most famous person in the world, behind only Jesus Christ and Michael Jackson?”

You let out an amused laugh, partly at his audacity in comparing you to Jesus and Michael, partly at the way Aaron closed his eyes—almost as if he was praying for the ground to open up and swallow him.

The man continued, addressing you with genuine enthusiasm. “I know you probably hear this all the time, but… my wife is a huge fan. Like, a huge fan. She has all your CDs, vinyls, even a limited edition that I don’t even know how she got. She’s been to all your shows. All of them. And just last night she spent the whole night trying to buy tickets for your new tour. She almost cried because the digital queue froze. She screamed when she got it. I thought some room in the house had caught on fire.” James continued, now pulling a pen out of his pocket with an almost shy expression. “So… if it’s not too much to ask, could you sign something? Anything. A napkin, my arm, the restaurant bill—she’ll frame it anyway.”

You smiled, grabbing the nearest napkin with the restaurant’s gold logo on it. "Sure. What's her name?"

"Helena, with an H." He stares at Aaron for a few seconds before turning to you. "Look, with all due respect, I don't know what's more impressive… You managing to drag Hotchner out of that office or the fact that Mr. "nobody-knows-about-my-life" is meeting a pop culture icon. It's like watching a shooting star leave with a comet. If I tell anyone about this, they'll think I hit my head."

Aaron blushed slightly, his stoic expression crumbling for a moment. "I'm starting to think that being chased and possibly trampled isn't such a bad option."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you wrote carefully.

“Dear Helena Knowing that you appreciate my art enough to be with me for these fourteen years leaves me speechless. It is an immense honor to know that my music has touched your life in some way. Now, between you and me: how lucky you are, my friend. The food here is some of the best I have ever tasted in my life — I hope it tastes as good to you as it does to the spices. I can’t wait to see you at my show. With love, Miss Honey”

James held the piece of paper like it was a sacred artifact. “Thank you. She’s going to make an altar, probably put candles around it.” You smiled as he walked away, protecting the napkin with the palm of your hand as if it were made of thin glass.

Aaron opened the door for you, and as you left, he muttered under his breath, “I’m sorry about him. Apparently, there’s no hiding from all the fans.”

You smiled, glancing at him sideways. “It’s okay, and honestly, he was adorable.”

On the way back, he seemed quieter than usual. You could feel his gaze, disguised by quick sideways glances, as if he was studying you.

“You’re staring,” you tease.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a tight smile. “I’m trying to figure out how someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “I thought we talked about this already.”

“We talked,” he nodded slowly. “But sometimes, even when someone says the right words… it’s hard to believe them. You’re the kind of person you double-check to make sure they’re real.”

You laughed awkwardly, looking away to the window, trying to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks. “Okay, stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

He tilted his head, his eyes shining with amusement. “What? Did I manage to embarrass you? Should I go back and order some champagne to celebrate?”

“I could double your teasing, but I’ll spare you, as an act of kindness.”

“Oh really?” He parked in front of your house, turning slightly to look at you, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “And how would you do that?”

You didn’t answer, instead, you took off your belt and leaned towards him, pressing your lips against his. He stood still for a second, stunned by your boldness, but soon he kissed you back, his lips moving against yours with the same intensity.

When you pulled away, still a few inches away from him, both of you were breathing quickly, his eyes fixed on yours, trying to process what had just happened.

“Goodnight, Aaron.” You said softly with a smile, before opening the car door and getting out.

He stood there, motionless, his eyes still fixed on you as you walked away. The scent of your perfume was still in every corner of the car.

He had just crossed the line.

And he didn’t regret it at all.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

tag: @duchesz @midnghtprentiss @jazzimac1967 @queenofnothng @leathynn @camihotchner @yourallaround-simp @pastelpinkflowerlife @padlockedheartsreading @tomhiddlestonforever-blog @michasia24 @sweetpianoxoxo

[vampsol]

ENCHANTED | 전원우

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 6.1K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, semi-angst ⟢ TAGS: cinderella-ish retelling, royalty!wonwoo ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Life as the housemaid and an inconvenience to your family is not what you wished for, but Wonwoo brings a new, royal perspective that turns your world around.

Scrub, wipe, shine. The chant plays over in your head, a symphony to block out the call of your horrendous stepsister trotting down the staircase. She says your name with a shriek but you pay her no mind. More than likely she has another errand for you to do. One she will take pleasure in you finding uncomfortable, no doubt. The color of the suds and sloshing sounds of the water bring you comfort. You dip your rag in the bucket next to you and plop it on the tile floor. Taking pleasure in the most menial tasks makes life a lot more bearable.

Heejin calls your name again when she makes it to the last step, knowing well enough you can hear her when she’s standing over you. “Are you deaf? We need new clothes from the market!”

You look up to her, a confused but indifferent expression on your face. You don’t bother asking what the clothes are for, but you know she’ll tell you regardless.

“For the ball, you imbecile,” Heejin says.

Minha, the younger of the stepsisters, pipes up behind Heejin, her voice a squeak compared to her older counterpart. “It’s the prince’s coronation.”

You nod and continue scrubbing the tile. If the task at hand isn’t done before your stepmother gets home, she will have your head on one of the pikes lining the kingdom’s outer walls.

“Finish this and then head to the seamstress. The fabric must be on my bed by sundown, or Mother will not be pleased,” Heejin says, a warning interwoven with the smirk on her lips.

Heejin purposefully kicks your bucket of soapy water across the floor on her way to the sitting room. The liquid drenches your apron and face thoroughly. You wish you could sling an insult at her for her entitlement along with her lack of care for anyone’s wellbeing but her own. Minha’s face transforms into a small frown, her eyes expressing sympathy as she follows her sister’s trail.

Since your father took gravely ill five summers ago, you have yet to receive an ounce of kindness from your newfound family. “Family” is barely a word you’d use to describe the relationship between yourself and them, the wolves who invaded your home on the eve of your fourteenth birthday, just a year after your mother’s passing.

Minha is the kindest of them all for her inaction during your stepmother and Heejin’s abuse, but you wish you had a confidant somewhere in the world. 

You rifle with the letters you saved from your father and mother, the inscriptions inside of them the last memory you have of them both. Some written to each other, others simply their musings and thoughts you wish you would have discussed with them before they left this earth.

If only someone knew you truly, who cared to hear your words and valued their meaning. Who saw life as a gift rather than a tool used to induce a person’s misery. If dreams could become reality, you would not be alone another day.

Wonwoo mentally checked off the items in his head that the king and company expected to be done for the coronation ball. The town baker was provided with the list of desserts and bread necessary for the feast. The lute and harp players were given an excellent amount of coin for taking part with their instruments. Even the meat and dairy from the kingdom’s best butcher was safely stored in the horse-drawn carriage behind Wonwoo’s own stallion. The final task in need of completion was a trip to the seamstress. In the words of the king, “it’s not every day my boy finds a bride.”

On arrival, Wonwoo was enraptured with color. He absorbed the rolls of fabric and material encased on the shelves, the finest satin and puffiest tulle displayed for ladies and gentlemen to spare no expense on for the upcoming celebrations. He gave the specifications to the shopboy almost an hour ago, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind spending a bit longer outside of the castle walls.

The bell above the door pierces the air with its chime, and Wonwoo looks up to see the most encapsulating view in existence. Would someone disbelieve him if he said that view included a girl with cheeks caked in soot, her hair pulled back underneath a common scarf, and her clothes as drab as a servant girl’s? Probably. But the sunshine on your face and twinkling eyes suggests to him that he should continue looking for as long as he can.

The seamstress and owner of the shop comes from behind the store, a sketching pencil tucked atop her ear and a vibrant smile on her lips as she says your name, the letters together a lovely orchestra. “Here for the usual order?”

“No. Heejin needs something spectacular for the ball. Her words, not mine.” You raise your hands in mock surrender, and the seamstress laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just wait a moment.” In a flash, the seamstress walks back to her private area of the shop, and Wonwoo is left alone again with you, the mysterious but mesmerizing girl. A maid perhaps, given the nature of your visit?

All he knows is that he must talk to you, whether you recognize him or not.

You lightly tap your hands against the wooden counter, waiting for Miss Jae to come back with a fabric to take home. Hopefully one that Heejin loves enough to keep. That way you don’t have to come back on foot a second time today.

“Blue is best.”

You turn with a gasp. The man attached to the voice is adorned in royal clothing, golden cufflinks and buttons matching the royal purple material of his clothes.

 “Sorry,” you stutter, hands suddenly clammy.

“Your color.” He slides over to a roll of sky blue satin, placing a patch of it over his arm. “It looks terrible on me, but on you, I believe you would outshine any commoner.” He lets out a breathless chuckle and intakes a deep gulp of air.

It has been so long since another person wanted to engage with you, especially someone as handsome as the person before you. He may be as nervous as you, given his awkward introduction, but you know your conversational skills are worse for what. You aren’t sure how to converse anymore about topics outside of dinner orders and cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, but I won’t be attending the upcoming festivities.” You try to hide the sadness that threatens to break free on your face, but you’re too late. The stranger sees it and responds in kind.

“Everyone is welcome to the coronation,” he assures you.

“I’m afraid ‘everyone’ does not involve me…Your—” You stop short, unsure of his title as you don’t know his name or his face from recent memory.

“Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo.” Wonwoo breaks into a smile. You’re unsure whether you like his laugh or his smile more, but both seem to make your cheeks heat up all the same. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, and you give yours back, curtsying in response.

You tell him your name as well, a blush on full display. “As I said, Wonwoo, I usually stay in. Not in my nature to court or be courted.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure your company is surely missed.” His hand is still caressing yours, thumb rubbing up and down your palm softly.

