#armour? I hardly know her!

[everwalldigan]

Jason: I fight crime the way god intended, with a t-shirt jeans and a dream

Dick: shut the fuck up jason you’re literally more pain killers than human right now, you’re literally so riddled with bullet holes you’d make a sieve jealous.

[miryum]

Don't Pity Me, My Princess (Azriel x Reader)

With Azriel as your personal knight, it's getting harder and harder for both of you to ignore your feelings.

Warnings: whole lotta angst. Talk of children and childbirth because royalty need heirs, you know? Az doesn’t have his shadows (even though it was so hard to write him without them) but is still called Shadowsinger. Azriel's mother was abused and there's like, one sentence about it

Word Count: 5k

Azriel had lived at the palace since he was a young boy. His mother had knocked on the servant’s quarters one dark night, begging for someone to take her son. She could handle an abusive husband, but she couldn’t bear her baby boy to suffer the same fate as she did. An old maid took pity on the new mother and agreed to house, clothe, and educate the child. Just before the new mother left, she kissed Azriel’s cheek and whispered his name. “You’ll do good things, my dear. I am so sorry.”

Coincidentally, a couple months later, the Queen gave birth to an infant girl. Princess Y/n was heralded with parades and celebrations, the new heir apparent. Meanwhile, in the servant’s quarters, a baby with a thick head of black hair and small little wings was just learning how to lift his head, staring up at the maids and butlers who saved his life.

Azriel grew up preparing for the life of a knight. He remembered growing up watching the knights train as he played with his own wooden sword. He remembered beating his still-developing wings to try and see over the wooden barrier of the jousting arena. He remembered when the knights first caught sight of him, trying to hack away at a dummy. They teased him at first, but then, just like his entire life, they took pity on him. The next week, Azriel began training as a squire.

It was a long time before he earned his leathers and then his siphons, but the Shadowsinger became a name that was both respected and feared throughout the kingdom. The King sent him on missions all over the continent and Azriel always returned successful. He would fight in the jousts and consistently win. He had maidens and ladies swooning over him, but they weren’t who he yearned for.

That’s why he volunteered, almost a bit too hastily, when the King asked for extra protection over his daughter, Princess Y/n. 

Azriel’s mind was filled with you, almost every moment of every day. It couldn’t be healthy, that he was aware of, but having grown up next to you, even if from the shadows, he had forged a deep connection to you.

When he was young, he had hardly noticed the little princess completing her studies. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw her in the halls or at the training ring — which is where he most frequented. But one day, a year or two after he had turned a teen, Azriel had fought in his first joust. In any joust, it was customary for a knight to be sponsored by a lady of the court. A lady usually had a favourite knight she regularly sponsored, so Azriel’s stomach was in a pit when it was time to trot by for potential sponsorship. Who would ever cheer for the newest, youngest knight? Azriel sure could beat a village boy in combat, but he was still the smallest and scrawniest of all of the palace’s knights — if you could even call him that. He could recall his anxiety as if it was yesterday. The way the crowd was cheering, the way his horse’s hooves kicked up dirt underneath, and the way he began to sweat as he tried to sit straight. 

And then, as he passed the royal box, you stood. Azriel almost kept his horse trotting by, sure it was a mistake, but when he saw you extract your blue handkerchief, he pulled on the reins. By some fortuity or fortune, your handkerchief was the same colour as his siphon. He had just earned his first one the week prior. Through his metal visor, he stared, wide-eyed, as you reached down and tucked your handkerchief into the folds of his armour. The rest of the court was watching too, but Azriel didn’t see them. He could only focus on the way his heart sped up when you whispered, “good luck.” 

You were an utter vision. Azriel was sure that you had chosen him to be your champion because of the closeness in your ages, but your support, even if it was just a piece of cloth you had embroidered, meant the world. He hadn’t won his first joust, or his second, but you kept sponsoring him. Azriel became accustomed to stopping under the royal box and bowing to you before heading to his starting position. Sometimes, especially if it was an important event, you would have a new handkerchief for him, or even some whispered encouragement, but Azriel didn’t need those things as long as he could keep making eye contact with you. And then he started winning. He could still hear your excited screams as his javelin hit his opponent straight on, which gained Azriel the championship. It wasn’t unusual for members of the court to get invested in the jousting, but others found it humorous that you were jumping from your seat to see better. However, you were only a teenager, and they knew you would soon be able to control your emotions. 

You had not-so-patiently waited for Azriel to bring his horse back around to the royal box after doing a lap of the stadium. People had thrown flowers and kisses and Azriel had shed his helmet, his cheeks hot from both the exertion and attention. When he saw you, he bowed deeply and handed a flower that someone had thrown to him. It was a small red rose. Your gloved fingers brushed his as you took the flower. His black hair hung over his face as he ducked his head. You made a mental note to have the barber stop by the barracks. “My Princess,” he muttered, head still bowed. “Thank you for choosing me as your champion, all those months ago.”

“Well, Sir Azriel, it certainly paid off, didn’t it?” you replied, smiling down at him. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” You nodded to one of your handkerchiefs that was tucked in the chink of his armour, right above his breast. 

That was the past. And now, Azriel had the glorious opportunity to stand in front of the King and Queen, multiple siphons displayed proudly as he suggested his own name for the position of your bodyguard. Your childhood knight was retiring, something everyone thought was best as his wit, speed, and strength declined. That opened up the position. The King and Queen had called for the Shadowsinger’s opinion and he gave it, however biased he was with his feelings. “Your Majesties, I believe that the best thing for this kingdom and your daughter would be if I offered my services.” 

“And why is that, Shadowsinger? Wouldn’t you rather be sent on missions and participate in protecting our kingdom?”

“With all due respect, my King, the princess is the face of the kingdom,” Azriel said, a knee pressing against the floor of the throne room. It hurt, yes, but he could handle it if it meant sparing you the pain. “The people love her, but that also means many hate her. There are too many dangers, especially with other kingdoms threatening to encroach on our borders. I would be able to protect the princess, and you and the Queen, more efficiently if I was her personal guard.”

The two monarchs exchanged a look before the Queen nodded. “Very well, then. You’ll assume the position effective immediately. You shall accompany Princess Y/n to events and daily excursions. You’ll be briefed more extensively later this week.”

Azriel nodded and stood. He thanked the King and Queen and hurried out, trying to conceal his budding smile.

“Do you remember all the signals?” you called from your dressing room. 

Azriel was standing outside, content to just listen to your voice, but he replied, “yes, my princess.”

“And you’re wearing your dress uniform?”

“Yes, my princess.”

“Are all the other guards as well?”

“Yes, my princess.”

The door then opened and you peeked out. “And are you sick of me asking you senseless questions?” you asked, an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Never, my princess,” Azriel answered softly, eyes holding yours. “Are you almost ready?”

You ducked back into your dressing room, voice floating out again. “Almost. I believe we just need some more hairpins, yes?” Your maid responded in an affirmative and a couple minutes later, the door opened once more. There you stood in a cobalt gown that cascaded down to the floor, hair all done up, and jewellery proudly displayed on your knuckles and upon your collarbone. It didn’t escape Azriel that your dress was the same colour as his siphons.

Azriel had spent years serving under the King and Queen, honing his emotions to be the stoic force he needed to be. But, with you in front of him, he found his resolve cracking. His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Do I look that horrible, sir?” you teased.

The guard immediately shook his head. “No, my princess. Quite the opposite, in fact. You…” his jaw tensed. “Those princes and dukes will be tripping over their feet.”

As much as Azriel would love to pretend that you were his and he would be the only one accompanying you tonight, he knew that this ball was for a very specific reason, and one he did not like. Your parents needed you wed, and it couldn’t be to him.

Nobility and court members alike knew to avoid Azriel when he was watching you. You were on your fifth dance with the fifth man and Azriel made sure to walk around the dance floor as you moved, always being as close as possible.

The moment Azriel had known he was to be your new personal knight, he had created a series of hand signals for you to use covertly. He was always on the lookout for your well-being and thankfully, there had only been a few times when you had needed to use the hand signals.

Months prior, your parents had held an anniversary ball for their marriage. You were a bit younger, more naive, and Azriel had only been your personal knight for just under a year. He had loved every moment of it, but he couldn’t help but feel a budding sense of anticipatory fear as he saw you twirl around the dance floor carelessly. You had one of your younger cousins in your arms and was spinning them around to their delight. While Azriel wanted to imagine a smaller child in the stead of your cousin, perhaps one with dark hair and your eyes and little wings that replicated his own, he was more focused on the older man that was watching you.

A measly Count from further South, the man looked twice your age and three times as intoxicated. He stayed on the outskirts of the celebration, but the Shadowsinger was not one to miss something.

When the Count approached you after your dance with your cousin, Azriel didn’t intervene. He couldn’t act only on a suspicion that the Count was malicious. And he wouldn’t act without your express approval.

But then he saw you twist the ring on your pointer finger.

When Azriel had first become your bodyguard, you were unsure if you could remember all the signals he had wanted you to memorise. A deeper fear, admittedly, was that he wouldn’t be watching and then unintentionally leave you to your own devices. Azriel was determined, however, to never waive your trust. He immediately came marching in, whispering something meaningless into your ear under the guise of matters only you, the princess, could attend to, and swept you away. A dirty look was thrown to the Count and Azriel made sure never to let you near him again. In fact, the Count was barred from any and all future events.

Meanwhile, you had finished your dance with the nameless suitor and Azriel already had an arm stretched out for you. You took it gratefully, needing a respite from all the men giving you unabashed stares. “I really do hate this,” you said to him as he guided you away. “I don’t see why they’re even letting me choose my husband if he will be from this very specific pool of men. At this point, it would be easier to simply betroth me to whomever they see fit.”

“You know my feelings on that, my princess,” Azriel replied. “And I’m sure your parents feel the same. They wish for you to have some sort of semblance of choice and happiness.” Even if it is not with me, the man who would worship you.

You sighed and looked down at your feet. “I know, good sir. But it’s tiring, as I’m sure you can realise. I’d much rather be in my room, engaging in the arts or taking a nap.”

Azriel couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh, one that drew your lips up into a brilliant smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you would.” He paused and then looked down at you. You looked so perfect on his arm and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep you there. “Here’s a proposition: if you survive the rest of this evening, I will dance with you.”

Your eyes immediately light up and Azriel swore the stars themselves burned brighter, pledging their allegiance to you. God, you were like ambrosia in his veins and how he wished for it to keep flowing. “Really?” you gasped. Azriel had been very conservative in his dances, even though, unbeknownst to you, he would dance on forever if you asked. But whenever he held you in his arms, it was too intoxicating. Too dangerous. He was still the Shadowsinger, even if he was sworn to protect you. The hands he held you with had been the notorious cause for so much pain. The thought of telling you about his past missions… It scared him more than imaginable. Those memories were ones best kept locked away within the shadows. He didn’t want you to think of the people he’s hurt – of the suffering he had caused – when you looked at him.

So all he did was nod back, smiling the soft look only you could bring out.

The night slowly wore on, the candles flickering over the walls, bidding the departing guests farewell. And still you stayed. Even as the moonlight rose above the windows and the maids and butlers slowly began cleaning up, you stayed. Only the musicians remained as Azriel led you to the middle of the floor. There was an unspoken trust between you and the musicians, knowing they wouldn’t tell your parents (who had already gone to bed) about your singular, last dance with your knight.

Easily, you placed your hand on his shoulder and Azriel’s palm flexed on the small of your back. The way your dress swished softly was a small distraction from the thoughts swirling in Azriel’s mind. He drew your joined hands closer to his chest as he thought back to how you danced with those other men. As if you knew he needed comfort, you stepped closer to Azriel, resting your head on his chest and eyes closing with exhaustion. His arms automatically wrapped around you, holding you tightly – almost protectively – as he let his cheek rest on your hair. His eyes softened and he murmured, “tired, my princess?” 

“Over a multitude of things,” you replied. 

Azriel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “A multitude of things?”

“I almost wish I didn’t have to marry,” you admitted. “It’s not as easy as it seems in the stories. I need to take alliances into consideration and the happiness of my people. Along with wealth, resources, and good blood. My feelings hardly add into the equation, even though I want them too.” You then shook your head and changed the subject, a teasing smile on your lips. “Has anyone complimented your wings before?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“No,” he responded, a bit hoarsely. “No one has.”

You hummed and shook your head. “They should.” Your eyes trailed down to your intertwined hands before giving his palm a small squeeze. His burn scars marred his skin, contractures stretching over his hands and arms and small keloids by his wrists and creeping up to his elbows. Azriel winced slightly at the pressure of your hand on his scarred skin, memories of the pain flooding back. He tried to hide it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. You instantly lifted your hand slightly to give him reprieve. Azriel wished for the contact back, but he knew he was the one to blame for the lack of touch. He was the one to make you flinch away.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, trying to bring the conversation back to his wings. "You’re the first.”

“I’m privileged then,” you murmured as he spun as the music lilted. “Though it truly is a pity.”

As you spun around, Azriel's wings extended instinctively, the iridescent membranes catching the moonlight. He held you close, ensuring your balance, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to revel in the beauty of his own wings. They were a part of him, and something he couldn’t imagine living without. He watched you longingly as you twirled in his arms. His eyes followed the movement of your gown as you twirl. When he had you pressed close to him once again, he replied quietly, “is it really a pity, my princess?”

“They should’ve been complimented — all of you should’ve been complimented a thousand times before now,” you corrected yourself quickly, thumb sweeping over his hand where yours was placed on top of his. “You don’t see how amazing you are because you hide behind your scars and memories. But you’re the best knight I’ve had.”

The words carved him open deeper than any blade, striking into the insecurities he held. The sincerity in your voice and the gentle touch of your thumb on his hand made something in his chest ache. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. The idea of all of him being complimented, rather than just specific parts or aspects, such as his fighting ability, was a foreign concept. He glanced down at you, eyes filled with sereness. “All of me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough.

You nodded with a caring, hopeful smile on your face. Maybe he would finally see how sensational he was.

Eventually, you came to a stop, standing in the middle of the room. The musicians finished their song and quietly packed up, leaving. Yet, you and Azriel were still in each other’s arms. Azriel continued to hold you, savoring the moment. He relished being able to hold you like this, without anyone else around. 

“Do you truly pity me?” he wondered.

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered out. “I would never be able to pity the man who devoted his life to me. I would never be able to pity the man who devotes himself to me. And I don’t think I have it in me to pity the man whom I truly care for.”

For a brief moment, he stood rigid, unused to such easy affection. Then, his wings unfurled slightly, wrapping around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the world outside. “As I you, my princess,” he allowed himself to say, scared that if anything more were to come from his mouth, it would be a declaration of unwanted love.

“Will you ever call me anything else?” you couldn’t help but tease, looking up at him.

Azriel smiled back down at you, hazel eyes warm with love. “No, my princess.” The night was silent, but Azriel didn’t want to be. His lips parted to tell you something, but when your eyes darted down to them, he found himself asking, “have I yet praised your dress?”

“You have,” you laughed. “But it’s kind of you to do it again. I wanted to match you, you know?” You reached down and pulled your dress to the side to reveal a glittering sheen of fabric under the thick cobalt fabric.

Azriel’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Beautiful, princess,” he admired sincerely once again. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” He repeated the words you had said to him all those years ago.

“I’ll always wear your colours,” you replied. “You’re my knight, after all. Ever since I was young.” Your hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck, thumb brushing against his skin and along the hair by the nape of his neck.

The Shadowsinger couldn’t contain his shiver. “Must you, my princess?” he breathed out, voice rough.

“Must I what?”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut and his head dipped down, nose brushing against your forehead. “Must you marry some duke or prince?”

It took you a while to respond and Azriel’s heart only beat faster each second that passed. “No,” you admitted quietly. “But my parents would like it. They won’t have me marry a commoner, but… I could very well marry a knight.”

“Princess…” Every part of his soul seems to be reaching out, grasping for you. His grip tightened slightly, holding you against him as if he feared you would be ripped. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your waist. There was a vulnerability in his eyes – a desperate need for confirmation that the words you said were real. “Do not give me hope if you plan on tearing it away. It is too cruel of you.”

“So it’s true,” you muttered. “You have feelings for me?”

“I am not brave like you,” he instead said. “I’ve been your loyal knight for years, my princess. But I couldn’t bear to make myself a liability to your heart. I couldn’t do that to you. I care what others think of me, as much as I hate it. They cannot pity me, I cannot have it so.”

You shook your head sadly. “Sir, they do not feel sorry for you. No one does, especially not me. You’ve protected me for so long, you’ve more than earned your place here by my side. This isn’t some fanciful notion born of youthful indiscretion. You and I both know that. This is a mature, considered love that, hopefully, you feel too.” Your voice cracked as you continued and tears shone in your eyes. Oh, how Azriel hated to be the one to cause you such pain. “My love for you, as you are, flaws and all, is why I adore you so deeply.”

The man couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What did one say when the love of their life confessed feelings?

You couldn’t see the way he gazed down at you, almost lovingly. You stubbornly kept your cheek on his chest, trying to minimise the way your cheeks heated up. Why wasn’t he saying anything? But you were already so far in, so you couldn’t help but whisper, “you would do most anything for me, correct, good sir?”

“Within a heartbeat.”

“Do you mind if I demand something from you?” you asked.

Azriel chuckled softly at your question, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. He tilted his head curiously as his fingers traced small circles on your lower back. “What did you have in mind, my princess?” he asked, his voice low. “I'm curious now... What could possibly entice you enough to make a deal with the devil himself?” 

“Oh, the devil himself?” you repeated, shaking your head as you laughed softly. Somehow, he always managed to make you feel better, no matter the embarrassment that coursed through you. “Is that what you truly think of yourself?” You smiled up at him, not answering his question as you tried to find the courage to do so. Finally, you whispered out, “a kiss.”

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at your whispered confession. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, hardly believing what he heard. He could feel his heart skip a beat, like a leaf in the wind. You looked so small in his strong arms, so hopeful. “Is that all you would ask for?” he finally managed to ask. His wings twitched a bit.

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. That’s what I would demand.”

He stared down at you, taking in every detail of your face - the slight parting of your lips, the wide-eyed gaze, the flush creeping up your neck. He could feel the tension between you, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. His hand slid up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. Gently, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Just a kiss,” he repeated, his voice a low rasp. “Nothing more?” 

“Ignorant knight,” you whispered out once, laughing.

“Is that still what you want?” he asked again desperately. His heart hammered in his chest so hard it made him dizzy. His eyes traced over your face over and over again. 

“Oh, Shadowsinger,” you muttered, shaking your head in amusement. You reached up and cupped his face in your palms. “Why won’t you kiss me?” You reached up on your tiptoes before slowly connecting your lips. 

Azriel had been struck by lightning. Every nerve ending in his body came alive, sending sparks of pleasure through him. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Then, with a low groan, he melted into the kiss. His hand came to cup your face tenderly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. He poured all his pent-up longing and affection into it, trying to convey without words just how much you mean to him.

From the sheer intensity of it, your knees weakened under you, but Azriel quickly wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you securely against his chest. You tilted your head and it felt like a dream. But he didn’t need to wake up because you were real. You were there, loving him fully and kissing him sweetly.

Azriel laid in bed, body and wings curled around the smaller form. His eyes blinked slowly, gazing down reverently at the infant. The baby had small wings that were almost exact to Azriel’s own. They had made the birth difficult and Azriel had been about ready to break down the door when he heard your screams. He hadn’t been allowed in the room, even though you had begged for him. Your cries had brought him to his knees and replaced the nightmares about his past missions with ones of your sobs.

Nevertheless, you had accomplished the horrible feat and Azriel had rushed into the room. He had first checked up on you, hands and anxieties flying about, kisses being placed on the skin that he could reach. Then he saw his little son, whom he now held in his arms. 

You had recuperated over the months, but it never got old to Azriel to hold his child. It never got old to hold you either. The moment he had gotten his child in his arms, so unbelievably worried about doing harm to him as he had done harm to so many others in his past, Azriel had asked for another. 

You had almost thrown him out of the room.

That first night, Azriel had held both you and child close to his bare chest, for the midwives had said that skin-to-skin contact was best. For the next few weeks, Azriel hardly put on a shirt (which you didn’t complain about), so it got normal to see the ex-knight pressing his son against his chest as he walked around the castle, as if giving the newborn a tour. The baby’s head fit perfectly in Azriel’s palm and more often than not, he would look up at his father with wide eyes that were so much like his mother’s, reaching out to grab at Azriel’s chin or wings.

The Shadowsinger had yet to be thrust into the life of King, for your parents hadn’t passed on, but for that he was grateful. It gave him more time to spend with his wife and child.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Azriel looked up to see you entering your shared bedroom. A smile instantly broke out on his face. “There’s my wife,” he murmured, reaching out with his hand that was adorned by the perfect ring. Its twin sat on your own finger. “My princess.” The words had such a sweeter connotation now.

“Husband,” you replied, having yet to get used to that word. You took his hand, and with a smile of your own, crawled into bed next to your son. “How are my two favorite Shadowsingers doing?”

“Oh, he shall not need that title,” Azriel hummed. “It’s much too dangerous for our little boy.”

“And what would you rather propose?”

Azriel gazed down at the small child, a hand ghosting over the boy’s thick patch of dark hair. “That’s for him to decide,” he finally said. “He will be able to make his own name and title and we will love him whichever path he chooses.”

After some blissful moments passed, you allowed some words to tumble from your mouth. “Are you happy, my love?”

“Of course.” He looked up at you, concerned eyes snapping away from the babe. “Why do you ask? Do you doubt my love for you?”

You shook your head, smiling. Your voice was quiet, worried about stepping over a line. But if almost two years of marriage had taught you anything about Azriel, it was that he never held secrets from you. “No, never. I just remember how, before we were wed, you were certain that everybody pitied you. I was wondering, do you still think they do?” 

“No,” your husband replied, eyes soft as he looked over at you. “Why would they? My entire world is here with me now. I hardly need anything else.”

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ACOTAR fic so I hope I did Azriel justice. 😊 I wanna thank @pellucid-constellations for writing amazing Azriel fics and getting me into ACOTAR in the first place and just being amazing. (Also @illyrianbitch for posting today and giving me the excitement to post for Az) 😁

[dracowars]

knight in shining armour | elrond

pairing: elrond x elf!reader

word count: 5,5k

summary: where elrond and y/n have to make fatal decisions in war

a/n: i'm having so much fun with writing in this universe i haven't had in a long time (with writing in general) and i think that's beautiful <3 season 2 elrond really did it for me, so i hope you enjoy this flangsty fic. don't forget to reblog and give feedback, it means the world to me ♡

warnings: angst, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, miscommunication (kind of), elrond kisses galadriel

universe: the rings of power

You hold your breath once you step into the dimly lit tent, teeming with orcs and their smells. Carefully, you place one foot in front of the other, never taking your eyes off the enemy who is currently watching three elves enter its territory. Amidst all these orcs and darkness, you couldn't stand out less in your polished white armour.

You follow Vorohil who is walking directly behind Elrond, and quickly spot the Father of the Orcs sitting on a makeshift chair that almost resembles a throne. Your gaze doesn't linger on him for long, however, because something or someone else catches your eye. Galadriel is standing right behind him, tied up and leaning against a post. Her eyes widen when your gaze meets and everything in her face screams for you to not be here, to turn around and leave again immediately. But you are here to help her, to free her from the clutches of the enemy, from the claws of evil. And you won't leave without her.

One of the orcs tells Elrond to sit opposite Adar, and he does as he is told with so much confidence you hardly recognize the sweet, curious boy behind the mask. Vorohil positions himself to his left, you stand on his right, ready to step in at any time should something go amiss.

You are more than aware of your situation: right in the mouth of the enemy whose teeth could pierce your flesh any moment, with absolutely no escape. Should this turn out to be a trap and part of Adar's plan, you have stepped right into it. Yet, Elrond insisted on not bringing a weapon of his own. You, on the other hand, have hidden daggers all around your body that you could pull out in the blink of an eye if the situation arises.

Even though all eyes are on Elrond, you still feel uncomfortable. You have never been this close to orcs before without fighting them at the same time.

"The ring you carry. Show it to me", Adar opens the conversation, and you inevitably flinch. Of course he shows interest in the ring. Like all of Middle-earth, it may seem.

"A foolish act if I had brought it here", Elrond answers in a firm voice and appears calm and collected, stoic almost, one arm draped over the armrest.

Adar's expression tells you that he is less than satisfied with this answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that the ring is closer to him than he thinks possible.

Its metal presses cold against the skin between your collarbones, your heart thumping loudly at the mention of it and your mind drifts back to the moment when it was handed to you.

'You shall have it', Elrond tells you, wearing that gentle smile on his lips that always adorns his features when he's around you, that makes your heart beat faster every single time. He places Nenya in your palm and when the light reflects in its beauty, you gasp. This small ring, inconspicuous at first glance but incredibly beautiful, contains a power you can't and don't even want to imagine.

'No, Elrond. I can't', you whisper, afraid that your voice might break. He now clasps your hand with both of his and gently closes your fingers around the piece of jewelry.

'My love. I wouldn't trust anyone else to keep it safe', he tells you with so much confidence and affection in his voice that you can't help but believe his words. The way he stands in front of you, his brown locks falling into his face, his eyes clear and bright, and holds your hand tightly leaves no room for further discussion. He trusts you with this power and you won't fail him.

'You can consider yourself a ring bearer now', he smiles, gently guiding your fist to his mouth to place a light kiss on top of it, his other hand cupping your cheek while doing so. His eyes linger on your lips for a second too long, but before you can say anything, he is summoned to the High King.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him. You can save Galadriel", Adars voice brings you back to the present. The circumstances you find yourself in make it hard to believe his words. He won't let Galadriel go willingly and Elrond will never give him the ring voluntarily. Since it is in your possession, you don't plan on handing it over either. No matter how much more danger that puts you in.