A shopboy suddenly comes into view. You both separate quickly, the intimate bubble bursting at the intrusion. The boy stuffs the garments in Wonwoo’s hands and bows swiftly before going back to his duties.

“You must be hard to miss as well, Wonwoo.”

“Well, you could say that.” You both hear a horse neigh outside the shop doors, and Wonwoo barely fights the urge to stay with you. “Until the next time.” He says his goodbye and your name with determination. If only you could assure him there will be a future where you cross paths again, but that hope may be squashed as quickly as it was born. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to hold onto it, though.

“Not terrible,” Heejin says when you come home, running her hand over the material Miss Jae gave to you. “If Mother needs more yards of it, you’ll have to go back immediately before they run out.”

“Of course, sister,” you say. You hate to use that word for someone as vile as Heejin, but Stepmother Jung enforced the rule as strictly as the list of chores you were to complete before the sun set every day. “We must always be a family in the eyes of society,” Stepmother Jung told you once after your father passed. “Even if you will never be a part of this one, you have to play your role.” If only that role extended to social gatherings.

Minha looks over Heejin’s shoulder and smiles. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”

“That’s why it’s for me. Mother will give you one of my old gowns to wear,” Heejin tuts and pats Minha under the chin with her free palm. You know Heejin spares her worst behavior for you, but in your eyes, Heejin doesn’t deserve the title of sister in any form. Just as your stepmother has no business being a mother to anyone.

“You’re dismissed,” Heejin says to you, the hand that was under Minha’s face used to wave you off.

“Sister, if I may.” She grimaces at you, but a curious spark remains in her eyes. You think back to Wonwoo, plucking up every ounce of your confidence. “I was wondering if you may consider letting me attend as well. Stepmother may not let me go of her own volition, but if you told her you approved then maybe-”

“And why would I do that,” Heejin says. She knows exactly what you want, and the only way for her to entertain the idea is if you grovel.

“Because I have never asked anything of you before.”

“As you should.” Your stepmother’s figure and shadow encompass the entirety of Heejin’s bedroom doorway. You immediately lower your head; it’s one of the humiliating rules you have to obey in the wake of becoming the family servant. You hear Heejin snicker, but it’s cut off immediately by Stepmother Jung clearing her throat. “Your purpose in this household is to do what is asked of you without complaint or question, not the other way around. Asking for anything else is an insult to me and my daughters.”

You feel tears prick the back of your throat, but you hold onto your resolve with a steadfast grip. “Stepmother, I am begging you—”

“I do not know what is worse, girls,” Stepmother Jung says, addressing Heejin and Minha, “hearing someone beg for something that will never come true or seeing someone forget their place in this world.”

Your bottom lip quivers without your approval. You can only hope none of the other people in the room are paying attention to your despair. Heartbreakingly, it appears they don’t.

“Now, Heejin, we need to measure you again for your dress. I swear you grow an inch every time you require a fitting, dear girl. Minha, I know exactly which of Heejin’s dresses will look perfect on you.” She motions for you to look her in the eye, and you force the tears to evaporate. “As for you, you have chickens to feed.”

“Seungcheol, I told you already, the conversation is over.”

“That’s Prince Seungcheol to you, kid.” Seungcheol juts Wonwoo in the arm. The practice swords whip through the air as the birds sing throughout the courtyard. “And who’s to say a royal summons would embarrass her? Everyone is to attend the ball. Maid, mare, or otherwise.”

“She seemed certain she was not supposed to be there. I don’t want her to feel forced to do anything.” Wonwoo huffs as he lands a blow on Seungcheol’s hip.

“What good is it to be royalty if I cannot help a dear friend and the future Hand of the King find love?”

Wonwoo and Seungcheol grew up together due to their fathers’ stations, one bearing the crown and the other gaining the responsibility of advising him. Although Wonwoo had no place without Seungcheol’s family, they had become close in their own right. Once Seungcheol ascended his throne, Wonwoo knew he was to be standing beside him with the title his father had worn for most of his life. 

With that in mind, it seemed both Wonwoo and Seungcheol were on respective quests to find a bride to continue the long-held, individual legacies they were born into.

“All you have to do is smile and dance with every eligible woman in the next three kingdoms while I hope my mystery girl decides to step out of the shadows, unprompted and entirely by her choice.” 

Seungcheol scoffs, sweat on his brow from trying to find an open spot on Wonwoo to exploit. “You place high priority on a stranger’s independence and choice-making.”

Wonwoo blushes. His thoughts go back to the fabrics, the jasmine smell in the air, you walking into his life and halting his day in the best way possible. He wishes he had said more, learnt more about you, held your hand longer before he was whisked away back to his priorities. Now he could only hope you would find your way back to him, whether by fate or of your own free will.

With his thoughts occupied, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to knock Wonwoo in the shoulder. Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, biting his lip. “Finally, for fuck’s sake.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You won’t beat me again, Choi.”

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol jokes.

Wonwoo immediately thwacks Seungcheol’s sword out of his hand in response. The tip of Wonwoo’s meets the column of the prince’s throat, and he grins. “You should train more if you want to be half as good as me.”

Dust, sweep, clean. You repeat the list in your head with traces of melancholy in your heart. You weren’t expecting to be allowed to go to the ball without a fight, but Stepmother Jung was right. What was the point in fighting if you had no standing at all to barter with?

Minha calls your name, her appearance in the kitchen is like magic. You must’ve been too lost in your morose thoughts to notice her walk in. Or she seems to know how to sneak around the manor better than you do.

Her arms rest behind her back, concealing something. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, surprising you.

“I cannot blame you for Heejin or your mother.” A part of you wishes you could be more cruel, but you’re certain you have little to no capacity to be, even to your worst enemy. “You have done nothing to require an apology.” 

“I have. You deserve to go to the ball as much as any of us do.” She looks over her shoulder for someone, or a lack thereof. Satisfied, she throws a lump of fabric on the kitchen island. You notice the bandages on Minha’s fingers with a quick glance before focusing on the dress. The turquoise material sparkles in the light of the stained glass windows. “So you will.”

“Minha, I can’t-” You feel the same tears coating the back of your throat again, grateful to her but incapable of accepting the gesture.

“You can. You were right when you said you’ve never asked for anything before. So don’t ask. Take the chance, and the dress, and go to the ball.”

With that, Minha disappears quietly from the room, leaving the decision in the air for you to either seize or surrender.

The main ballroom is filled with swathes of dancing couples alongside gossiping nobility and local townspeople. To a stranger walking in, it was a display of royal decadence, the party lit from within with the sounds of joyous laughter, heavenly harps, and gorgeous decor. To Wonwoo, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

 Seungcheol and his parents sit in their royal chairs, the gleaming gold of the upholstery almost too polished for Wonwoo’s eyes. The young men share knowing glances when someone particularly obnoxious makes an entrance or wishes to greet the royal family. Wonwoo wishes he could joke with his best friend openly about the noble women’s copious frills and curly mops, but now is not the time or place.

Wonwoo’s father leaves the king’s side to pat his son on the back. “You did well with your part in this, Woo. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with finding someone to wed as well. Wouldn’t that be luck smiling on us all,” he says with a loving grin.

“I doubt that someone will show up.” Wonwoo frowns.

“Have faith, my boy.”

Like luck was indeed shining on him, Wonwoo looks up and sees you at the top of the stairs, horns blazing to signify your arrival. Even in a mask, he can tell it’s you from the skipping of his heart. With your hair in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face with precision, you look nothing like the girl he met in the dress shop yet the exact same. He wonders how the color blue had the capacity to take his breath away. It doesn’t help how the dress’s bodice hugs you perfectly, the bottom of the gown a cloud that Wonwoo wishes he could rest his head upon forever.

You fidget with the tops of your gloves that brush the neckline of your dress, the sleeves dropping loosely on your shoulders. Wonwoo wants to rush up the stairs to assure you there is no need to be nervous.You’re the most beautiful woman in this kingdom, tonight and always.

When you reach the bottom, everyone is looking at you, the mysterious stranger that nobody can recall or pinpoint. You hear murmurs as you pass, some predicting you’re a long lost relative of the prince or whispering of you being a foreign beauty. You laugh to yourself at their capacity to chat and how far they are from the truth.

You catch Minha’s eye from her corner of the room, Heejin and your stepmother sneering at you. Minha smiles, a silent cheer in her expression, and you respond with a mirrored grin.

You make it to the center of the room, the pathway cleared for you thanks to the shock and awe of the crowd. To your content, Wonwoo meets you halfway. A hush falls over the spectators when he meets you on the dance-floor, but you don’t care about their perceptions.

Wonwoo says your name and bows. You curtsy in response. Despite feeling out of place for half of your life, it seems instinctual now to be in this room. Not with the strangers surrounding you, but definitely with him. “My prince.” 

A look of shock over Wonwoo’s face, and he immediately laughs. “No, I-I— I should have told you before. I’m not—“

You place a hand to your mouth, the realization a flood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I didn’t tell you before, so I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“I did say I don’t attend many social gatherings.”

You both share a laugh, the confusion dissipating your embarrassment at your slipup. You notice a well-dressed young man that steals all the glances in the room away from you, the man you now know is the prince himself. He strides over to Minha, her expression a pale sheet. He takes her hand for the next song, which she gleefully accepts.

Wonwoo pulls your attention back to him with the taking of your hand in his. “May I ask you to dance?”

“I would be delighted.”

You sit on one of the many balconies in the royal castle, breathless. Your feet should hurt more than they do with the multitude of waltzes you danced with Wonwoo, but they don’t. You wouldn’t mind if every limb ached, though. With Wonwoo beside you, breathless as well from the night’s excursions, you feel light as air. Free from the obligations you never asked for.

If only you knew Wonwoo felt the same way. He could not remember the last time he smiled this much in one day. Seungcheol was his best friend, his father the biggest influence in his life, and yet both of them reminded him daily of what the future entailed. With you, he didn’t feel anything but ease. 

“What if they send a kingsguard looking for us?” Your mouth is upturned in a smile, but you know Wonwoo shouldn’t be gone too long from the events. He was of some royal standing, and he needed to be there, shaking hands and bowing to subjects.

Wonwoo furrows his brows, his smile mirroring yours. “Seungcheol is the one who needs the most protection tonight. And besides, it would take ten of the best men to pull me from this balcony.” He chuckles. “Right now, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

You nod and sigh happily. Looking over the edge of the marble landing, you agree with him. The town square is visible from your vantage point, the torches and homes, big and small, specks of light celebrating the coronation. “It is a beautiful view.”

“Is it indeed,” Wonwoo says, his eyes pinned to you and the bare skin of your upper chest. Your skin looks lit from within, your entire being a star amongst a sea of darkness. It’s at this moment Wonwoo knows his father was right. Luck has given him the greatest gift and more, and he won’t let you get away again.

You turn your head. His words make your breath hitch, but you try to reserve yourself. You smile in response and take his hands in yours. Your bodies are closer than you initially realized, and the look in his eyes begs you to move further towards him. 

All your life, you have lived at the whims of others. As you see it, there’s nothing wrong with taking your power back. Choosing at this moment to throw other parts of your life out of focus. Wonwoo is all you want, so you take your chance.

His mouth softly collides with yours, his lips careful to press too hard onto yours. He presses one hand to your neck, deepening his kiss and igniting a fire inside your heart. Every insult or slight you’ve endured over the years seems to fade away in that instant. You’re grateful, even, if it meant it all led to the moment in front of you, a man who seems to share your feelings confirming so with a kiss you’ve never experienced before.

You break away from him, each others’ lips still centimeters away. Wonwoo inhales a shaky breath, eyes hazy with longing. The desire to kiss him again and hold him closer is strong, but timing proves the night can’t last forever.

Your stepmother’s carriage suddenly comes to the front of the palace, and you feel your stomach fall.

You quickly step back from Wonwoo and take a breath, nerves spiking and your heart telling you to defy your head at this moment. It would be so easy to stay here and not look back, but the fallout would be too incredible to bear. And you wouldn’t wish that on this beautiful man in front of you.

“I must go,” you say, a sob caught in your throat.

“Please don’t leave. It’s only midnight,” Wonwoo insists, squeezing your hand. In the same fashion as the day you first met, he’s rubbing circles into your palm, almost like an incantation. With his words and his touch, maybe he can convince you.

Unfortunately, your choices can’t be that easily swayed when so much is on the line.

“I told you before Wonwoo. My life isn’t filled with parties like this,” you reply, tone wavering, “or people like you.” You take his hand in both of yours and press a kiss to the knuckles. “But I’ll cherish this forever.”

Before the pleading look on his face breaks your resolve, you gather your skirts in your hand and run.

You run down the staircase Wonwoo brought you up only moments before.  He calls out your name,  but you refuse to look back now, knowing it will break you to look into his eyes and walk away again if need be. You feel yourself fading the further you run away from him and out of his life.

It’s true, you’ll never forget him or the way he’s made you feel. But it’s also true that it is terrible to forget one’s role in the world. How does one witness all the colors of the world and accept going back to living in black and white?

Little did you know the paper you carried in your skirt's pocket had fallen out on the way out of the palace. Wonwoo looks through the forest lining the castle and curses, you disappearing successfully in the darkness. 

Before he can walk back into the ballroom, he notices the aged paper on the brick steps of the stairs. He unfurls it and reads the handwritten text. He exhales with relief, feeling in his gut he has found the key to finding you again.

No matter where he has to look, whether it’s beside a babbling brook or the highest castle on the far side of the ocean, he promises himself the next time he sees you he will make sure you stay by his side forever.

You feel the sticks and twigs scrape your arms and legs as you run into the forest, the fabric of your dress in ribbons by the time you make it home. Thankfully, you don’t see the coach or footmen anywhere in the distance.

Once you’re inside, you discard the clothes and makeup into the cellar’s hearth. Each item burns slowly, reminding you with every new cinder of your harsh welcome back to the reality you’re familiar with.  The smock you quickly tied around your waist and the soot you smeared across your face to avoid suspicion. The calluses on your palms from the endless, menial work. Your pliable acceptance of cruelty.

It’s all you’ve known, but it feels foreign at the same time. You don’t want to go back to your routine now that you’ve had a taste of what life could be.

Your stepmother and stepsisters waltz into the foyer. Minha looks starry-eyed and love-swept, all of which relate back to her dallying with the prince.

“I can’t believe he danced with me but was looking at you the entire time,” Heejin sneers at Minha, removing her gloves with tense fingers.

You smile to yourself, happy Heejin was knocked down from her high horse and the tides turned in Minha’s favor.

“The good thing is that the prince showed one of you attention, my love.” Your stepmother splays her fur coat out on the loveseat, your cue to immediately scoop it up to carry to the coat closet.

“Tomorrow you need to clean inside the cupboards. I noticed they were a tad dusty,” Heejin says before you can walk out of the room. Your heart was heavy before, but now it’s numbed and frozen to the habitual torture.

"Of course, sister."

Wonwoo rubs his fingers over the page’s text as his father interrogates the young girl in front of them. Seungcheol sits back in his throne beside the king’s chair, curious if this is the girl his best friend whisked away four nights prior.

Wonwoo’s father plucks the writing from Wonwoo’s hand and gives it to the knight. The knight hands it to the girl, her face doe-eyed and timid. “Is this writing familiar to you in any way?”

She looks down to the floor and shakes her head. “No, Lord Hand.”

She didn’t look familiar at all to Wonwoo, just like the last dozen women who came before his father and the prince.

Seungcheol’s idea to find Wonwoo’s mystery girl by interrogating every noble and common girl in the kingdom sounded stupid the second Wonwoo heard it. But with the king’s approval and the hand’s enthusiasm to find his child a bride, the plan was enacted.

Now, in paper and practice, Wonwoo feels more defeated the longer they continue. The only thing that gives him solace is the paper he found, his only connection to you keeping him grounded.

The girl bows for Wonwoo and the royal figures in front of her before being escorted away from the great hall. Wonwoo’s father hands the paper back to his son and sighs.

“I feel we are much closer,” his father says to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo laughs sadly. “It seems you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Seungcheol stands from his chair and pats his friend on the back, his version of a hug. “Closer or further, we’ll do whatever we must,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo’s father.

Wonwoo’s father exits, a handful of knights marching behind him.

Seungcheol puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks at his best friend with sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely shared with anyone. “You cannot lose hope now.”

Wonwoo nods. “That’s not what I’m afraid of losing. The longer this search continues, the more I feel our chance slipping away.”

Wonwoo traces the familiar pattern of the words with his thumb, the lost paper the one thing holding him steady.

You rifle through the documents you’ve held onto over the years, fear triggering the tremble in your hands. You had brought the dress home from the ball and immediately threw it in the fire. If you had accidentally discarded one of your father’s most precious letters along with the items you burned that night, you’d never forgive yourself.

You hear a horse-drawn carriage outside of the manor and the shrill wail of Heejin calling your name. It stamps down your anxiety enough for you to focus on following the sound.

Walking into the room, you see your stepmother lacing up Heejin’s corset while Heejin is putting a dab of rouge on both cheeks. “The royal carriages are outside!”

You gulp and nod at your sister, unsure what she wants from you.

She exhales with an angry breath and motions for you to go upstairs. “Get my shoes, you idiot!”

Minha stands at the top of the stairs and looks at you sadly. “I could’ve gotten them for you if you just asked, Hee.”

“Like you could do any better,” Heejin remarks. Her voice becomes airy when your stepmother reaches the final inch of tightening on Heejin’s corset. You run up the stairs to quickly follow your orders.

You squeeze Minha’s hand as you pass her to walk towards Heejin’s room. When you find the slippers and place them on your stepsister’s feet, someone knocks on the door forcefully.

Minha and Heejin stand in the center of the room as your stepmother walks up to the front door. You run back down to the cellar. 

Typically you would answer the door for company, but you knew your stepmother wouldn’t want the royalty welcomed by the unbecoming help.

Regardless, your heart thumps furiously at the sound of the stranger at the door delivering his greeting. And you can only wonder what will occur because of his presence.

Wonwoo waits in the carriage as the knight addresses the lady of the house. Wonwoo vaguely remembers his name and feels guilty for not keeping it to memory. Mingyu, was it not?

The lady of the house, her mouth a permanent grimace, nods and opens the door wide for the company to come inside. Wonwoo’s father steps out and Wonwoo follows behind him. Seungcheol exits his own carriage as well.

They all enter the manor, and Heejin can’t help her squeal at the prince’s presence in their home. Wonwoo stifles an eye-roll, keeping his mind focused on business.

As soon as Seungcheol locks eyes with Minha, he smiles. “My lady,” Seungcheol says, striding over to her to bend down and kiss her hand. Minha’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, but she bows accordingly and smiles.

“‘My p-prince,” Minha stutters.

Heejin sneers at her younger sister, but the prince is too enamored with the young woman in front of him to pay any attention to her.

Wonwoo’s father coughs, redirecting everyone’s attention to him. “Madam Jung, our records indicate there are four residents in this manor. So, to be correct, outside of the three of you here now—”

Madam Jung giggles uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lord Hand, I have not been to the registrar in some time. Those records must be outdated.”

“So, the third child referenced in these documents-”

 “Took ill some time ago. Again, an oversight caused by immense grief, I assure you.” The words leave her mouth instinctually. Wonwoo feels the confidence in her words and how false it is. From the conduct of her oldest daughter, he’s not surprised lies and negativity are commonplace in the household.