"It is an earnest offer. I suggest you take it", Adar continues, staring solely at Elrond from across the table, and stands up from his seat. "And leave Sauron to me."

The mention of this name sends a shiver down your spine. A name that describes pure evil. It is obvious from the way Adar says his name that he feels as much hatred towards him as the elves and all other inhabitants of Middle-earth. It makes you a little suspicious, after all, Adar was once a loyal servant of Sauron.

Once more, your gaze slides over to Galadriel when Adar walks around the table. One of the orcs holds his sharp weapon against her throat, a sign to not even think of making a wrong move. It is known that Galadriel was deceived by Sauron, or Halbrand as she used to call him, which is why her face reacts to his name, too.

She whispers something and you try to read her lips, but you don't get a chance when Adar suddenly stands right in front of you, blocking your view. Although he is still talking to Elrond, his full attention is now solely on you.

"You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you, my forces outfight yours, and you will fall", Adar spits out, searching your face for any signs of fear, but you hold your ground and present him with your best death stare in return. But inside of you, it looks much different. Chaos rages within your mind and veins, your heart is beating so fast that it's pounding in your ears and Nenya is pressing painfully against your skin. You send a prayer to the Valar that Adar won't suspect anything, that he can't see behind the mask you've put on. Because you don't know how much longer you can keep it up, especially not under his relentless gaze.

Adar takes another step towards you and you can now feel his breath on your skin. Since he knows that you cannot resist him at the moment, he uses this to his advantage. His eyes search your face, but you cannot say what exactly they are looking for. Whatever it is, he doesn't find it.

"You will fall and all your little elves with you", he says in a calm voice, but his words are filled with hatred. At this, Elrond suddenly raises from his seat as well and positions his body between the two of you, enabling you to finally breathe again, your heartbeat slowing with relief.

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin", Elrond tells him, briefly looking over to the orc whose blade is still at Galadriel's throat. His hand behind his back indicates that you should remain calm. Some of the orcs around you growl.

"My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar?", Elrond confronts him, his words sounding accusatory. "Are they?"

Peaking over Elrond's shoulders, you see a clear shift in Adar's face, in his eyes. Apparently Elrond has struck a nerve with his words, the orcs becoming more and more restless as well.

"The ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?", Adar once again presents him with the tough decision, to choose, to pick one and let the other down. Before answering, Elrond closely walks past Adar, drawing his attention away from you and what it is he desires most. From your position, you only see Elrond adjusting his cloak before he casts another glance at Galadriel. Their eye contact lasts almost a moment too long before he then returns his attention to her captor.

"Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours", Elrond tells him, his deep voice making it sound like a threat. The orcs around you begin to seethe and snarl again and all of a sudden you are very aware of the dagger strapped to your shin, hidden beneath the leather of your boots.

"Very well. I will meet you there", Adar replies, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement after he gave him a once-over. And for a moment you think he actually agrees, that this decision can be made without shedding any blood, no matter red or black. That is until he finishes his sentence.

"With her head on a pike."

You want to step in, to say something, anything to help get Galadriel and the ring out of here, but you don't even know what. And you don't want to risk putting Elrond in danger by acting rashly. That is why silence ensues for a moment while Adar and Elrond just stare each other down challengingly, neither of them backing down or even thinking about giving in.

"If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell", Elrond finally answers him, causing a gasp to escape your lips as you unintentionally take a step forward. But Vorohil stops you by putting his arm out in front of you, preventing you from doing something you might regret later.

You can't believe what you're hearing, what just left Elrond's mouth. Galadriel, on the other hand, seems just about pleased with this decision, because it means that no one will be harmed because of her. At least no one who is currently present in this tent.

To your surprise, Adar grants him this favour and lets him talk to Galadriel one last time. All eyes are on them, but you can't hear what they say to each other; their voices too quiet. You watch in disbelief, however, as Elrond softly touches her face and suddenly leans in to her, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss.

All of a sudden, you find it difficult to breathe. You distinctly feel your heart breaking in two. The tent feels too small, too cramped, and tears well up in your eyes. No longer able to bear the sight, you lower your gaze, clenching your hands into fists at your sides. Although no one should be looking in your direction at this moment, it does not go unnoticed by Adar. He notices the pain in your eyes and in your entire life you have never felt so at the mercy of the enemy as you do right now.

You thought there was something between you and Elrond, a mutual, deep understanding that connected you. When by his side, you felt safe and loved. Until now you thought he returned that feeling and that there could be something more between the two of you, one day.

Apparently you were wrong.

It may have only been a few seconds, but for you it feels like several agonizing minutes before Elrond and Galadriel separate again. As soon as Elrond turns away from her, your eyes meet and a sharp pain ripples through your body, as if someone had stabbed you directly in the chest. Elrond's eyes are sad, suffering almost, and he looks at you with so much pity that you wish to disappear into thin air.

Elrond blinks a few times before making his way straight out of the tent.

"Vorohil. Y/N", he calls out your names, a silent command to follow him. Your gaze meets Adar's again who is watching you with his head tilted as you leave the tent together. You entered it as one, as a unit, but you leave it shattered.

You follow them out, the sun blinding you, but due to the tears you are still trying to hold back you couldn't see much from the beginning anyway. The orcs swarming around you aren't at all helping with the chaos that are your emotions.

You fall behind the two men. As if you were in a tunnel, you hear Vorohil bombarding Elrond with all sorts of questions in the distance. Questions whose answers are no longer important to you.

When they stop in front of you, you almost crash into them, too busy with all the thoughts swirling around in your head.

Was it all just a lie, a plot? Was he just using you to protect the ring? To have someone to sacrifice?

Your common sense tells you that this simply cannot be true, that Elrond has not been leading you astray and that what you feel for him is reciprocated inside of his heart. But your broken heart painfully beats in your chest and tells you something completely different.

You watch as Elrond mounts his horse and gives Vorohil an order, but the words do not reach your ears. You only see him in front of you, a knight in shining white armour, the sight of whom used to give you so much joy, made your heart beat faster and your cheeks blush. In the tent, you were willing to take a blade for him until the very end, but everything is different now.

Elrond's gaze wanders from Vorohil to you and all the sadness from before has disappeared from his face, replaced by a neutral expression. The expression of a warrior on his way into battle.

"Meantime, I will ensure that Eregion's walls hold for one more night", you finally register his words as he looks straight at you. Without another word, he puts on his helmet and rides away. An unspoken order hangs in the air and you swing yourself onto your own horse. After all, he is still your commander, whom you will always follow into battle, come what may.

════════════

Your legs are shaking, your hands sticky, covered in blood and mud. Your movements are shaped by exhaustion. Nevertheless, your blade sinks into the flesh of another orc who falls to the ground with a gurgling sound. With all your strength, you pull out your sword and stumble back a few steps, your gaze wandering over the battlefield in front of you.

Corpses over corpses scatter the ground. Some brave warriors are still fighting against the few remaining orcs, but there is no way out. You have lost, Eregion has fallen. You are shocked to realize that you have lost so many elves today, friends and strangers alike.

This realization hits you with so much force out of nowhere and you collapse to the ground, onto your knees, and let out a scream filled with pain and sorrow and all of your remaining strength. You fought, side by side, and in the end it was all for nothing. The forces of Adar have taken you by surprise and no one was prepared for the chaos that would ensue. Now you find yourself in the mud, surrounded by the dead, the last sounds of battle wafting towards you, and you feel utterly and completely alone.

You lost sight of Elrond since the troll's attack and Arondir is nowhere to be found either. Just thinking of Elrond gives your wounded heart another stab that cannot be compared to any wound inflicted in battle. Ever.

A tear finally finds its way down your cheek, but you are quick to wipe it away with your dirty hand. You can't show weakness, not even now when you feel incredibly overwhelmed. You don't even know if Elrond is still alive, and you scold yourself for still worrying about the man who took your feelings for granted.

But of course you do, you love him.

You don't know if it's the ring still around your neck or your instinct, but something tells you to look toward the fallen walls of Eregion, to get one last look at the once beautiful city. And there you see him.

Elrond.

Kneeling.

In front of Adar.

Without hesitating for even a split second, you gather all your strength and stand up. You approach them quickly and watch as Elrond attacks Adar with his dagger, but Adar parries his attack by violently grabbing his arm. With a whimper, Elrond drops his weapon. You stand still as Adar's hand closes around Elrond's throat and lifts him above the ground, choking him. The sounds that escape from Elrond's mouth will haunt you in your dreams.

"Where is it?!", Adar shouts at him, losing his composure. Elrond's hands claw at his, trying to somehow prie them away, but to no avail. The battle has left Elrond weakened. Adar, on the other hand, seems to have gained more strength from it. At that moment, Elrond spots you, and even though you only look at each other for a second, Adar immediately notices Elrond's shift of attention. He turns his head in your direction, and if you didn't know better, you'd think surprise flashes across his face. Apparently he didn't expect to ever see you again.

"Let him go", you command, your voice trembling and your sword pointing at him.

"Or what?", Adar asks spitefully, raising an eyebrow. Not knowing how to answer, you look at Elrond again.

"G-Go", he chokes out.

You look at him in shock and immediately shake your head. You would never leave him behind. Adar follows this encounter with interest and with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth when something dawns on him. The next moment, he pushes Elrond to the ground forcefully who desperately gasps for air.

You want to rush to his side immediately, but Adar draws his own sword and pushes the tip directly against Elrond's throat who is still gasping for air and hasn't even managed to sit up.

You freeze when you see blood.

"So that's how it is, I understand", Adar murmurs loudly, seemingly amused by something. Then, he reaches out his open hand towards you, catching you by surprise.

"The ring. Or he's dead."

Your eyes inevitably widen, but you no longer have the strength to put on a mask and hide your true emotions. And in doing so, you put everyone in danger.

"D-Don't listen t-to him", Elrond stutters, his eyes full of terror when he meets your gaze. He is not afraid of dying. He is afraid that the ring will fall into the wrong hands.

You gave him your promise. When you accepted the ring, you simultaneously promised that you would protect it with your life. And you still stand by that.

But right now, this is not about your life.

"Hurry or your sweet commander will soon find it extremely difficult to breathe", Adar threatens and presses his blade even harder into Elrond's skin, making him whimper in pain.

He can't speak anymore because of the life-threatening weapon at his throat, but his tear-filled eyes scream at you not to give in. But how could you not?

You move your lips and form the words 'I'm sorry', but no sound wants to escape your throat, your vocal cords failing terribly.

Lowering your sword dejectedly, you feel for the silver chain around your neck and eventually pull it over your head. Nenya dangles at the end, catching the sunlight that slowly but surely breaks through the clouds. Your hand trembles as you place the ring in Adar's palm, feeling like a failure.

Not just to yourself, but to your entire kind. And above all, to Elrond.

As soon as Adar has the ring in his possession, he removes his sword from Elrond and lets you approach him. You immediately fall to your knees beside him. Elrond gasps for air and coughs repeatedly, his head thrown back in defeat. You support his head with one of your hands, helping him to sit up.

"Forgive me", you sob quietly, but get no answer from him. He watches silently as you are surrounded by orcs who were just waiting to take you as prisoners.

And the whole time you can only think of one thing: You betrayed them all.

════════════

You were about to set out to help her on your commander's orders. But it was already too late. You only saw a white figure falling down the cliffs. Now you're running through the dense forest, searching the ground, looking for a body. Every inch of your own body hurts, the cuts across your face throbbing painfully, but you have to keep going, keep walking just a bit longer, because she could be lying behind the next tree and you would never forgive yourself if you didn't find her.

Taking a break and catching your breath for a second, you lean against a tree, the battle taking a heavy toll on your body and strength. Suddenly you fleetingly notice a white shimmer to your right and run straight towards it, your ribs hurting. You breathe a sigh of relief and, at the same time, shock when you see Galadriel's motionless body on the ground, her arms stretched out at unnatural angles.

Without wasting any time, you rush to her, lifting her head so that you can gently place it on your lap. Loudly, you call out to the others that you have found her.

Her face is covered in soot and blood, her eyes closed. As you look at her like this, you once again realize how truly beautiful she is, even on the treshold to death. Your thoughts make your heart ache deeply, because how could Elrond not take a liking to her?

"They will be here soon", you whisper encouragingly, although you are not even sure she can hear you and your voice sounds anything but heartening. Your gaze lands on a large wound on her shoulder, the source of black streaks that are running across her armour. Carefully, you lift her armour with shaking hands and recoil in shock, as if you burned yourself, when you see a dark mark carved into her skin.

You don't get the chance to think about it any further, however, when Arondir and the High King finally arrive at your side. You let Gil-galad help Galadriel and take a few steps back, giving them enough space. As you do so, a light catches your eye, coming from under a branch. The relief you feel deep inside when you spot Nenya is overwhelming.

The High King tries healing Galadriel with the help of his ring. In Quenya, he orders her to step back into the light and leave the darkness behind her and her soul. With tears in your eyes, you watch as Galadriel takes heaving breaths, her eyes blinking violently, but she doesn't come back. Every passing second, she leaves the light a little more.

When you hear footsteps, running quickly at first and then slowing down abruptly, you don't have to turn around to know that it is Elrond.