A rumble from the below startles both the women and Wonwoo’s father. The knights instinctively grab the hilts of their swords, but to no danger, a girl covered in ashes from the hearth saunters into the center of the foyer, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched.

In that second, Wonwoo feels he could cry as well.

He wants to run over to you and kiss the tears from your face, squeeze you tight, and get down on his knee in front of everyone in the room. The weight of the ring box in his pocket reminds him of what he has wanted to do since you left him alone that night. He inhales a deep breath, both elated and terrified at once, wondering what is going through your mind at the sight of him here.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks with steadfast certainty.

Wonwoo comes back to reality when he realizes you’re stomping towards your stepmother. You have barely noticed anyone else’s presence in the room besides hers, and he’s sure you heard every word of her lies from the cellar. The pain on your face is a mixture of incredulity and anger. The emotions are knotted together in the expression on your dampened face.

“How dare you,” you whisper, lips quivering but voice solid as a stone.

“How dare I-” Your stepmother starts, but you raise a hand to her. She blanches. Surely she’s shocked to see this side of you rear its head.

“My whole life, the only act of kindness you’ve shown me is pretending I didn’t exist, in spite of my father’s love for both of us. And now, after everything, to wish me dead…” 

You muster what is left of your strength to continue. “I’m unsure what I did to deserve such hatred in this family, but all I’ve ever wanted was to belong. Was that worth me being punished for this long, mother?” The word tastes like venom on your tongue. It prickles the flesh on your arms to call her such a title, but spitting it back at her with vitriol makes a part of your anger subside.

“You w-will not speak to me like that in my own home, you l-little pest,” she stutters. To your satisfaction, her insults have no weight now.

“This house could be eaten by the hearth, for all it’s worth. It’s no home of mine anymore,” you say.

Done with her and your speech, you begin to walk away. You stop short at the audience in front of you, failing to recognize their presence before. You bow to the Hand and Prince Seungcheol, but you freeze instantly when you see Wonwoo barely ten feet away.

A burden lifts from your heart when your eyes meet. Suddenly, the two of you are in each others’ arms, the pain you felt prior a vague memory.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He cups your cheeks with his hands, some of the soot scraping off onto his fingers.

You smile wide. What could you say to encompass the feeling of seeing him again? No words would do the sensations justice.

Wonwoo continues before you can respond. “Like the stars you look to above.”

Hearing your father’s words on his lips makes your heart swell. Of course he had the letter. It had to be fate. It was meant to be lost and then found by the man you fell in love with so easily.

“Follow your faith home, and you shall find my love,” you finish, biting your lip to hold yourself back from weeping more.

Unable to stop himself, he presses his lips to yours. He steals the smile on your mouth for himself, his mouth turns into a grin through the kiss. Even when you separate, your foreheads remain touching. 

You had been led to believe, through years of darkness and cruelty, dreams couldn’t come true. And now, with a full heart, you realize love can make every dream come true if you believe.

[solsticehymns]

MONSTER: ONESHOT

REMUS LUPIN X F!READER / ANGST + FLUFF

summary: too tired to keep your eyes open, you start murmuring your book aloud, frankenstein. remus finds he relates terribly to it, but he can't tell you, for you don't know his secret.

a/n: oh. my. god. this hurt to write, i took 2 breaks to sniffle. actually highly recommend reading the original 1818 text of mary shelley's frankenstein, she was incredibly ahead of her time. the whole point of the book, to me, is that EVERYONE can relate to the monster. everyone is ugly in some way: that is what makes us all beautiful, too. and secondly, in the end, all anyone really needs is love. - sunny ☀️🌻

wc (minus the book quotes cuz i didn't write that lololol): 1339

The warmth of the library is making you drowsy.

Or maybe it’s the candlelight, flickering in and out of focus as your eyelids droop. Or the weight of the book in your hands, pressing softly against your lap.

Or maybe it’s him.

Remus sits across from you, hunched over his notes, his quill moving in steady strokes as he tries to focus on the text in front of him. There’s something methodical about the way he works—thoughtful, deliberate, as though committing each word to memory with care. You’ve spent countless nights like this, existing in comfortable silence, each lost in your own tasks but never truly alone. It’s become a quiet kind of routine, one you find yourself looking forward to more than you care to admit.

Tonight, though, exhaustion weighs heavy on your limbs. The prose of Frankenstein blurs at the edges of your vision, dense and intricate, demanding more energy than you have left to give. Your head lolls slightly against the back of your chair, fingers skimming idly over the corner of the page. Without meaning to, you start to murmur the words aloud, your voice slow and hushed, barely more than a breath in the stillness of the room.

“Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?”

You don’t notice when Remus’s quill stills, nor do you realize at first that he is no longer writing, no longer absorbed in his studies. He is listening, more intently than you can discern.

Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind?

Remus would be lying to himself if he said this wasn’t a question he had asked himself before. It isn’t just the words on the page—it’s the way they settle into the hollow spaces inside him, the places no one else can see. The places that ache on the nights when he is alone, when he remembers what he is, what the world will always see him as. A creature, a thing to be feared. Something unnatural.

He wonders if the creature in the story feels it the same way—this awful, gnawing loneliness, the knowing that no matter how much kindness he has inside him, people will only ever see the horror of his existence. No matter how much he longs for warmth, for acceptance, he will never truly have it. Because people do not love monsters.

You keep reading, voice quiet but steady, each word sinking deeper into him, making it harder to breathe.

“Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.”

Remus closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the truth of it. If he were different, if fate had not carved him into something wretched, could he have been good? Could he have been loved? Or had the universe decided for him before he ever had a chance?

If he let himself be seen—really seen—love would be out of the question. But it is just as impossible if he doesn’t. He can tuck the worst parts of himself away, hide them in the quiet corners of the world, but it won’t change the truth. He is what he is. And even if someone ever dared to love him, it would be a love built on a lie.

A sharp ache spreads in his chest, because isn’t that the cruelest part of it all? That he can never be known, not fully—without losing everything?

You turn the page, still murmuring aloud, unaware of the way he is breaking beside you. His fingers curl into his sleeve, gripping the fabric as though he can hold himself together by force alone.

But the words keep coming, and he can do nothing but listen.

You barely hear yourself continue, spilling out word after word of Shelley’s intricate and incredibly passionate prose:

“I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred—”

“Some people never get the choice, to be loved or feared. The world makes it for them.”

You nearly forgot Remus was sitting right there. You had no idea he was even listening.

The weight in his voice settles over you like a quiet confession, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. There’s something about the way he says it, something final and resigned, as if it’s a truth he has long since accepted. A truth he never expected to change.

Slowly, you turn your head. His eyes aren’t on you, but on the book in your lap, unfocused and far away. His fingers twitch where they rest against his parchment, as if resisting the urge to curl into fists. The candlelight carves soft shadows over his face, accentuating the tired set of his mouth, the crease between his brows.

You want to tell him he’s wrong. That monsters aren’t doomed to be alone, that love isn’t something they have to steal or fear. That the creature in the book is no different from anyone else, aching for kindness, for warmth. That maybe, if someone had just looked at him with softer eyes, he would have known he wasn’t meant to be feared. That maybe, if he let himself, he could be loved too.

But you know, deep down, Remus would never believe that.

Instead, you straighten slightly, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

“But he wasn’t doomed,” you say softly. “Not really. Not in the way that matters.”

Remus’s gaze flickers up to you, almost wary, like he is bracing for something he won’t be able to stomach. You hold his gaze, resolute, letting the warmth in your voice settle between you.

“He wanted love,” you continue. “He wanted companionship. And that isn’t monstrous. It never was. He didn’t ask to be made the way he was, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t deserving of kindness from anyone else.”

You watch the way Remus swallows, watch the way his shoulders tense like he is trying not to let your words sink too deep. But you can see it in his eyes—the way something small and painful cracks open inside him.

“I think,” you go on, your voice gentler now, “that if someone had shown him kindness first—just once—maybe everything would have been different, and he wouldn’t have felt so lonely.”

He shouldn’t react. But it strikes him, how you state it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it never even occurred to you that the creature might be anything but deserving of kindness. As if it isn’t even a question.

Something in him aches—something deep, something raw and untouched for so long he has almost convinced himself it isn’t there at all. He has spent years believing that there are conditions to love, that people only offer it when they don’t know the truth. But here you are, speaking of a creature cursed by its very existence, and somehow you still see goodness in it.

He wants to tell you. Not about the book, not about the creature—but about himself. He wants to ask if you would still look at him like that if you knew he was a monster, too. If you would still believe in warmth and acceptance if you saw him for what he truly is.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because if there is even the smallest chance that you might turn away, he can’t risk it.

Instead, he lets the words sit between you, heavy and aching, settling into the quiet spaces of his heart he has long since abandoned. Maybe you would not recoil. Maybe he is not as monstrous as he fears.

A soft nudge against his hand startles him. You close your book, fingers resting lightly on the cover.

“You’re not even studying anymore,” you whine, voice thick with drowsiness. “Can we go? It’s late.”

He blinks at you, as if shaking himself from some deep, unreachable place. Then, finally, he exhales, a small, almost imperceptible smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Let’s go.”

♡

☀️🌻 masterlist

[the-thing-withfeathers]

high up | cowgirl!madison beer

fluff, & smut.

a/n: hello again my loves 🥰 i’ve missed you all. i’m sorry for being gone so long but i’m back and better than ever. hopefully this suffices as an apology for leaving you all for a bit.

‼️smut warnings: semi-public sex, strap on usage, hair pulling, rough sex, slight degradation & humiliation.

𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗

a whole year had passed since you set foot on the farm. since you and madison met and started your whirlwind romance. a whole year and you were the happiest you’d ever been.

while you celebrated the exact one year marker with your grandparents, feasting over your grandmother’s chili, madison had suggested you two spend your one year together back in the city.

initially, you were reluctant to go. all your favorite spots were in the country. everywhere you and mads had spent making memories rested in the peace of the farm.

but she was persistent, and you knew your girlfriend wouldn’t relent. she argued that you spent a whole year learning the ins and outs of her biome. it was time for her to learn more about your roots too.

so the two of you found yourselves in madison’s truck, pulling into the parking of your condominium. you two had done the trip yourselves despite your parents offering, but you wanted the insurance of madison’s truck around in case she needed to get back.

your parents had been out working when the two of you arrived. you unlocked the front door to your penthouse apartment, welcoming madison into your home.

as madison stepped in, she marvelled at the space the penthouse offered. she knew your family had money, but now she was seeing it.

she was greeted with marble floors leading into carpeted ones depending on where you went and a massive living room with tall windows that looked like they could go on for miles.

you went to put your stuff in your room but she was left stunned. you poked your head back out to check on her and smiled at the sight of her mouth agape.

“like what you see?” you teased her, bringing her out of her daze.

“i’ve never been this high off the ground before. we’re practically in the clouds!” she exclaimed, taking her hat off.

you stepped closer to her and took her hat from her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards your room, walking backwards. you held a mischievous smirk on your face, one she knew too well.

when you opened the door to your room, you giggled at her face. your room had a wide rectangular window that covered the entire wall, overlooking the city below.

your room was… so you, madison thought. it was littered with small trinkets that she found adorable. the wallpaper was your favorite color, she started to grow fonder of it when she learned how much you loved it.

she stepped closer to your vanity mirror, admiring the photos that were attached to it. photos of you and your friends, photos of you and your parents. even a few baby pictures. she was deep in thought again, but you were quick to make sure she didn’t get too absorbed by her own mind.

“hey.” you said, practically barking a little at her. she quickly spun around, catching the tail end of you dropping your dress for it to pool at your feet.

you opted for comfort on the drive, which meant wearing this dress that drove madison crazy. it was loose on you but still showed your figure off perfectly. but she enjoyed it off just as much.

“did you wanna get a closer look at this window?” you side eyed the window while madison reached for her bag.

“hell yeah i do.” she whipped out the strap-on like she had x-ray vision and knew exactly where it was.

she threw the strap-on onto the bed for the meantime, walking closer to you and capturing your lips in a kiss with many words. she missed you while on that drive, having to focus on the drive.

you were the object of her affection, she could never go for very long without trying to show her love for you.

she pulled you closer by your waist, stepping forward and backing you up until your ass and back were against the cold glass of the window. you squealed a little, the chill sending goosebumps across your skin. she swallowed every noise you made.

you unbuttoned madison’s shirt, pushing it off and yanking it until it untucked from her jeans. you made quick work of her belt, pulling it off in one swift motion and getting her jeans off. she pulled away to put the strap on around her hips.

you watched her with your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes never leaving her body. no matter how many times you’d seen her naked, you found her absolutely flawless.

she got close to you again, her chest pressing against yours as she kissed you. you felt her fingers slip between your drenched folds, a smile plastered across her face.

“so wet already baby, we just got here!” she snickered and dropped to her knees, lifting one of your legs to rest on her shoulder. she buried her tongue between your folds, your breath hitching as an immediate reaction.

despite being out of her comfort zone, madison felt good with you. being so high up in the clouds with the bustling city beneath you both, it worried her a little bit. but her heart beat for you, and in turn you promised to make yourself a safe place for her with your legs wrapped around her head.

“shit!” your body jolted as her lips wrapped around her clit, sucking and flicking with her tongue. she slipped a finger into you as your head fell back against the glass.

she knew how to work you perfectly, being alone on the farm gave you two a lot of privacy to get to know each other on an intimate level. a hand of hers ran up your body, squeezing one of your tits, the mix of stimulation caused your head to spin.

you’d missed her like this, it wasn’t going to take long until…

“mads… mads…” you tapped the top of her head. “i don’t wanna cum yet.” you warned, not wanting to get too tired yet. you were both exhausted from the drive but refused to hold yourselves back from intimacy.

“okay, princess. want me to fuck you then?” she asked, her southern drawl felt more prominent when she was out of her natural habitat.

“please…” you begged. she nodded and quickly spun you, your hands pressing against the glass window. she pushed you forward, your tits and face against the glass now too.

“c’mon, baby. be good for me. show them how good i fuck you.” she said, slowly inserting the 8-inch silicone dick into you. you whined at the intrusion, trying to find something to grasp onto. your efforts were futile as all there was in your reach was the window pane.

madison started slow, wanting to make sure you were comfortable. in truth, this was turning you on so much that you wouldn’t have cared. looking down at the city below, knowing madison would have no problem fucking you on the sidewalk if you asked.

she wanted them to know that she would fuck you better than anyone could. she wanted you to know that your pussy was eternally hers and hers only.

“you’re being so good for me.” she grunted in your ear, pressing her chest against your back as her fist circled in your hair, tugging softly. “want everyone to know how good i make you feel. i make you feel good, don’t i?”

“yeah! yeah… mads, right there! fuck! don’t fucking stop!” you cried out, gasping for air. her sneaky fingers made their way to your cunt again, rubbing quick circles around your clit.

your eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure getting to you. madison was now thrusting harder into you, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars.

“don’t you wanna cum for me, darlin’? wanna see you cum on my cock.” she whispered into your ear, peppering kisses on your back.

madison’s verbal encouragement was enough to push you over the edge, slick juices coating her strap as you reached your orgasm.

“ah! fuck!” you called out as you came on her cock and fingers, you heaved as your body relaxed.

madison wasn’t done yet though.

she spun you back around and pushed you to your knees, pushing the tip of the strap against your lips. you eagerly took it in your mouth, sucking your cum off as madison watched you.

you caught as her stomach flexed, knowing the friction of the strap against her own wetness would be enough to finish her off too. you bobbed your head at a rapid pace to assist her in reaching her own orgasm.

“yeah, baby. i love the way you take me in your mouth.” she leaned forward. her hand pressed up against the glass as she towered over you, tryung to keep herself stable. “keep going, princess.”

her breathing got shaky as she commanded you, your hands got thrown into the mix to help jerk her off, rubbing at the places your throat couldn’t reach.

“that’s it, baby. doin’ so fuckin— ah!” she groaned softly, reaching her peak. her legs shaking a little while she released all over the strap on.

she paused for a second, you backed off and helped her take it off, letting the dildo drop to the floor. you stood and grabbed her hand again, walking her to the bed.

you gently pushed her down onto the mattress and she moaned at the touch.

“holy shit, this bed is so comfy.” she adjusts her position so you can take your place on her chest. you put your head on her and kissed her gently.

“you’re comfy.”

𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗

a/n: heyyy… i know this was a short one but i fully intend for a part 2 to this madison in the city era. it’ll be a bit longer cause there will be a proper storyline but i wanted to post something to let you all know i was still around. sooo much love. i adore you all.

[meanbossart]

Any tips for new or returning artists?

I’m hoping to discover my own art style this year (from scratch, no references) by just throwing myself into learning anatomy, drawing random characters, and praying I can figure out how to add depth to pieces.

I have very minimal artistic experience and my work has improved significantly from where I started years ago, but not even close to where I’m hoping to be.

I can freehand faces and tweak the anatomy accordingly but I feel limited. Maybe it’s (in part) because I’m using an iPad, apple pen and Procreate? I recently added the paper-feel screen cover and that’s helped significantly with control.

Do you draw on paper to help your muscle memory? Honestly, ANYTHING helps. I watch videos on anatomy and art all of the time — I just don’t know if my brain is absorbing it correctly 😭

Hello! I don't know if I can say anything in particular to the returning aspect of your situation since I've drawn pretty consistently all of my life, but if someone else has had that experience of picking the skill back up after a long break, feel free to share your thoughts in the replies!

I'm not fully sure what you mean by "hoping to discover my own art (...) from scratch, no references", but if it means trying to whip up a style from thin-air and blocking out all outside influence or take any inspiration from existing art that you like... Uh... Don't do that! I don't see the benefit. All art is a derivation of a derivation, I can assure you that by compiling a folder or collage of your favorite works, borrowing and reworking aspects that you like, you WILL land on an original style and have learned so much more about it in the process than if you hadn't done that at all.

Also I can assure you that drawing on procreate/ipad is not a hindrance whatsoever, plenty of professional artists prefer it over display tablets. @wolfskulljack-art comes to mind as someone who has created several incredible tour posters for Metallica, all in her ipad.

I must have drawn on paper a total of 10 times in the last 5 years, I have no idea if that's bad or not... It Probably is, but I'm at peace with it, LOL. Generally when it comes to improving ( and I know that this is a frustrating answer) the secret is to just draw a lot. There is no class that is going to take you from amateur to Caravaggio, it takes time and takes making "bad" art. A lot of bad art. When it comes to learning anatomy, I think the best thing you can do is draw a lot of real-life human bodies from reference while consulting an anatomical diagram or model of some kind. Otherwise you will just making a bunch of lines without ever understanding their purpose.

I don't think you need to be an expert at the human body AT ALL before jumping into stylization and making confident, art, but if you do something like this whenever you draw I think you will end up learning a whole lot. Muscle memory (no pun intended) will come to you naturally!

I also have a lot more tips in my #tutorial and #advice tags that you can look through if you want to, otherwise, I would tell you to just do more drawing and less looking for the perfect tutorial or golden advice. A lot of artists get very boggled down in learning in the most correct and effective way, and while there are pointers that can be given, they tend to be very straightforward🤷 and the rest falls on you to follow through with!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

madam herta is the first snow of winter.

crisp air flooding your lungs, ice-slicked pavement crackling beneath your feet. skeletal trees that glitter with frozen dew and freshly coated snowflakes. broken skin, nips of icicle-teeth, wonder.

she’s beautiful. beautiful in the way everything crumbles around her.