"We're losing her", Arondir says and looks around helplessly. You see as much pain in his eyes as is reflected in yours and Elrond’s.

When you look over at Elrond at last, your heart stops beating for a moment. You thought you had already seen him at his lowest, where things couldn't have gotten any worse, completely devastated, but the way he is looking at Galadriel right now convinces you otherwise. The sadness that adorns his battle-torn but still beautiful features brings even more tears to your eyes.

His heart seems broken, crying for Galadriel.

"The darkness is too powerful. I cannot save her", the High King utters in defeat.

Even though it is only for one short moment, you hesitate. You hesitate to give the ring to Elrond, afraid of what might happen then, that your heart will crumble into even more fragile pieces.

"You can", you hear your own voice from afar and give Elrond the ring that you lost earlier. Elrond's eyes suddenly become clearer, brighter as he takes it, feeling it in his palm. But his eyes tell you that he is afraid, too. Afraid that he may not be able to save her. He fears he might lose her.

Gathering all your remaining strength, you force an encouraging smile onto your face, nodding and indicating that he should go to her. Elrond doesn't return your smile, he still looks at you with so much suffering in his eyes, but his facial features are more at ease now as he nods back at you. His way of thanking you.

"We can", he states, to convince himself once again before he puts on the ring.

════════════

You stare at your own reflection, which looks up at you from the quiet water of the river. You dip your fingertips into the water, the waves that result distorting your face. The wounds that covered your face have been cleaned and treated, only slight cuts still visible. There is nothing to do but rest and reflect while everyone waits for Galadriel to awaken.

You are not startled when you suddenly see another reflection, a face above your own, for you have heard him coming.

"Galadriel has awakend", Elrond lets you know and elicits nothing more than a nod from you. "She is up and well."

"I'm glad", you reply and see his brow frowning, his eyes growing sadder in the reflection of his face in the water. Which surprises you in all honesty, because he should be filled with happiness right now. You may have lost the rings for men and many of your elven friends have fallen, but in the end you are alive and safe. Galadriel is safe.

In fact, you admit that you feel relief that she seems to be doing well, but it somehow still hurts just thinking about the kiss they shared.

"May I.. May I have a moment of your time?", Elrond asks you now, after a few seconds of silence, filled only by the chirping of birds and the rustling of the trees around you. This place is truly a sanctuary.

His voice sounds so fragile that you can't help but raise up and turn to him, folding your hands in front of your lower body.

"I bestowed the ring upon you as a token of my faith in you", Elrond explains and you notice from the small wrinkles on his forehead that he is having difficulty finding the right words.

Meanwhile, you just want to leave. You can't listen to him express his disappointment about your actions. After everything that has happened, you're just not strong enough anymore. Your heart is not strong enough.

"I entrusted you with it because I didn't trust myself", he continues, looking into your eyes, but you avert them and focus on the grass on the ground. "Because I knew that, if the situation occurred, I would have acted the same way you did."

A look of surprise crosses your face as you lift your gaze and meet his glistening eyes.

"If the roles had been reversed, I would have given up the ring, too. For your life", Elrond states, his eyes solely focused on yours. "Because when it concerns you, I'm simply too weak. You are my weakness. By giving Nenya to you I thought I could prevent myself from losing it. Instead, I placed the burden upon you."

Your heart beats loudly in your ears, not quite understanding what he is saying.

"But Galadriel-"

"What you saw.. It was a distraction. Galadriel is merely a good friend, whom I love differently", Elrond explains and his voice tells you how sorry he is. "I gave her the pin off my shoulder piece to give her a chance to escape. I couldn't guarantee that it would work, but I took the risk. And I was willing to hurt you by doing so."

He carefully reaches for your hand and you let him take it, continuing to stare at him with glassy eyes as he speaks, your throat dry.

"I am deeply sorry for any pain my actions have inflicted upon you", he apologizes sincerely and lowers his head in regret, some of his brown curls falling into his face. "I couldn't even look at you after that because I could see exactly how badly I had hurt you."

"E-Elrond..", you get out, but you don't even know how to continue or what to say to him. Your emotions are all over the place because you have wanted to hear these words from him for so long, but on the other hand you feel sad because he suffered as well. And if there is one thing you hate more than anything else, it is seeing those you love hurt.

"Another weakness on my part was not telling you about my true feelings earlier. It was unfair since you have always given me nothing but sincerity and affection. My love, I hope you can forgive me and overlook my weaknesses", he says, his voice getting quieter and more humble towards the end, his hand squeezing yours tightly as if you could run away at any moment. What he doesn't know, however, is that with every word he is mending your heart a little bit more.

"I remain hopeful that you will return my love, despite what happened."

He stands before you, probably barely able to stand after days of constant fighting, and pours his heart out to you. He is still in his armour, his face scarred by battle. And you can't help but admire him for it.

Because what he is doing right now is braver than anything he has ever done before.

Without saying a word, you finally pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck tightly, his armour pressing against your chest. At first, Elrond didn't expect such a reaction, which is why it takes him a moment until his muscles relax, the burden falling from his shoulders, and his arms sneak around your waist.

"Sometimes I really hate you, Elrond Peredhel", you say against his neck before pulling away from him, hitting his chest plate once to get your point across. Laughing, he takes a step back and protects himself with his arms in front of his chest. You laugh too, but only for a moment until Elrond's smile disappears again as he looks at you.

"Your beauty is truly captivating", he smiles softly and slowly steps closer so that your bodies almost touch. His hand reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your pointed ear as he looks back and forth between your eyes, his fingertip gently running over your skin from your ear to your chin. His touch leaves a trail of warmth. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth and your gaze wanders to his lips.

The world stands still for a moment, all the events of the last few hours forgotten, banished from your thoughts to enjoy this one moment.

When Elrond's lips gently connect with yours, your patched up heart feels like it's about to jump out of your chest. Elrond's hand on your chin pulls you even closer to him, but he does it in such a gentle way that your cheeks turn red. One of your hands searches for support on his armor because your knees feel like they are about to give in. But you know that Elrond would be there to catch you. Your knight in shining armour.

You never want to stop kissing him. How many times have you dreamed of this moment, imagined what it would be like. All your expectations are being exceeded right now.

When Elrond pulls away from you so you can both catch your breath, he leans his forehead against yours gently. You immediately miss the feeling of his lips on yours.

"My love", Elrond whispers against your skin, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His cheeks took on a shade of red after the kiss and you are certain that his heart is beating against his armour just as fast as yours. Gently, you cup his heated cheek and run your finger over his skin, being careful not to touch any of his wounds. Then you can't stand it any longer, pull him even closer to you and kiss him again, which elicits a surprised gasp from him. Both of you smile into the kiss as he leans in even more.

If it were up to you, this moment would last forever - just you and Elrond and your love for each other. But you know that this is just wishful thinking, that you have tasks to complete, duties to fulfill. After this moment, the world will continue spinning, wars and battles will be fought, history will be written, but now you know that whatever happens, Elrond is by your side. For eternity.

[bippot]

Tomorrow's Tomorrow

Story Summary -> Before and after a mission, sober or drunken, Bob wants to spend his time with just one gal. Their friends are also rather amused by his obvious crush on her and like to document their interactions.

Tags -> Friends to Lovers, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff

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"How's it going, cowboy?"

That was the greeting Bob craved every day. He felt like he needed it. If he was having the worst day of his life, he could hear that, and everything would seem brighter. And the smile she gave him? He felt like the luckiest guy on the face of Earth.

Boomerang was perfect for Bob. All of her was made for him in his mind. It was as if she was put on the globe to redden his cheeks and make his heart beat faster whenever he came within her sight.

Phoenix was the only one who picked up on the crush he had on Y/N. It was the way his spectacled gaze would linger on her for a moment too long. Or how he'd look down and smile to himself if she ever was nice to him. Or there was that one time he had just removed his helmet and his hair was all over and Y/N reached out to brush it back in place. Boy, did Bob fall silent and take the biggest gulp Nat had ever seen.

"So...Y/N, huh?" Natasha said, her voice teasing as she barged into Bob's room that he shared with Fanboy and got comfortable on his bed. When he didn't answer, she took the tip of her shoe and lightly nudged him in the bicep.

"Ew, don't touch me with that!" he whined, pushing her foot away. He had to do it several times since she kept swerving and jabbing him in different areas in an effort to get him to spill the beans. Eventually, he managed to catch her ankle and stop her from physically assaulting him. "Seriously, think about how much dirt is on the bottom of your shoe. Gross, Nat."

Natasha smirked as she watched him squirm. She found his discomfort very entertaining, and it got even more fun to watch as she taunted, "Fine, fine. It's been great catching up with you, Floyd, but I've got some hot gossip that I think Y/N, you know her - my roommate - would love to hear."

"You wouldn't!?!"

"Ah! I knew it!"

Shit. He let his head slump in defeat. As usual, Phoenix was right. Bob groaned, dragging his hand down his face as he accepted the fact that Nat would be watching his interactions with Y/N with eagle eyes and a knowing glint in them from now on. That was going to be annoying and soooo good for his confidence.

And that's how life went for a while - Bob desperately trying to seem cool and dateable to Boomerang whilst under the analytical watch of Phoenix, who was trying her best to be supportive, yet it often bordered on overbearing. He'd hardly made any 'progress', mostly because he was barely trying. It would be best if he ignored it. His crush would go away then, right?

All their conversations had been mostly platonic until one day when Bob was issued for yet another dangerous mission. The night before, a knock on his door broke him out of his preflight nerves. He opened it a crack to find Y/N smiling at him, standing on his doorstep in her pyjamas with a smallish bag on her shoulder.

"Hey, cowboy."

"Hey," he breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. "Mickey's with Ruben if you were looking for him."

"No. I was hoping to see you."

The way she said it sent a zing through his system. Bob's mouth went dry as he tried to formulate a response, so he stepped to the side and gestured that she could come inside if she wanted to.

"Nat may have mentioned that you tend to freak out before big missions and that nobody has checked up on you. So, here I am. Your knight in shining armour. Or whatever you want me to be."

Oh god, he wished that was the only thing Nat told her. No, Phoenix would never do that. Would she? No, no. Maybe? No, absolutely not.

"If you're not in the mood, just say, and I'll leave you alone. I know-"

"Stay! I mean, I'm in the mood. Not in that way, not in a sexy mood. A sociable mood and... He took a breath so his ramble wouldn't get any worse, then admitted, "I'd like you to stay."

Her wide-eyed expression was worth the embarrassment Bob had to endure. Her lips quivered upwards in amusement, and she smiled sweetly, her eyes twinkling with what seemed to be mirth and excitement. He couldn't help but smile back.

Since she had confirmation now, she reached into her bag and brought out her Switch. "That's good because I planned on completely wiping the floor with you on Mario Kart," she teased him, taking out one controller and passing it to Bob as they both sat down on his duvet.

He grinned, "Bless your heart; you're going to lose every single time, sweetheart," and if by magic, his accent became more prominent.

"Oh, it's on!"

Excitedly, the game began, their controllers in hand, as both started to laugh, play, and tease each other with ease and familiarity. It really was like nothing else mattered anymore as Bob focused on their little world. He forgot about all his problems, responsibilities, and worries for tomorrow. 

"You little fucker! How dare you blue shell me!"

"That's what you get, Floyd."

Originally, Y/N was going to take it easy on him, but he was great at the game and had managed to surprise her. With no hesitation, she took advantage of this opportunity to kick his ass and show him she wouldn't give in so easily even if he was cute as hell. He looked so adorable, all focused on the screen. His brows were furrowed, his lips pursed, and his tongue stuck out as he concentrated intensely.

It wasn't long until he noticed she had taken her eyes off the game and that they stared at him instead. Smiling sheepishly, he lowered the game controller and turned towards her, his eyes twinkling. "What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, his cheeks flushing under her scrutiny.

"No, I'm just enjoying the sight of your face when you lose," she retorted without missing a beat. As a response, he lightly punched her on the shoulder, and she decided to go completely overboard. She clutched the area of impact and dramatically whined, "Ow, I think I've lost feeling. Fuck, it stings! You might have to amputate or something. You okay with blood? Lieutenant, you're so strong that my arm is no longer functional!"

Bob chuckled at her reaction, amused by the theatrics she was putting on but also touched that she cared enough about his well-being to try and cheer him up in such a way. A way that worked since he was feeling much better, better than he had in a while.

More and more matches were played. Y/N won a few. Bob won a few. They were on a competitive streak when Mickey returned to his room, surprised by their laughter. As he was playing, Bob had begun to fight dirty and was shielding Y/N's eyes as she tried to navigate blind.

"What place am I in?"

"Last."

"Bulshit!" She tried her hardest to wriggle away from his hand as she laughed in delight at their silliness. "Ha! I'm sixth!"

"Doesn't matter; you're still losing."

Mickey had been listening in through the door for a moment before he opened it fully and let himself in quietly, standing behind them, a large smirk on his face as he saw the scene before him - huddled together on his bed, Y/N and Bob were essentially playfighting as they kept swiping their hands in the others line of vision. 