”well, what are you waiting for?” comes a high-pitched voice, one of her puppets. the same tone, same air of expectancy; like she’s never gotten a no. ”keep up, duckling! we’ve got no time to dilly-dally.”

”sorry, madam!”

she’s walking ahead before you can even get the words out. egoistical, self-absorbed, expecting you to follow. being her assistant isn’t easy, far from it— but it’s worth it just to see her. a puppet, a replica, it doesn’t matter. it’s worth it to be able to follow at her whims, wherever they take her, into the star-soaked sky. you think yourself lucky to have her attention on you — just for a minute or two every day.

everything madam herta does is beautiful. a miracle. if she told you she was god, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe her, fall at her feet. she’s a genius, she can do anything. can even make the world seem worthwhile.

she is on a ceaseless journey, to devour every star. you’ll never grow tired of watching her glimmer, sitting at the edge of the cosmos and watching.

(every star maps out her name.)

”here, carry this,” she clicks her tongue, leaving a pile of abandoned documents in your arms. it comes to you naturally, leaning down to her height to scoop them up. catch the sharp edge of her violet eyes.

there’s a weight there. something knowing.

— the answer to the universe is the number 42.

back home, your professor had called it meaningless. a world without an answer to gain isn’t worth living in at all — not worth the hassle. you remember the dullness in his eyes, the crease between his brows. young, susceptible, you were inclined to believe him. you believed him when he told you magic was a hoax, when he told you the galaxy had an endpoint. when he told you life was devoid of meaning—

you believed him, too.

”that’s wrong,” your lady scoffs. ”is he stupid?”

there’s a cup in your hand, steam wafting up to meet your nostrils, smelling of bitter espresso. a dark, swirling pit. a memory from before — new to the space station, new to her. she took you into her office, and you told her more than you should have.

(she was drinking too. madame herta likes her coffee with cream and sugar — only one cube, though, no more or less. just a touch of something sweet.)

”… what do you mean?”

your own voice sounds foreign, when she’s around. like nothing exists but her, her, her. like it’s all you can see. frosted landscapes and bambino eyes, the bite of winter sinking into your jaw. she’s always had that charisma, the kind only a genius could possess.

a tilt of her head, and a raise of her brow. you stiffen, curl in on yourself, ready to be berated — and she puts her porcelain cup down with a satisfying clink.

”a world without questions,” she exhales, a misty breath on her tongue. ”isn’t worth living in at all.”

a tug at your subconscious. a crack in a frozen lake.

her eyes swim with precision. decision. a cleave into your skin, her greedy fingers slipping under it. you wonder what it’d feel like to be held like that.

”a man who can’t understand that much isn’t suited for teaching in the first place,” she huffs, sipping from the rim of her cup and scowling. ”you should tell him to go back to the academy. i mean, geez. what are they even teaching you these days?”

”… not much.”

(nothing, compared to what you could teach me.)

your lady knows you like no other. the universe like no other. you knew from the start that it’d be her. what she carries is wisdom, experience, a childlike sense of wonder — she’s older than you by centuries and counting, yet she feels purer than you could comprehend. purer than anyone around you. even with her complaints, harsh words, the paperwork she leaves behind for you to finish. that much is fine.

because she’s more than you. she’s beautiful, a genius, she tugs you along and she’ll cast you aside, once you’ve grown too boring to stomach. you think yourself fine with that conclusion— fine with picking at scraps and following at her trail. egoistical, self-absorbed; you wouldn’t have her any other way.

madam herta is the lump between your tongue and throat.

(you’ll fall into her forever.)

[nubianqueensworld]

Chapter One: The Necklace

Author’s Note: Starts off a little slow towards the beginning, but there is a little more substance towards the end. Enjoy!😉

The steady hum of cicadas buzzed outside as Monet leaned against the peeling porch railing, watching the sun dip behind the towering pines. Her grandmother’s house sat like a relic of the past, its faded paint and sagging roof telling stories Monet didn’t have the strength to hear tonight. It had been three days since the funeral, and her grief felt like it had settled in her chest, a weight she couldn’t shake. Her grandmother had been her anchor— the person who understood her when no one else did, the one who always had an answer or a story to make the world seem less overwhelming. Now the house felt hollow, like it had lost its souls along with her grandmother.

Monet’s mother came out onto the porch, her footsteps heavy with exhaustion. She held a small velvet pouch in her hands, her face unreadable. Monet barely glance at her, too absorbed in her own swirling thoughts to notice the way her mother hesitated before speaking.

“This belonged to your grandmother,” her mother said finally, her voice tingled with sadness but firm, as though she’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head. She held out the pouch.

Money frowned, reluctant to move. She hadn’t wanted anything—not the furniture, the quilts, or the photographs of generations she didn’t know the names of. What good were keepsakes when they couldn’t bring the dead back? But something in her mother’s expression made her reach out and take the pouch. It felt heavier than she expected, the velvet soft against her fingers.

“What is it?” Monet asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just open it.”

Monet pulled at the drawstring, revealing a necklace with a large pendent. The pendent gleamed as though it were alive. She held it up to the light, turning it over in her fingers. It was beautiful, intricate in a way that suggested it had been crafted with care.

“She always said it was special,” her mother continued, leaning against the railing beside her. “Belonged to her grandmother before her. She wore it every day when she was young, said it brought her luck.”

Monet scoffed quietly. “Luck? Sure doesn’t feel lucky now.”

Her mother sighed. “She wanted you to have it, Monet. Maybe it’ll bring you what you need.”

What she needed was her grandmother. Not some old necklace with sentimental baggage. Still, Monet nodded and slipped the necklace into her pocket. “Thanks,” she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction. Her mother didn’t press her further.

That night, Monet lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as sharpens flickered from the street lamp outside. The necklace sat on the nightstand, its stone glinting faintly in the dim light. She hasn’t put it on. What was the point? It was just a piece of jewelry—another reminder of what she’d lost.

Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to memories of her grandmother. The evenings spent baking sweet potato pies in the kitchen, her grandmother humming an old tune while Monet begged to lick the spoon. The warm smell of lavender always lingering on her clothes, the way she’d laugh and say, “This necklace isn’t just pretty, Monet. It’s got magic in it. You’ll see.”

Monet sighed, pushing the memory away. Magic wasn’t real, and neither was luck. People lived, people died, and the world just kept turning.

She reached for the necklace, intending to put it back in the pouch. But as her fingers brushed the pendent, a warmth spread through her palm, a strange sensation that startled her enough to sit upright. The stone seemed to flow faintly, it’s light pulsing like a heartbeat. Monet’s chest tightened.

“What the hell….?” she whispered, staring at the necklace.

Before she could react further, the glow intensified, filling the room with an otherworldly light. The walls dissolved into shimmering gold, and the him of cicadas outside was replaced by the distant sound of jazz music and laughter. Monet’s vision blurred, her body tingling as though she were weightless, falling through time itself. She clutched the pendant tightly, her pulse racing.

When the light faded, she was no longer in her room. The air was humid, heavy with the scent of smoke and whiskey. She stools on the dusty road of a small town, surrounded by buildings that looked frozen in time. The sign above the nearest shop surrounded by buildings that looked frozen in time. The sign above the nearest shop read “General Mercantile,” and a batter truck rumbled past, its engine sputtering. Monet turned in a circle, her heart pounding. This wasn’t her world.

The jazz music grew louder as she walked hesitantly down the street, her sneakers stirring up dust with every step. The people around her have her strange looks—some curious, others suspicious. Her clothes, modern and casual, marked her as different, as someone who didn’t belong. She pulled the necklace out of her pocket, the stone still warm. Somehow, it had done this. It had brought her here.

The source of the music became clear as she approached a large building painted in peeling green: a juke joint. The sounds of a lively piano and swinging bass spilled out of the open windows, mingling with the clatter of conversation and the occasional bursts of laughter. Monet stopped at the doorway, hesitant to step inside.

“You look lost,” a voice drawled behind her.

Monet turned sharply, her eyes landing on a man leaning against the side of the building. He was somewhat tall, dressed in a crisp white shirt with rolled up sleeves and suspenders, his trousers slightly dusty but tailored. His brown skin caught the warm light from the windows, and his eyes—sharp and calculating—locked onto hers with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He took his toothpick out his mouth, his posture casual but commanding.

“I-I don’t know where I am,” Monet said, stumbling over her words.

Monet hesitated. How was she supposed to explain this? Time travel? A magic necklace? He’d think she was crazy. Hell, maybe she was crazy.

“I’m…looking for something,” she said finally, though she had no idea what that something might be.

The main raised his eyebrow, “Well, you found Stack. I run this joint,” he said, gesturing to the building. “And let me tell you, you don’t look like you belong in my world.”

Monet’s grip tightened on the necklace. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. But one thing was certain: this man, Stack, might be her only chance at figuring out where she was—and how to get her back home.

———————————————————————

Stack didn’t wait for Monet to respond. He turned on his heel and disappeared through the swinging wooden doors of the juke joint, leaving her standing in the thick Mississippi air. Jazz rhythms spilled into the street behind him—wild, loose, and full of life. For a moment, she debated running in the other direction. But where would she go? This wasn’t her time, her world. The one person she’d manage to connect with here was walking away, and with him, her only chance at answers.

Her sneakers scuffed against the dirt as she followed him inside.

The joint was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air. String lights were draped haphazardly along the walls, casting a golden glow over the crowd. Men and women filled the room, laughing, dancing, and sipping from cups she suspected didn’t hold anything legal for 1932. The band played in the corner, the pianist pounding on the keys like his life depended on it, while the bassist slapped a steady rhythm that kept the whole place moving.

Monet felt entirely out of place, her modern clothes—a simple T-shirt and jeans— made her stand out among the dresses, suspenders, and fedoras. She caught a few sidelong glances as she moved through the crow, but most people seemed too caught up in the music and the energy of the room to pay her much mind.

“Upstairs,” Stack called over his shoulder, already halfway to a narrow staircase in the back. His commanding presence made people move instinctively out of his way, but he didn’t so much glance at them.

Monet followed him, climbing the creaking wooden stairs that groaned underfoot. The noise of the joint softened as they reached the second floor, though the baseline still vibrates faintly through the walls. Stack led her into a small room at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind her.

The room was simpler than the chaos below. A worn desk sat against the far wall, covered in papers, and bottle of whiskey, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. A single armchair sat in the corner, its fabric frayed at the edges. The window was open, letting in the distant sound of cicadas and the faint scent of honeysuckle.

Stack crossed the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey without offering her one. “Alright, doll,” he said, leaning against the edge of the desk. “You’ve got my attention. Now tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Monet hesitated, her hand brushing against the necklace still tucked in her pocket. She hadn’t planned for this—not for time travel, not for gangsters, and certainly not for standing in a dusty room in 1932 explaining herself to a man she didn’t trust. But what choice did she have?

“It’s the necklace,” she said finally, pulling it out and letting it dangle from her fingers. The stone caught the light, its glow faint but unmistakable.

Stack raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “That little thang? Looks nice enough, but I don’t see what makes it special.”

“It’s not just nice—it’s…magical,” she said, cringing at how ridiculous the words sounded. “I don’t know how it works, but it brought me here. I was in my bedroom one minute, and the next…I was on your street.”

Stack studied her, his face unrecognizable. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant hum of music from below. Finally, he set his glass down and folded his arms. “Magic, huh? You sure you didn’t hit your head on the way down here?”

“I’m serious!” she snapped, her frustration boiling over. “I don’t know how or why, but this necklace is the reason I’m here. And if I don’t figure out how to get back, I’m stuck. So if you know anything—anything at all that can help me—I need to know.”

Stack’s smirk faded, replaced by something almost thoughtful. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say this necklace of yours really is some kind of magic Time Machine. You expect me to help you outta the kindness of my heart?”

Monet glared at him. “ I don’t expect anything from you, honestly. But, you’re the only person I’ve talked to who hasn’t looked at me like I’m crazy—or tried to rob me. So if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Stack chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” He stepped closer, his deep brown eyes locking onto hers. “But here’s the thing—you don’t survive in the world by trustin’ strangers. You wanna stick around? You wanna figure out how that little trinket of yours works? You’re gonna need someone who knows the rules. Lucky for you, I’m good at what I do.”

“And what is it you do, exactly?” Monet asked, crossing her arms.

“I keep things runnin’,” he said vaguely, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The joint downstairs, the people who pass through—it’s all under my watch. Which means I’ve got ears in places you wouldn’t believe.”

Monet hesitated. She didn’t trust him, not entirely. There was something about him—something dangerous— that made her skin crawl. But she could deny that was right. She was completely out of her element here, and if she wanted to survive long enough to figure out how to get back home, she needed help.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll stick with you. But if you’re planning to screw me over, don’t think I won’t fight back.”

Stack’s grin widened. “ I wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

He stepped past her and opened the door, gesturing for her to follow. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you downstairs. You stick out like a sore thumb, and if you’re gonna be around, we’d better make you blend in.”

Monet followed him reluctantly, her mind racing. She didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into—or how she was going to get out of it. But one thing was certain: her journey was far from over, and the mysterious, magnetic man leading her down the stairs was going to play a bigger role in it than she’d anticipated.

—————————————————

Sooo…do y’all like it?

There’s probably some error and mistakes but this my first story so please give me some grace 😭

[midnightcrw]

Mama's Boy

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Summary: Holding and seeing his daughter for the first time

a/n: Did I almost cry while writing this? Yes, I almost did. But I really hope you all will like it. The story about Simon's mother is made up by me, but I just thought it would explain why I thought of naming Simon's daughter Daisy.

“She has your eyes.” He whispered softly under his breath.

You smiled as you sat down beside him. Daisy did have your eyes, but the rest of her resembled Simon.

"She looks more like you, though," you said quietly as you looked at your daughter.

It was the first time he had held and seen her since his mission a month ago.

At first he had hesitated to hold her, but now that she was in his arms, he seemed to relax slightly as he admired her.

Daisy was more of a mini-Simon, her features almost identical to his.

Your beloved husband was still a man of few words, and looked more like a wall of ice at first. But you knew how to see past that veneer of stoicism, his beautiful eyes were always filled with a wealth of unspoken emotions.

Daisy was his everything, and as he sat there holding their little bundle of joy, he silently thanked the heavens for leading him to you.

Was it all a stroke of fate, or destiny? Nobody could say for certain.

"What did you name her?" Simon whispered, not wanting to disturb Daisy's peaceful expression as he still kept his eyes on her.

"Daisy," you said softly, almost being too afraid to utter it out.

And for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Simon's eyes widened slightly as his shoulders tensed.

You were afraid of how he would react. The two of you hadn't talked about baby names before, but you had one in mind.

Simon didn't usually talk about his past, only when it really ate him alive, and one thing that stuck with you was the story he once told you.

Simon's mom loved flowers, especially Daisy's. She always kept some in a little vase. She used to tell him that whenever things got bad at home, she would take a few of Daisy's home with her because they meant new beginnings.

It was a silly thought, but it gave her hope. If the new beginning wasn't meant for her, at least she wanted it to be for Simon.

You remembered tearing up at the story, and from then on you knew you would name your daughter Daisy.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked back at you.

"Daisy." Simon repeated slowly as he took a moment to absorb what you had said.

Your husband was a private person by nature, but you noticed that he was beginning to show signs of emotion. His face softened, revealing the faintest smile as his lips formed the words...

"Thank you."

His lips trembled slightly as he bit his lower lip, while a single tear made its way down your face.

You kissed his cheek and watched him hold her. You hadn't named her after his own mother, knowing how sensitive the subject was for him. But you had chosen Daisy because it would make it easier for him to look at her and remember a good memory his mother had left behind.

Simon still held his tears back as he looked at Daisy. His precious daughter.

And he knew that for a fact, his mother was watching from above, with a smile on her face.

[hambiichu]

Mingled relationship

Sumarry: You and Levi ended your relationship back in high school, and a few years later, on a fateful Christmas, Levi decided to reach out to you

Ao3

Divider by @/notaorbital

Tags: Comfort, Female! Reader, Levi in despair, comeback, exes, past relationship, mingled, regret, modern au, Kuchel

Today is Christmas, and a gentle blanket of snow covers the ground outside, transforming the world into a winter wonderland. The warm glow of decorations spills from every window, casting a cheerful ambiance that fills the air with the holiday spirit. The table is elegantly set, adorned with a feast of delicious foods—roasted meats, savory sides, and an array of desserts waiting to be savored. Spoons and forks gleam under the soft lights, while festive plates hold an assortment of culinary delights.

People have gathered around the table, their laughter mingling with the joyful sounds of Christmas carols wafting in from outside. As children sing and shake their bells, the scene is alive with happiness, reminding everyone of the warmth and love the holiday brings. Families unite, sharing stories and jokes, while the crackle of the fireplace adds to the cozy atmosphere of joy reminiscent of the season.

Yet, not everyone shares in the merriment surrounding them. Levi sits apart from the vibrant gathering, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone, absorbed in a digital reverie filled with old messages and photos.

Each scroll reveals memories that tug at his heart, stirring up a bittersweet mixture of nostalgia and yearning. He finds himself contemplating whether to reach out to you, the thought lingering like an uninvited guest. Years have passed since you last saw each other, yet the echoes of your high school romance continue to resonate within him, haunting his thoughts, especially at this time of year.

Kuchel, his mother, has never truly understood the reasons behind your breakup. To her, you were more than just a girlfriend; you were like a daughter-in-law, someone she envisioned as a perfect match for her son. She often reminisces about the days when Levi first introduced you to the family, her eyes sparkling with pride as she recounts how happy he seemed in your presence.

Those cherished moments now feel like fragmented whispers of a long-forgotten dream. Pensive, Levi gazes out of the window, lost in thought, and wonders if reaching out might reignite the flame of what was once a beautiful connection or if the chasm of time and hurt between you has grown too wide to bridge.

Deep down, Levi knows he can’t absolve himself of the blame for the relationship’s collapse. He reflects on how foolish and immature he was, a first-time lover grappling with overwhelming emotions.

In his naivety, he neglected you, failed to support you when you needed it, and, at times, acted with an unkindness that still stings with regret. The shame washes over him as he grimaces at his past self, recognizing how his actions contributed to the heartache that severed your bond.

He hated himself.

He blamed himself everyday and every year.

You have every right to feel a profound anger toward him — to cut ties and seek out someone new, all while he remains here, adrift and still unmarried, without a family to call his own. In the quiet moments of his day, when the world falls silent, he is haunted by memories of you. The weight of his past mistakes presses heavily on his heart, creating an unending cycle of shame that he cannot seem to escape. It’s as if he is a prisoner in his own mind, yearning for a chance to make amends, yet paralyzed by the fear that the opportunity has slipped through his fingers forever.

Kuchel speaks of you often, mentioning your name with a fondness that pulls at Levi’s heart, tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. Each time your name escapes his mother's lips, it strikes a painful chord within him, a constant reminder of his failures and the secret he keeps buried deep. He finds himself weaving a web of excuses, telling his mother that you are simply too busy or that you’ve chosen not to contact him, all the while knowing that she can see through the mask he has crafted. The guilt festers inside him, gnawing at his conscience and causing him to feel like a disappointment in her eyes.