At some point, Y/N had stolen Bob's glasses and had them perched on her nose in an effort to put him at a disadvantage, whereas Bob had squished Y/N between his back and the wall, moving his head and hand in the way of the screen at any chance he could. Mickey had never seen anything so adorable. He shook his head and quickly retrieved his phone to snap a picture before he ruined the moment.

"Hey, Boomerang," Mickey called out in a sing-song voice. Both paused what they were doing and looked at him as he distracted them from their game. "This looks cosy."

"Don't worry, we'll finish this race, then I'll let you get your precious beauty sleep, Garcia," she replied, trying her hardest to conceal how she didn't really want to leave and stop having fun.

With one final win by Bob, it was time for the pair to part ways. Following her to the door, Bob closed it behind him in an effort to get some form of privacy from Fanboy.

"Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for checking up on me."

"Anytime, cowboy." She smirked at him coyly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I would say good luck, but with your skills? I really don't think you'll need it."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bob brought her into a bear hug, burying his head into her shoulder, breathing deeply and trying not to sob like a child. His grip tightened when she hugged him back, pulling him closer as he tried to steady his mind. He felt like he needed to say something. Anything. But he couldn't bring himself to.

"I'll see you tomorrow. And tomorrow's tomorrow," she reassured as she pulled back to look at him, her smile brightening his entire being and causing butterflies to explode in his stomach. She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss onto his cheek.

A million thoughts raced around in his brain, making the hairs on his arms stand up on end. Her eyes met his, a soft blush covering her cheeks as she shyly gave him a small wave, said "Night, cowboy," and departed to her room.

He stood there, stunned for a minute, until a smile slowly appeared on his face and spread uncontrollably as he realised what had just happened. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the door frame, trying to get his bearings. All he could feel was giddiness as he made his way back into his room.

"So...Y/N, huh?" 

"Shut up, Mickey."

Just as she thought it would, the mission went down a success. They came out the other side alive and in tip-top shape. No injuries. Nothing. Everything went perfectly according to plan, which was odd because Hangman had been chosen to fly too, and he went his own way on the occasion. 

"Tell me how good I looked getting out of my plane, Boomer," Hangman yelled over to Y/N once they landed on the ground, a huge grin splitting his face. She rolled her eyes as she walked toward him and accepted the hug that he was offering.

"You look like shit."

"Language! Baby on board might've heard that."

"Phoenix and Bob haven't landed yet."

Jake was about to say something else, but then they heard the familiar sounds of a plane getting closer and closer. They shared a knowing grin and moved away from the landing zone. A few moments later, the plane landed and the two pilots emerged in an instant.

"Bagman, you weren't insufferable. Good job, Jackass," Phoenix declared as she patted the taller man on the back.

"Praise like that warms my heart; it really does," he retorted, his joking tone attempting to hide how truthfully his statement was. But he did have a genuine smile on his face as he nodded approvingly, his pride clearly shown.

Coyote and Payback were congratulating Bob as Y/N did the same with Phoenix, and Rooster arrived on the field a few seconds later. Once he reached them, they exchanged hugs, a big grin on everyone's faces as they all congratulated each other again. In the celebration, Bob managed to catch Y/N's eye,, and she gave him a questioning thumbs up as if she were asking, 'How's it going, cowboy?' like always. He shyly returned the gesture, blushing slightly but pleased nevertheless.

In his head, Bob had it all planned out. He was going to get out of the cockpit and tug his helmet off - somehow his hair would stay perfectly styled in this dream - then he'd spot Boomerang. She'd be swooning the moment she saw him. He'd sweep her up in his arms and kiss her right there on the runway where anyone could see them. But that didn't happen. Of no fault of anyone, they happened to be dragged into conversations with other people. And by the time Bob got to her, his adrenaline had dipped significantly, and he found himself unable to go through with his plan. 

Instead, he simply stood there with his mouth open, then promptly closed it as she once again brushed his hair back into place when they were finally beside each other. "Hi," he greeted softly.

"Told you I'd see you tomorrow."

"Don't forget tomorrow's tomorrow."

And then she was hugging him and laughing and smiling, and he was drowning in the joys of being able to hug her back. The excitement and exhilaration coursed through his body in waves as she held onto him tightly, like she never wanted to let go. And in all honesty, neither did he. It didn't matter if the rest of the world could watch them - all he wanted to do was spend every single moment with this girl.

She pulled away first. She looked at him with a bright and radiant expression. He stared back at her, awestruck. Unable to look away from her. Unable to think straight. Unable to move.

The flash of a camera broke the spell. They both snapped their heads toward the source of the noise, realising that Rooster had seen the two of them and decided to immortalise it forever. He was looking at them both with a wide, stupid grin across his lips. There was no mistaking the gleam of amusement in his eyes. Bob glared at him as Y/N gave him a playful shove and muttered, "Stop smiling like that, creeper."

Unsurprisingly, The Hard Deck was where the celebration was held. Honestly, Bob wasn't much of a drinker. Sure, he'd been drinking before, but he didn't really like getting drunk all that much. Yet they'd almost died. Again. Why not? Why not have a little fun? That was the sentiment running around his head as he drank his cocktails. Why not get a little wild?

"To not dying!" Bob slurred to himself as he took a big gulp from the cocktail he'd just bought. If he was going to get wasted, the stuff he was drinking would have to taste good. That martini made him feel really wavy. The alcohol was starting to kick in; he was sure of it.

It became apparent how much it had kicked in as he walked up to Y/N as she was talking to Jake and Ruben and attached himself to her side like some sort of overly affectionate pet, swaying in time to whatever tune that was playing. She jumped at the unexpected side hug but eased when she saw who it was.

"Hey," he slurred, trying to come off as nonchalantly as he possibly could. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Bob, bud, how many drinks have you had?" Y/N questioned, looking down at his glass and then back up at his face, which was gorgeously flushed due to his intoxication. She couldn't help but smile as she watched him try to make sense of the words she spoke.

"I dunno. Like...a hundred or something?"

Hangman knew this was a golden opportunity to tease Bob. How could he not? That's how he shows affection to his friends. "Woah, one hundred? That's a world record, I'm sure," Jake barked mischievously, laughing at his friend's expense. Y/N shot him a glare and shook her head disapprovingly, but there was no denying how she smiled at his comment, no matter how hard she tried not to.

Since he was inebriated, Bob had no quals to retort, "Least I'd have a world record, man whore," and all of them let out a giggle at his insult. He then turned and looked directly at Y/N after finishing the last of his drink, a sly smirk plastered on his face. "That a good jab?"

"Great one, cowboy."

"Nice."

The other two men laughed at the scene playing out before them. But Y/N was far too distracted by Bob now, so she didn't notice. She only focused on the way he seemed to grasp at her tighter, pulling her even closer to him. It felt nice being close to him. He usually wasn't very touchy with anyone else. But it seemed that tonight was different. Why he chose Y/N to be all cuddly with, she had no idea.

But, nonetheless, she enjoyed it and was grateful for it. It wasn't every day super cute, super hot Robert Floyd decided to have a cwtch so she'd have to savour it while it lasted and it looked as if he needed some aid to stand so she wrapped her arm around his middle.

From across the bar, Rooster nudged Phoenix and gestured to their buddies. "Guess Bob's little crush is common knowledge now," Bradley joked as he sipped his beer, thoroughly amused by Bob's actions. 

"You knew too, huh?"

"He's pretty obvious about it."

"He's pretty wasted too."

No kidding. Despite being in public, Bob was completely okay with running his hand up and down Y/N's waist and squeezing it every now and then when he wanted more of her attention as she tried to carry on with the conversation she was having. Her cheeks were dusted pink, and she hoped to god that neither Hangman nor Payback wouldn't mention it because she'd never be able to live it down.

"Y/N, it's your round," Jake announced as he handed her her empty bottle. "Take your tag along and get him some water."

"Aw, man whore, maybe you do have a soul after all," she replied in a teasing voice as she gestured for Ruben to hand over his drink too. He downed it and placed it between her fingers before she walked away with Bob trailing behind her. 

"You want to sit down for a while?" she urged as she patted the bar stool next to her. He nodded, still smiling dopily as he plopped down on the plush stool and swung his feet back and forth.

Penny gave Y/N a chuckle as she saw the usual uptight and meek look that usually adorned Bob's entire existence. Now? Now he was acting like some love-sick puppy who was waiting to be given love and attention from the woman beside him, which was absolutely adorable.

"Water for him?"

"Please."

With Penny off to deal with the drinks, Y/N turned her attention back to Bob to brush some of his hair back in place. "Love it when you do that," he murmured to her, a small smile grazing his face.

"Do what?" She whispered back.

"Put your hands all on my hair. Makes me feel special, y'know, like I'm really important to ya." He reached for her hand and moved it to his cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles as he gazed longingly up at her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him - his eyes were glazed over and unfocused, a soft smile tugging at his features as she started to stroke his skin with her thumb. 

"You are important to me, cowboy."

Because of her words, Bob leaned into her touch and hummed happily at the contact. Y/N smiled as her fingers traced circles into his skin, a feeling of peace spreading throughout her chest at the sight of him in such a state of contentment.

Everything about the look that was upon his face was so sweet, so caring, so...perfect. It took everything in her power not to lean forward and kiss him right then and there, to reassure herself that he was real and real and not just an illusion that she conjured in her tipsy mind. But she didn't - she didn't dare risk it. No matter how much she craved the closeness that was radiating off of him, she knew that it wouldn't be good for either of them.

"Water for the drunk lieutenant. Beer for the soon-to-be drunk lieutenants."

"Thanks, Penny," Y/N answered as she took the glasses from Penny and passed the water over to her companion as she paid. 

Bob looked at the water with confusion."It's water-flavoured vodka. Just came in," Penny lied with a smile, having persuaded intoxicated customer after customer to hydrate for their benefit. Bob nodded his thanks and downed half of his drink at once. 

After swallowing the liquid, he glanced at Y/N. "Want to try?" he asked, holding out the cup towards her.

"You keep it for yourself," she chuckled as she helped him up to his feet. As she took hold of his hands to steady him, he swayed on his feet and grinned. "Easy does it, Bambi."

Once he had somewhat stood upright, Y/N grabbed the beers and led him back to their friends, passing them around as Bob nursed his 'vodka' water. Hangman and Payback were busy playing pool, so Y/N walked over and placed a beer in Jake's hand.

"About time, sugar tits."

"Ever the gentleman, Bagman."

Time ticked on, and eventually, most of the other pilots reached a similar level of intoxication as Bob, whom they allowed to drink alcohol again and completely depleted all the effort Y/N had made to help him out. Fanboy even yelled out, "Come on, Bobby! Gotta up your drinking game, man." And Bob did just that.

Sometime during the evening, Bob had detached himself from Y/N's waist and left to use the bathroom. When he returned, she had seemingly left already. He noticed her absence immediately and found Phoenix to ask, "Where's - where's Y/N?" 

"I don't know. Outside, maybe?"

Boom. That's where he was going to stumble towards. Without another thought, he made his way outside, weaving his way through the drunken revelry and towards the back door. Once he got outside, he spotted Y/N leaning against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared at the night sky.

"Cold, darlin?"

She jumped in surprise, turning quickly around to face him, and sighed heavily in relief once she realised it was just him standing there. 

"A little."

He approached her hesitantly, as if unsure of how she might react, then he said gently, "Here." He held out his arms for her, and she gladly accepted his offer and stepped into his embrace, wrapping hers tightly around him as he enveloped her in warmth. "Better?" he whispered into her ear.

Of course, she nodded, snuggling her face into his neck and inhaling deeply. "You smell like someone spilt booze all over you."

"I did."

Both of them burst into a fit of giggles, unable to control themselves due to the amount of booze currently running through their bodies and the happiness and warmth of each other's presence. After a few seconds, though, they both calmed down and pulled away slightly to study one another's expressions.

They looked at each other for a moment longer until his eyes drifted downwards to her lips, then up again to meet her gaze. A shiver ran through Y/N, but not necessarily because of the chilly air. She could feel her pulse begin to quicken when he inched ever closer to her face until her back hit the building behind her. 

The sound of music inside was faint, and the party raging on around them only amplified the silence, yet it hardly mattered because the world suddenly seemed to slow down and stop in its tracks as he brought his lips towards hers. The kiss began softly at first, hesitant and gentle, but gradually grew in fervour and heat until it was nothing but passionate.

One thing was certain: Bob sure had no trouble giving in to the urge he felt when it came to Y/N. His tongue grazed lightly against her bottom lip, begging her to open up to him, and she obliged without any hesitation. His free hand went straight to the nape of her neck, pulling her tighter against him while the other rested firmly on her hip.

Coyote, who only came outside for a breather, came across this scene by chance and stayed silent before snapping a picture to show the rest of the gang the hot new gossip.

Luckily, that ensured that he didn't see the moment that Bob instinctively shifted his knee between her thighs in such a suggestive manner, causing a moan that escaped through her parted lips.

"Fuck, sorry," he apologised and removed his knee in an inebriated hurry. Y/N didn't seem to care, however, as she simply continued to stare down at him through her lashes, a lazy grin spread across her face.

"Don't apologise, cowboy." She reached out with one hand to push a stray strand of hair out of his face as he looked up at her in surprise."You know, Nat and Mickey are here, so that leaves both of our rooms free for a while."

Bob's cheeks blushed red. "Uh - yeah," he trailed, eyes wandering from her eyes to her lips and back again. "Yeah, that's true."

"Why don't we take advantage of that then?" 

Her words sent his brain into overdrive as he watched her smirk in anticipation of his response. In less than five seconds, Bob's face lit up into a brilliant beam as he lunged forward to capture her lips in a deep and desperate kiss, making sure he placed his hand behind her head so she wouldn't smack into the brick wall behind her. It was an answer in itself, and a very obvious one at that.

"We need to stop for two minutes for me to get an Uber."

"Don't want to stop now..." He mumbled against her lips, tightening his grip around her hip as he deepened the kiss, trying to convince her not to break apart yet. 

However, Y/N was not having any of it and slowly started to pull away, halting the kiss with a small smirk plastered on her lips. Bob pouted adorably at her for that little interruption, and she let out a laugh at his expression. 

"Two minutes."

With haste, she retrieved her phone from her back pocket and got them a ride back to their bunks. Bob tended to be a patient man, yet he couldn't wait two minutes and tried to distract her by kissing her neck, which in turn caused her to giggle with a gasp at his attention. And she had to tease, "Impatient, aren't you?"

"Only for you," he muttered into her skin, his voice filled with a deep desire for her. He felt her shiver beneath his lips and smiled smugly to himself, knowing that his words had elicited such an intense reaction from her. He pressed his lips harder against the spot, feeling the goosebumps rise on her shoulders under his mouth as he sucked a light bruise there. "I've been wanting to do that since I met you."

His words were breathy and soft, almost too quiet for her to hear them, but Y/N heard every single word perfectly. Her heart hammered hard in her chest as she tried to come up with something witty or clever to say in reply to him. All she managed to muster up was a husky, "...Good."

Eventually, the car came and they disentangled themselves to get in. The ride home was short and relatively uneventful, except for Bob's continuous grip on Y/N's thigh throughout the entire drive. The couple was soon inside Y/N's room - only because it was the closest - and she shut the door behind her.

Y/N swiftly was pulled against Bob's body, his lips capturing her own for yet another long, lingering, searing kiss that made her knees weaken at the feeling. His hands made their way under her top and caressed her bare skin lovingly as his lips moved against hers with such hunger and desire, he wasn't able to help the groan that erupted from his throat.

One of her hands slid down the front of his trousers and found his belt, undoing it swiftly and tugging his pants to the ground. Bob followed suit, removing Y/N's shirt from her body and tossing it aside before sliding his hands underneath her jeans to squeeze her ass lightly. He leaned down, burying his face in between her breasts, causing another moan to emerge from her as the feel of his warm lips on her sensitive skin set fire to the very core of her being.

"Bob..", she gasped as his teeth sunk in lightly, causing her to arch her back and throw her head back. "Let me go find a condom. You better have taken your shirt off by the time I get back."

Sleepily, he yawned, "Will do," and watched with sleepy eyes as she hurried to find protection.

It took her several moments, but once she returned from the en suite with a condom in hand, she found that he'd taken his glasses, flopped on her bed and had fallen asleep. She stared at him for what felt like forever, taking in everything about him: the slight stubble, the messy curls, the sleepy, content smile plastered across his face, and the muscular back that he hid so often. 

There was something so enchanting, so mesmerising, in how natural he looked with the moonlight through the window illuminating every inch of his handsome face. She wanted so badly to wake him up, to kiss him senseless again and again, but after seeing him in this state, she couldn't. He was too cute like this.

Instead, she climbed into the bed and covered them both in the duvet, careful not to nudge him and left a gap between them so he was not disturbed, before falling asleep herself.

By the time Phoenix had gotten back to the room she shared with Y/N, the pair had inched closer and Bob had slung his arm around Y/N's waist possessively with the tip of his nose pressing into the nape of her neck. 

Oh, Nat had to take a photo. She had to. How else was she going to update the group chat?

A few hours later, Bob woke up abruptly upon realising someone was in the same bed as him. Holy fuck! He immediately shot his head upwards and noticed that the person beside him was Y/N, his movements waking her up from her peaceful slumber. Y/N rubbed her bleary eyes sleepily and blinked a few times, before smiling at him when he sat upright.

"Morning," she greeted, her voice still hoarse from her sleepiness. She could tell just by looking at him that his memory of the night before was a little fuzzy.

"Did we? Did we you know?" he asked in a whisper, slightly blushing from embarrassment as he lowered his head shyly and scratched his cheek.

Reaching towards her bedside table, Y/N showed him the unopened condom. "You fell asleep."

"Oh, thank the lord." He let out a sigh of relief before noticing how her face fell and hurried to clarify, "No! Not like that. I meant it... like, I want to be sober when that happens. With you." Bob paused for a moment. "Not that I'm complaining about waking up next to you, of course, I like that. Just, uhm, it would be nice to remember it."

He looked away bashfully and cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. Y/N chuckled before reaching out and grabbing his face, turning him back to face her. "Hey, hey," she said softly before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I think I'd like that too." She leaned over and began to place kisses all along his jawline until she came to a stop right beside his lips.  

After pausing for a moment, she leaned forward slightly and planted a gentle kiss against his lips, one of her fingers pushing his hair out of his face. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I love the fact that you two are together now, but can you shut the fuck up? I don't want to leave my bed until tomorrow afternoon," Phoenix grumbled from where she lay.

The two broke apart and laughed sheepishly at each other's antics, as if embarrassed that they had forgotten she was even there in the first place. "More sleep sounds good to me," Bob chuckled and rested back down on the pillows as he snuggled closer to Y/N, pulling her against his chest. With one final kiss to the crown of her head, both lieutenants settled down to sleep off their hangovers.

There was no way either of them would let go any time soon. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not even tomorrow's tomorrow.

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jump then fall | issue 02 | c.sc

when trying to unearth hogwarts' resident Golden Boy™ choi seungcheol's secret girlfriend, leads to the proposition of a lifetime

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating au, fluff, angst wordcount: 7.9k masterlist

BREAKING NEWS! LOCAL CLAW EMBROILED IN SCANDAL WITH BELOVED LION?

To say this was going poorly would be an understatement.

One week. You had been following Seungcheol for one week, and nothing. You had nothing to show for it.

Oh, you had photos, two whole rolls worth. 

A snap from the back of Transfiguration. Seungcheol sported a bright smile as he turned a raven into a textbook. His partner, a quirky Hufflepuff by the name of Claire Dobson, sat next to him, clapping enthusiastically. 

A click from behind one of the suits of armour lining the hallway. Seungcheol leaned up against the wall, listening to fellow Head Girl, Mythili Mahendran, as she spoke fervently, her arms waving about with each word. He had a reassuring grin as he nodded along, eyes never once leaving her face.

“The only thing this kid is doing is buying a one-way ticket to Burnt-out-Ville,” you say, slipping the last bit of film out of the developer potion and hanging it to dry. 

On it, a clear snapshot from behind a shelf in the herbology section of the library. Seungcheol’s draped over Joshua’s shoulders, eyes crinkled into half moons as he bursts out laughing, his pearly whites on full display. Jeonghan sat across from them, a disgruntled sneer on his face.

“Maybe he’s sneaking off somewhere at night?” Soonyoung leans against the wall of the dark room, the deep red light reflecting off his face. 

“Where,” You shake your head, “Or even better, when? I’ve been following him day and night like his bloody shadow! Golden Boy couldn't even take a piss without me knowing.” There had been hardly enough time for you to finish most of your assignments this week. Not to mention, the 2 feet on Unbreakable Vows you hadn’t even started.

“I’m telling you Hosh,” you start unclipping the dried photos, sorting them into piles. Seungcheol in class. Seungcheol at the library. Seungcheol in the Great Hall. “Perhaps Raveena’s got it wrong.”

“Impossible,” Soonyoung scoffs. “Pudding’s the best there is.” 

You shoot him a look, “No one is perfect. She was bound to pick up a weird rumour eventually.”

“She’s never gotten a tip wrong.” An unspoken yet hung in the air. 

Raveena was a capable girl, there was no doubt about that. But, you knew a lost cause when you saw one. Soonyoung, despite being as stubborn as a bull, would eventually come around. 

Right?

Soonyoung chews his lip before pushing himself off the wall. “There’s always tomorrow I suppose.” He was halfway out the door before it registered.

“Tomorrow?” You ask.

“Did you forget?” Soonyoung feigns surprise, and you dread his next words.  “First Hogsmeade weekend, no better time or place for lovely couples to have a cute little date.”

You resist the urge to drown him in one of your tubs of developer potion. 

“I haven’t even begun to research that Defense essay that’s due Monday. Not to mention, the ten million other things we need to study.” You slam the canister you were holding down onto the counter, exasperated. “Or did you forget we’ve got N.E.W.T.s this year?”

Soonyoung pouts, shaking his head. He fiddles at the chipping wood on the doorway. “Come on Wallflower, I’ve even got disguises for us!“ 

You loved your best friend. Truly. With all your heart. Yet, at his core, Soonyoung Kwon was a Grade A schemer. A Slytherin through and through. 

“I promise, I’ll help you with your essay when we get back,” says Soonyoung. He turns on his puppy dog eyes for extra effect. “I’ll even throw in sweets from Honeydukes! Whatever you want, it’s on me.”

You were running low on sugar mice and you did eat your last pumpkin pasty during Seungcheol’s prefect rounds the other night. 

“Fine,” you grumble, drying off your hands. Whipping around, you stab a finger in his direction, “But this is the last! If we come out empty-handed, you’re going to drop it. Promise?” 

Soonyoung put his hands up, “Swear on my Nan’s grave.” He makes a crossing motion across his chest and points up at the ceiling, sending a wink your way. 

He dodges the towel you chuck at him, before bidding you a good night, leaving you alone to ruminate on a certain Gryffindor Captain and Head Boy. 

Soonyoung waits for you in the entrance hall the next morning.

You curl your lip, looking him up and down. He wore thick brown robes with a gold monogrammed “SK” on the chest, a stark contrast to your plain, faded, and navy ones. On his head, sat a matching brown deerstalker, his blond bangs poking out from underneath.

“What's with the hat?” 

Soonyoung grinned, sticking out a small bag. “Disguises!” 

Inside, you found some sunglasses, a couple of stick-on fake moustaches, and a cheap-looking wig. 

“I wanted you to have the first pick,” Soonyoung says as you decide on a pair of matte black sunglasses and a bushy chevron moustache. 

He grabs a handlebar moustache and brown tortoiseshell sunglasses for himself, “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to solve a murder,” you say dryly. “All you’re missing is a magnifying gl–” 

“Do not underestimate your friend so.” He fishes in his robe pockets before pulling out a gold-rimmed magnifying glass. 

Holding the glass flat in your direction, he presses down on a hidden button in the handle. A bright light flashes along with a loud clicking noise. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes.

“Merlin,” Soonyoung scratches his head, peering at the glass befuddled. “I thought I’d turned that off.”

Snatching the device from his hands, you weave an arm around his. “I’ll fix it on our way. We’ve got to get a move on if we want to get to Hogsmeade while he’s still there.” 

“You’ve got your camera?”

You scoff as you pat at your chest, where there is a barely visible small bump under your robes. “Of course, I’m no amateur.”

The path up to the small wizarding village is free of any students. Most tend to head up earlier, wanting to make the most of their rare reprieve from school. 

This was fine with the two of you though. It allowed Soonyoung to ramble about a few other stories the team was working on that week, while you fixed his magnifying glass.

It’s easy, nothing a few modified silencing charms and an expungement charm couldn't fix. As for your own camera, all it needs is a well-placed disillusionment charm, and it’ll disappear against your chest.

“So, where shall we begin?” you say, as the two of you enter the village. “You think he'd have taken her to Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head? I'm leaning towards Three Broomsticks, less creepy, more casual.”

“I think I know exactly where they would’ve gone,” Soonyoung says with a terrifying twinkle in his eye.

There was absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared you for Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.

Bright fuschia painted the walls of the small teahouse, burning into your irises along with the hot pink paper lanterns and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. 

The two of you find an empty table in the corner, huddling around a purple lace-covered table. 

While you sat with your back to the shop, Soonyoung had a perfect view of the front door, as well as the massive window next to it, allowing a full view of the main street through Hogsmeade.

Despite the overwhelming crowd in the tea shop, Seungcheol was nowhere to be found.

You watch as a couple walks past the window, bundled in warm robes and holding hands, before turning back to Soonyoung. “Shouldn’t we try to go and find our Golden Boy?" It was sweltering inside, as though there were one too many heating charms in place. "Rather than just, waiting around for him to show up?” Your mustache itches and you refrain from ripping it off.

“You wouldn't be aware Wallflower–," A server comes by, setting down two hot pinks mugs filled with a questionable brown liquid. Soonyoung smiles a soft thank you before nudging you under the table with his foot. He tips his head towards the server with an expectant look, but you can’t stop staring at them.