As the seasons change, ushering in a flurry of memories and emotions he has tried to suppress, Levi resolves that this time he will not hide behind excuses or lies. With newfound courage coursing through him, he retrieves your contact information from his phone and hesitates for a moment, unsure why he kept it all this time. A part of him had always held onto the hope that he would reach out eventually, and today, that hope is blossoming into action.

He presses the phone to his ear, his heart pounding as a knot of anxiety forms in his stomach. He glances down at his trembling hands and takes a deep breath to steady himself. In his other hand, he pulls out a small, delicate silver ring he has kept all these years—a promise ring, once a symbol of the vow he made to you that no matter what life threw at him, you would one day become his spouse. Now, that ring feels more like a relic of a shattered past, buried beneath layers of regret and longing.

Levi twirls the ring between his fingers, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his memories. He thinks about how time has changed everything, yet the feelings that stirred within him back then remain as potent as ever.

Suddenly, his heart leaps when he hears your voice on the other end, and time seems to freeze. There’s no hesitation as you answer, "Levi?" The sound of your breath, a bit shaky and uncertain, sends a rush of emotions surging through him. "You called."

Levi swallows hard, his heart racing as he instinctively pockets the ring. He wipes his clammy palms on his shirt, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah, I… I know it’s unexpected, but I've been wanting to reach out." He responds, his voice more confident than he feels.

Levi realizes just how much he has missed this connection. It’s as if he had forgotten the sound of your laughter, the way your voice could light up a room, and now those memories flood back with an overwhelming rush of nostalgia and sadness.

"I.... I’ve been wanting to reach you too," you admit, and he hears a small sneeze break the delicate tension between you. He can almost picture you shivering, layered in winter clothes, trying to ward off the chill.

Levi's heart begins to race at the realization that you, too, have a desire to reconnect. Yet skepticism tugs at him; he hesitates to let his hopes soar too high.

A smile involuntarily lifts Levi’s lips. "Are you okay? You’re sneezing," he asks, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I’m just stuck on this bus," you explain, your frustration evident. "I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and nothing’s moving. I’ve used almost all my data to call my mom, but when you called, I had to answer."

"Do you want me to come pick you up?" he offers, warmth threading through his tone.

“Levi, that’s sweet, but I’m fine,” you reply, though there’s a hint of reluctance in your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“No, you’re not," Levi insists, a sigh escaping him. He can feel the urgency in his own voice as he speaks. "You’ve been stuck at the bus stop for over an hour, right? Let me come get you. I’ll grab my keys now."

"Le—"

"Please."

It was a surprise to realize that Levi never hesitated to act when it came to you. In your memories, if something had ever happened to you, he would have charged forward without a moment's doubt—without a hint of hesitation. This was the man you had fallen in love with, a man who captivated you not just with his striking features and intense gaze, but with his genuine care and unwavering commitment. He would have done anything for you. Yet, as your relationship progressed, a painful shift occurred. He began to neglect you, fail to support you in your times of need, and, at times, display a rough, unkindness that pierced your heart.

Witnessing this transformation was undeniably cruel. It hurt to see the man you thought would care for you forever drift away into someone unrecognizable. But you couldn’t blame yourself; you were just high school sweethearts, young and inexperienced in the complexities of love. As hard as it was, a part of you understood that sometimes, parting ways was necessary for growth.

Even after all these years, you still carried a deep love for him; he was your first boyfriend after all. You felt like you understood him better than anyone else ever could, and you had always been there for him. Throughout the years, you hadn’t found anyone else who could take his place in your heart, nor had you considered marriage. Your heart remained firmly attached to Levi Ackerman.

Years passed, and this year, out of the blue, Levi reached out to you. You’d thought about contacting him, but fear held you back—fear that he’d once again be the man who hurt you. Yet, something in you sensed he had changed for the better. When he called, your heart raced. You hesitated initially, but in a moment of courage, you answered, listening to his familiar voice after so long. It resonated with a mix of sadness and nostalgia, bringing back memories you had tucked away.

As you began to explain your current situation, Levi insisted on coming to pick you up. You felt a reluctance but Levi, being his determined self, simply grabbed his keys and told you he would be waiting for you at the bus stop.

The ride to his home was enveloped in an uneasy silence, punctuated by the soft crunch of snow beneath the car tires. The headlights illuminated the dark road ahead, casting fleeting shadows outside. You glanced at Levi from the corner of your eye. He seemed like the same man you once knew, but upon closer inspection, you could see the marks of maturity etched into his features. He had clearly learned from his past mistakes, even though both of you felt the tension of two exes meeting again for the first time after so long.

Wanting to break the silence and ease the awkwardness, you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got lodged in your throat. Instead, the silence wrapped around you both, heavy and suffocating. When you finally reached his home, stepping out into the cold air, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Memories flooded back of the first time you had visited Levi’s house and met his mother, who had welcomed you into the family with open arms.

As Levi opened the door, his mother, Kuchel, looked up from the living room, her eyes widening in astonishment. Without any hesitation, she rushed toward you and enveloped you in a warm embrace. The comfort of her presence was something you had missed dearly over the years. She gently released you, her expression brimming with love and concern.

“Oh! It’s been too long since I last saw you. You’ve grown so much! I’ve missed you terribly. Levi says you’ve been busy,” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of joy and warmth.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Levi standing beside you. He looked away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he mumbled, “Mother, please, can she come inside?”

Kuchel’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Will she stay here for a while?” she asked eagerly. You found yourself nodding in agreement. Although you hadn’t envisioned staying, Levi had brought you here, and with Christmas upon you, it felt oddly right to accept this invitation.

"Come, come! We have turkeys and all sorts of delicious foods," Kuchel exclaimed, her warm smile lighting up the room as she gestured towards the table. The table stretched out before you, adorned with an array of plates filled with festive dishes and neatly arranged utensils. It was a bit long, but it felt cozy, especially since it was just you, Levi, and his mother for the moment. Other relatives would be joining soon, but for now, the atmosphere was intimate.

As you settled into your seat, Levi slid into the chair beside you. The two of you began to eat, enjoying the savory flavors of the turkey and all the trimmings, while Kuchel returned to the living room, her focus shifting back to the decorations and gift-wrapping for the upcoming celebrations. It was a relief that she didn’t pry into your life with intrusive questions; after all, she hadn’t seen you for years until this reunion.

“Sorry about that,” Levi suddenly said between bites, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He was munching on a crispy piece of turkey skin, a hint of guilt in his expression. “I told my mom that you were busy, and... I lied to her. She always mentions you and asks how you’re doing, all that stuff.”

You looked at him, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the slightly awkward situation. It warmed your heart to know that Kuchel still thought of you after all these years. You had assumed she had long forgotten, but hearing it from Levi made you realize he had carried a burden of keeping the truth from her, perhaps feeling guilty himself.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged nonchalantly, trying to ease the tension. “I’ve done the same with my mom whenever she asks about things she shouldn’t.”

A shy smile broke across Levi’s face at your admission, and you both finished your meal with a sense of camaraderie. When you moved to the kitchen to wash the dishes, you removed your gloves and set them on the countertop. Levi stood beside the fridge, leaning against it with wide eyes as he watched you attentively.

“You still wear the ring I gave you?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You paused, your hand hovering over the ring on your finger. A blush crept across your cheeks as you took a deep breath in preparation for his question. “Yeah... I still do. It’s your gift, and I didn't want to just throw it away. I mean, I know we haven’t seen each other in years, and I thought you might have thrown yours away, too.”

He shook his head, pulling his own ring from his pocket to show you. Both rings twinkled in the soft light of the kitchen, a shimmering symbol of the connection you once shared. “I never did. I always kept it,” he replied, his voice trailing off as a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. Regret was etched in his features, a clear indication of the weight he carried from the past.

“I regret what I did to you every single day. I’m so sorry,” Levi continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We were just young and foolish, naive high school sweethearts. I was a complete fool for letting my shit affect you.”

As he clutched the ring in his palm, his hands trembled with anger at himself. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and it was clear that the memories of hurt lingered painfully in his mind. “I never found someone else, nor did I ever get married. I blame myself for what happened between us every day, and I truly hate myself for it.”

His deep sigh seemed to echo through the room as he spoke your name softly, sending warmth through you, breaking down the walls that had built up over the years. “I know we’re just exes, and I have my doubts about whether there's any hope for us, but I can feel that you still resent me.”

Unable to bear the sight of his pained expression, you walked up to him and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks—a surprising gesture that caused his gaze to widen in astonishment. You cupped his face in your hands, and for a fleeting moment, he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as he let out a shaky sigh. To your surprise, he pressed a soft kiss to your palm, the very spot where your ring once rested.

Oh, how he truly missed you.

The warmth spread through you, and you couldn’t help but blush again as you smiled back at him. “I don’t resent you, Levi. I’ve loved you this entire time. I’ve never married or found anyone else. You were my first boyfriend, and no one else holds my heart like you do.”

As Levi opened his eyes, tears began to flow, and you saw a vulnerability in him that was rarely displayed. The stoic man you had known and admired was laid bare before you, Levi is weak and vulnerable only to you.

Only to you.

Just as you both leaned in closer to share a kiss, the door swung open, and Kuchel walked in unexpectedly. You and Levi sprang apart, faking coughs to mask the palpable tension between you.

“Levi! Your relatives are here!” she called out cheerfully. “Come on, both of you! I want you in the living room right away!”

With a light giggle, she exited, clearly oblivious to the moment that had just transpired. You and Levi exchanged a sigh of relief, your eyes locexistsfor a brief moment filled with unspoken promises. Instared shared glance, the love between you felt rekindled, kindledg at the relationship renewed.