It was Seokmin Lee, a 5th-year Gryffindor, wearing the most atrocious outfit you'd ever seen. He's got on a mauve velour muggle tracksuit and, over it, a hot pink mug costume, much like the mugs he’d just set down. 

Soonyoung kicks you under the table again, this time harder. You yelp at the pain shooting through your shin, quickly recovering though, and wince out a meek thanks. An eye-crinkling smile graces Seokmin’s face, coupled with a bright chirpy you’re welcome as he sashays away.

Soonyoung takes a sip of his drink, and you mirror him, only to gag immediately. It tasted like someone had poured developer potion down your throat.

"You wouldn't know, Wallflower," Soonyoung starts again, "but this is the cool and hip place to take your dates.”

A golden cherub flies past, throwing pink confetti in your direction. Some of it falls into your drink. “Hoshi, if anyone took me here for a date, I’d probably drown them in the great lake.” You grimace as the couple next to you starts snogging.

He wasn’t wrong though. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d gone on a date.

Soonyoung starts to say something else when his eyes widen at something, or someone, behind you. “Over there! Over there!” He shakes a finger at the front window and you turn to see Seungcheol walking past, flanked as usual by Joshua and Jeonghan. This time though, they’re joined by a fourth boy, dark-haired and lanky, with thick-rimmed glasses.

Soonyoung scrambles to get up, digging through his robe pockets for some sickles before throwing them on the table, and dragging you out of your chair. 

The two of you hurry out, following them down the mildly crowded village path. Hiding behind other students and in nearby alleyways when necessary. 

"It looks like they're heading into the Weasley’s joke shop." You're crouched behind the postal building with Soonyoung nearly sitting on top of you.  The two of you peer around the corner, watching as Seungcheol and his friends file into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “Come on then, let’s go get our Golden Boy.”

It’s loud inside the joke shop, and you lose the boys amidst the sea of brightly coloured merchandise and robes.

“Let’s split up?” You suggest. Divide and conquer. Soonyoung nods in agreement, slinking away and disappearing behind the love potions. You take your camera out, giving it a silent tap. It turns invisible against your chest.

Ambling up the stairs to the second floor, you pass the small section of muggle magic tricks and turn the corner into the sweets section. There, you find your Golden Boy past the Canary Creams, perusing the Skiving Snackboxes. He’s got his back turned to you, giving you a full view of his deep russet robes, and not much else.

Quickly, you hide behind a cardboard display filled with edible dark marks. Peeking out from above, you watch as Seungcheol bends down and picks up a snackbox, pushing his wire-rim glasses further up his nose.

He reads the side of one of the boxes before reaching into his pocket and taking out a piece of paper. Slightly leaning over the display, you crane your neck trying to get a glimpse. Before you know it, you lose your balance, tipping the display over and sending yourself flying to the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit-”

At the sound of the loud crash, Seungcheol spins around, immediately running over when he sees you on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Seungcheol peers over you, concern written all over his face. 

You lay surrounded by the edible dark marks, not making a move to get up. All you wish for at this moment is for the ground to split in half and suck you right in. 

"Here, let me help you." Seungcheol holds his hand out to you, expectant. For a moment, you’re compelled to take it. But then you think of his skin touching yours and you start to feel your heart speeding up, your breath quickening, and the feeling of panic crawling up your throat. 

Merlin, not here. Not now.  

You lean up on your elbows, staring at his hand, hesitating. He looks so worried though, with his eyebrows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled. So, you push down any feeling of trepidation, and you take his hand, letting yourself be pulled up. You don't think about how warm and calloused his hands feel and you definitely don’t think about how equally warm your cheeks were getting. 

This could not be happening to you right now. Did he see your camera? Feeling the weight of it around your neck, it takes everything in you to not peek down and see if the disillusionment charm is still in effect. 

Soonyoung's sunglasses sit askew on your nose and the moustache was beginning to slowly peel off as the adhesive charm weakened. You must’ve looked like Hogwart’s resident basket case about now. The next coming of Moaning Myrtle. 

"You alright there?" Seungcheol asks. All you can do is nod dumbly in response. You could feel your heart thumping loudly in your chest, the erratic beating pulsing in your ears. 

He bends back down to pick up the fallen display and candies while you hastily fix your glasses and moustache, willing the other half to stick back on. 

This is just your luck. Three years of following people around and this was the first time you'd ever been caught. You were going to kill Soonyoung. This was, after all, his grand idea. 

Actually, no. You were going to do something worse than avada kedvra him. You were going to stick his precious gobstones set into a cauldron of boiling–"Are you sure you're okay?"

You snap out of your premeditated murder planning, "What?"

Seungcheol’s looking at you, his eyebrows still furrowed. "Did you hit your head when you fell?"

"What?" You repeat like an idiot. "Oh, no, yeah, I'm good." You smooth down the top of your hair, "Haha, see! No head injury!" 

If you were hoping this would ease Seungcheol's worry, you don't think you were succeeding. New creases appear on his forehead the longer you speak. 

“Look, I am as fine . . .” You search for the right words, the ones that would make his worry go away, “ . . . as a flobberworm," you finish lamely.

The fake moustache slowly starts peeling off once more and you fight the urge to rip it off and incendio it into a pile of ashes. Instead, you plaster a smile on your face, putting two thumbs up as a consolation.

However, it did not have the intended effect. Somehow, Seungcheol Choi managed to furrow his eyebrows even more. He stood there staring at you with his arms wrapped around each other as if you were a child and he was wondering what to do with you.

At this point, you were wishing you’d had hit your head. Much better explanation for all this than, you were just like this. 

Finally, Seungcheol nods, seemingly satisfied. "Be careful then, and watch where you're going." He reaches out to you, taking your sunglasses, and pushing them up into your hair. If you weren't frozen out of embarrassment, you might've flinched. "Let's keep the sunglasses for the sun, yeah? You could've seriously hurt yourself." 

Your mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, no sound coming out.

Seungcheol puts his hands on your shoulders and you swallow hard, tensing up as he pats your shoulders down. "I'll see you 'round then?" You nod back, feeling much like a bobblehead today, and Seungcheol turns around, heading back down to the main floor.

You just stand there, unsure of what to make of what had just happened, and give yourself a moment to get your heart rate back to an acceptable one.

Downstairs, you find Soonyoung by the pygmy puffs, chatting with a short red-headed boy. You grab him by the collar of his robes, dragging him outside and tossing him into the cold air.

“Woah, Wallflower,” Soonyoung stumbles a little, trying to find his footing. “Is everything okay?”

Ripping off your moustache, you push it forcefully into Soonyoung’s chest. It sticks for a brief moment before falling to the ground. “I’m keeping the glasses as commission,” You snarl, yanking them off your head and stuffing them into your robe pockets.

“What happened?” Soonyoung still looks bewildered. “What's going on? 

“My luck. My wonderful luck is what happened.” You curl your fingers into fists before releasing them along with a deep breath.  

Soonyoung still looks perplexed. “Did you find-”

“Oh, I found him all right.” You mutter, fluffing up your robes. “Whatever, it doesn't matter.” You clear your throat. “You promised me anything from Honeydukes and it’s time for you to cough it up, buttercup.” 

You start walking towards the sweet shop as Soonyoung stomps behind you, grumbling something about you eating him out of house and home. 

Honeydukes was your second favourite place in the world (your precious dark room being the first). The air smells sickly sweet as you walk in, a mix of baked goods, chocolates, and sugary goodness. You grab a basket by the door and begin perusing the aisles. Soonyoung needed to pop over into another shop, leaving his coin bag with you.

Soon enough, you've filled up your basket. You were currently contemplating whether to stick the Fizzing Whizbees you’d grabbed for Soonyoung on top of the basket, and risk crushing the pumpkin pasties, or just hold the box under your other arm. You decide on the latter, but the basket still ends up being heavier than you’d expected. 

Maybe you’d gone a little overboard with the extra box of sugar mice and maybe the third box of licorice wands was unnecessary, but when Soonyoung was indebted to you like this, you couldn’t help but take advantage

You hold the Fizzing Whizzbees under one arm, groaning as your other arm trembles under the weight of the basket.

“Need some help with that?” says an all too familiar voice from behind you. You nearly drop the basket on your foot.  

This couldn’t be happening to you. Not again. Not so soon.

Familiar russet robes flash in the corner of your eye and Seungcheol’s before you, grabbing the heavy basket out of your arms like it was a cloud. You trail behind him like a lost puppy as he leads the two of you into line.

Seungcheol lifts the basket up and down like a dumbell. “What’s in this anyways? The whole store?”

You hold the Fizzing Whizbees box closer to your chest like an emotional support item before shaking your head. “Just restocking. Hosh–Soonyoung owes me. Some pumpkin pasties, licorice wands–" you start listing off, counting on your fingers, "–chocolate frogs,  jelly slugs, exploding bonbons, sugar mice–oh bludgers, I meant to grab sugar quills!” You look behind you, forlorn. 

There were quite a few late nights coming up for you this week and you weren’t sure how you were going to get through them without your favourite sugar quills. 

“Did you want to go grab some?” Seungcheol asks, eyes following yours to the back of the store. “I’ll hold your spot in line.” 

"No, it's alright," You say dejectedly, tightening your hold around the whizbees. “This is probably more sugar than I should be allowed anyways.” Seungcheol nods, nudging his glasses up with his knuckle. 

The two of you finally make it up to the front counter where he sets the basket down. As the cashier starts to take items out to bag, you dig your hands in your pockets to fish out Soonyoung's coin pouch.

Seungcheol chats with the cashier while they finish bagging your items into two bags. You don’t follow their conversation as you search through Soonyoung’s coin bag for some galleons, catching only mentions of Quidditch and Gryffindor. As soon as you pay, Seungcheol grabs both bags.

“Oh you don’t have to–” You try taking the bags back from him, but he holds them away from your hands.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue at you, “Now, what kind of Head Boy would I be if I made you carry this all the way back to school?”

You frown, “It wouldn’t be all the way to school. I’m meeting Soonyoung at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Even better, that’s where I’m headed anyways.” Seungcheol starts down the road without waiting for your response, leaving you to jog behind to catch up. 

Inside, the inn’s warm and toasty, a fire burning in the corner. Seats were already filling up with students finishing up their day. Seungcheol finds you an empty booth in the corner for you to wait in for Soonyoung. He puts the bags on one side, motioning you to slide into the other.

“Thanks again Seungcheol. You really didn’t have to–”

Seungcheol chuckles softly, adjusting his glasses, “It was my pleasure.”  He sticks his hands in his robe pockets, lightly rocking back and forth on his feet. For a moment, it seemed as though he looked shy. “I hope you enjoy your sweets, I’ll see you ‘round.” And with that, he left to go join his friends, seated on the other side of the inn.

By the time Soonyoung comes strolling in, you’ve already downed two hot chocolates. Now sipping on a third, you’re fiddling with your camera to pass the time. Trailing behind Soonyoung was Raveena, sporting a bright blue beanie and her usual coke bottle glasses. 

“Kneazles, what’ve you got in here Wallflower? The entire shop?” Sooyoung takes your sweets haul and sets them under the table so he and Raveena can slide into the booth.

You sip the last of your hot chocolate, before reaching into your pockets and tossing him his coin bag, “You said anything, and I took you for your word.” 

Soonyoung catches his coin bag with a gasp, “It’s so light, I’ve been swindled!”

“Hoshi here tells me you two almost caught–” Raveena looks shifty-eyed across the inn before lowering her voice, “–Seungcheol, with his girlfriend this morning.”

You give Soonyoung a pointed look, “He told you wrong. We’re about as close to getting a photo as catching a pixie in a knapsack.”

The three of you glance over across the room to where Seungcheol sits with his friends. He has an arm slung over Jeonghan's shoulders as the two of them were open-mouth laughing at something. 

You’re filled to the brim with a fourth warm hot chocolate when you excuse yourself to grab another drink. “You two want anything?” They both shake their heads.

As Madam Rosemerta finishes up with another customer, you feel someone come up next to you at the bar.

"Fancy seeing you here,” drawls a familiar deep voice.

You turn to see Seungcheol sliding up to you at the bar. He’d shed the robes and was wearing a green Holyhead Harpies hoodie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You squint up at him, “Do I know you?” 

He drops his mouth open in fake aghast, glasses sliding down his nose. “Have the last seven years meant nothing?” he says, holding a hand up to his heart as if you’d shot an arrow at it. 

You stifle a giggle behind your hand and a cheery smile spreads on Seungcheol's face. 

Madam Rosemerta swishes past, juggling multiple empty goblets, “I’ll be with you two in just a mo’!”

“Not a problem Rosie!” Seungcheol calls out. He leans back against the bar, elbows resting on top and showing off his sturdy forearms. 

You cast your eyes elsewhere, wondering if Seungcheol was aware of just how attractive he was. No longer was he the bumbling little first year you'd met seven years ago. After all, there's a reason a photo of him with a rumoured beau would be the scoop of the paper. 

You glance as he adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his hair. 

“How're the first weeks of classes going for you by the way?” he asks, crossing his arms. Ever the Head Boy. 

“It’s N.E.W.T.s year, obviously you know how it is.” You sigh dejectedly, “I haven’t even outlined that massive defense essay.”

“Oh yeah. I mean, three feet? On Unforgivable curses?" he says, sounding exasperated. “As if we don’t have eleven other classes to do work for.”

“That’s what I said!” Very few students take all 12 N.E.W.T.s. There are four in your graduating class. At least, used to be four. You’d almost forgotten about Jake Sim dropping out of Arithmancy this week, making it three: Yourself, Seungcheol, and Mythili, the Head Girl.

The conversation settles back into a comfortable silence.

Madam Rosemerta comes up to the bar, “Alright dears, what can I get you two?” 

“Can I get a round of warm butterbeers for the table? And whatever the lady wants," He tips his head at you. 

You already had so much hot chocolate, now you wanted something different. And cold. “I want something colder but I’m not really feeling butterbeer?" 

“I know just what you need," There’s a glint in Seungcheol’s eyes. "Get 'er one of my usuals, please.” 

“Of course! Let me know where you’re sitting dear and Lysander will bring it over to you” She gestures at the silver-haired barback behind her.

Seungcheol throws a couple of sickles down on the bar, “Thanks Rosie, these are for hers too.”

“What? No, Seungcheol–” you stutter, but he just shoots you a cheeky wink.

“Just make sure you enjoy it.”

You got back to your booth and not soon after, Lysander comes by with the reddest drink you’d ever seen. “Cherry soda?” You raise a shy hand and he sets it in front of you “Anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re good here. Thank you!” 

The drink came in a glass goblet with a small paper umbrella sticking out on top. You take a sip, humming with a shiver. The ice felt good, and it was just the right amount of sweet versus tart.

“No hot chocolate, Wallflower?” Hoshi says, chewing on a fizzing whizbee. 

“I just wanted to try something new.” You say, taking another sip. “Seungcheol recommended it.” 

Raveena perks up, “Did he now.” She leans forward in her seat. “He’s not onto you, right? He wasn’t asking about why you lot were stalking him?”

“Following, Raveena!” Soonyoung exclaims. “We were following him, not stalking.” 

Raveena scrunches her face, “Mm, yeah, that’s not really any better Hoshi.”

“Fine, we happened to be in Hogsmeade, in the same shop, at the same time as him.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “As was like, half the school. So really, we were doing nothing weird.”

It seemed Soonyoung wasn’t done there though, turning to face Raveena. “And you know what, I don’t like what you’re insinuating Pudding. Not very team player of you.”

“Ooh, someone’s a little touchy about this. You’re awfully defensive Hosh. One would even say you’re project–”

“Enough you two. You–,” you point at Hoshi, “it was stalking. We were stalking him. What we do is honestly kind of creepy. We should really be called The Creepy Whistler. And you–,” you point to Raveena, “Don’t egg him on. We both know I’m the one who won’t hear the end of it.” 

You pick up the paper umbrella, twirling it in your fingers. “He was just asking me about classes. We’re both taking the same N.E.W.T.s after all.”

“Good, that’s good,” Raveena says. “He’s not onto us. Means he’ll put his guard down, eventually. We’ll get our moment.” Soonyoung pops another whizbee in his mouth, nodding along.

“I know today was a bust. But, I have something that might cheer you up.”

You were back at Hogwarts, sharing a table at the library with Soonyoung, who had promised you he’d help with your essay for DADA.

He digs into his bag, coming out with a can of something.

Upon closer look, you nearly shriek, "You did not!"

"I did!"

 You grab the canister, "You did not!"

"I did!" He says gleefully. Someone two tables over shushes you guys.

You turn the canister over in your hand, eyeing the back excitedly. It’s lime green with black text made to look like it was sprayed on. The text reads Glow Ho! Camera Flow and attached to the side, a small cylinder of film.

"This has been sold out everywhere." Not to mention expensive. But if anyone could afford it, it would be Soonyoung. One of the many perks of being the heir to  Madame Kwon’s Publishing Company. They publish most of the textbooks used at Hogwarts, not to mention the international best-selling series, Madame Kwon’s Magical Adventures. 

"How did you manage to get your hands on one?" You narrow your eyes at him. “Hoshi, why did you get me this?”

"You've been putting a lot of work into the Whistler, on top of having way more N.E.W.T.s to study for than me." He continues when you don't seem convinced. "And I know you've been barely sleeping, following Seungcheol around–"

"But that’s what the Honeydukes was for." You set the canister down on the table, pushing it away from you. "What is it that you really want?"

"Look,” Ah, there it was, “I know we're both super busy, but I wouldn't ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

"Just spit it out. What. Do. You. Want?"

He sighs, "You know how I take photos for the Quidditch teams?" Of course you do. You were the one who taught him how to work a camera specifically for sports shots. Something you did so you wouldn’t be tasked to do so.

"Yeah? What about it?" you say, not liking where this was heading.

"Could you take over for me for the next few weeks?" You groan as he goes on. "Both the gobstones club and the chess club increased their meetings and between that, N.E.W.T.s, the Whistler, not to mention the ten million apprentice applications I have to do, I just don’t have the time. Oh please, Wallflower? Please, please, pleaseeee," he pleads. 

You wince and try to stop him as he starts vibrating in his seat. "Merlin, okay, fine. So what, just take some photos at their games?" Hoshi grimaces. "No, no, no! No more!” you hiss. “What else could I possibly do for you?" He was already asking for so much.

Yet somehow,  you end up on the grassy quidditch pitch at dawn the next day. 

It is cold, it's wet, and it is foggy as hell. You could not fathom why on earth the Ravenclaws were practicing at this ungodly hour. The morning fog mists on your cheeks like small pinpricks.

"How did they turn out?" asks Olivia Prewett, a tall, broad gal who is Ravenclaw’s team captain and sole keeper.

You pop the film out of your camera, sticking it in its temp-controlled tube. "I think they should be good. I'll let you know when I figure out my schedule to do the team photos." You stick the tube into your bag before popping another roll of film into the camera.

"Sounds good, just keep me posted." She gives you a faint smile before turning to look at the hubbub across the field. "Looks like Gryffindor's taking over next, you gonna be good?"

You nod, body shivering as a gust of wind blows through. On the other side of the field, the Gryffindor team was starting to set up for their practice as the Ravenclaws cleared out. 

Seokmin Lee runs by, yelling, "Prewett, Prewett, let's do itttt!" He shoots finger guns at Olivia as a boy behind him struggles to carry both their brooms, nearly slipping a few times on the muddy pitch, "Aw Boo, don't get my broom muddy man."

Seungcheol jogs up to the two of you. “Prewett,” he nods.

Olivia nods back, “Choi.” She turns back to face you, "Make them look bad for me, will you?" You smile back, nodding.

"Alright?" Seungcheol's wearing the same green Holyhead Harpies hoodie from yesterday.

"H-hi Seungcheol," You say, teeth chattering. The thin jumper you had on does nothing for the windchill and you rub your arms trying to warm up.

"You seem a little cold there." Seungcheol looks you up and down as you tremble a little.

"I-I'm f-fi–," You clear your throat before trying again, "I'm f-fine."

Seungcheol pulls his hoodie off over his head, mussing up his hair, before holding it out to you, shaking it when you don’t move to grab it.

You tentatively take it from him. The sleeves fall further past your own arms and you have to scrunch them up by your elbows so you can hold your camera.

Practice goes by pretty quickly, and by the time Seungcheol lands in front of you again, hopping off his broom, you almost forget you can no longer feel your fingers. 

“Got what you needed?” 

“Yup, this should do it,” you say, popping the film into another temp-controlled canister. “I'll let you know when me or Soonyoung are free to do the team photos.” 

You grab the bottom of Seungcheol's hoodie, intending to pull it off, when he stops you, putting his hands on yours. 

You flinch, taking a step back and Seungcheol yanks his hand back, like he touched fire. He rubs the back of his neck abashedly, “You, uh, you can keep it.” His cheeks were rosy, from the cold, or something else, you weren't sure. “It's not warming up anytime soon, you'll need it if you're photographing the ‘Puffs” 

“Oh.” You grip the edges of the hoodie, fingers clenching at the soft fabric. “Um, thank you?” 

Seungcheol throws you a sheepish grin, before turning around and running to join the rest of his team. 

When you wake up the next morning, you feel tired and groggy, shoulders aching a little. 

Seungcheol's hoodie sits washed and folded neatly on your bedside table. You eye it apprehensively as you get ready for class, deciding to shove it down into the bottom of your book bag on your way out the door. 

You meet Soonyoung down in the dungeons. He’s leaning against the wall, at the end of the queue of students waiting to be let into your double potions class. 

“Morning Hosh,” you stifle a yawn behind your hand.

“Morning Wallflower. Didn't think you were going to make it.” He says, pushing off of the wall and handing you a small thermos. A strong scent of Nocturna Brewery’s coffee wafts through the air. “Missed you at breakfast this morning.”

“Was up all night finishing that defense essay.” You take a sip from the thermos, humming as the bitter taste zings through you, waking you up a little. “You didn’t think I’d leave you stranded in potions without me, did you?” It was your strongest subject, the only N.E.W.T.s Soonyoung was taking where he’d barely scraped by. 

As the classroom opens up and students file in, you and Soonyoung try to find an empty table, heading into the back of the room. You ignore Seungcheol and his friends as you pass by them in the front row, the green hoodie weighing heavily in the bottom of your bag. 

The two of you squeeze into a table along with Tabitha Heathcote, a Gryffindor girl with a strong aversion to you, and her friend. Mary? Minnie? 

There’s a small tussle as Soonyoung tries to set his bag on the table where Tabtiha’s got her elbows spread wide out, one that Soonyoung eventually wins. Tabitha scoots over with a grunt, disgust never once leaving her face.

Tabitha has never liked you, especially since the incident in your fourth year. While being in different houses helped you avoid her a good amount of the time, being the same year meant you were forced to see her in class on the daily. There wasn’t a moment she was around that she wouldn’t make clear how much she absolutely abhorred you. 

You get settled, pulling out your books and setting up your cauldron and scales. Already on the board is today’s potion assignment and it doesn’t take long before you two get started making it. 

“I know you said not to bring it up anymore–,” Soonyoung starts.

“Soonyoung, if you don't want me to stick your head in this cauldron, I suggest you don't finish that sentence.” The cauldron in front of you bubbles in agreement as you pour crushed red beetles in.

Soonyoung throws his hands up in defence, “No need to get violent, Wallflower.” He leans sideways against the table, "I just think we should review what we have, to make sure we've followed every thread and haven't missed anything."

You sigh, cracking your neck. “Hoshi, unless Seungcheol’s secret partner is Jeonghan, Joshua, or that sixth year that's always with them, then I haven't missed anything. I was on his ass for days. If he was meeting someone in secret, there's no way I wouldn't have caught it.”

He paused to think before asking, “What about Mythili?”

“Mahendran?” 

“You had a lot of photos of him talking to her.”

“Of course I did,” you say, irritated. “She's Head Girl, you dolt. I'd be worried if he wasn't talking to her.”

“See!” Hoshi points accusingly, “It’s the perfect cover for secret dating."

“Yeah, it would be,” You crush a sopophorous bean dangerously close to Soonyoung's fingers and he yelps, pulling his hand away, “If only she didn't have that on again, off again thing with that sixth year, Seokmin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Soonyoung leaves for a moment to go grab more crushed beetles as you stir your potion absent-mindedly. Your eyes wander to Seungcheol, sitting two rows ahead, in his own bubble of a world with his friends. 

Joshua’s lounging in the chair next to him, as Jeonghan dangles dead flobberworms out of his nose, pretending they were bogies. Seungcheol is the only one diligently stirring his potion. 

Soonyoung comes back with a small vial of crushed beetles, shaking it in front of your face. 

You pour it in, stirring counterclockwise as the potion turns a pretty lavender hue.

“Did you get any photos of him when we were in Hogsmeade?”

Your mind flashes back to the accident inside Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. You shake your head, huffing, “No, nothing.” 

Soonyoung purses his lips, “Was there no one who he seemed to spend more time with?”

You sigh, exasperated now, “Hoshi, unless Seungcheol is dating me, there was no one else.” 

There’s a loud scoff from the other side of Hoshi. Tabitha’s stirring her potion, a look of disgust still on her face. “As if anyone would think you were dating Seungcheol,” she sneers.

Soonyoung and you share a look, silently electing to ignore her. But Tabitha seemed to have other plans today.

“After all, why would Seungcheol want to date someone like you?” Your fingers tighten around the ladle as you continue stirring. Two stirs clockwise, five stirs counter-clockwise.  

“You're not much to look at–,” You don’t want anyone to look at you. And certainly not Seungcheol for that matter.

Tabitha continues, “–you have no friends except for that half-wit,” waving a hand at Soonyoung. He puffs up, ready to send a fiery retort back. You shake your head with a small don’t, and he deflates. 

“–not to mention, I don't think he'd want damaged goods." You freeze, ladle paused on your fourth and a half counterclockwise stir. 

Soonyoung sucks in a breath, and Tabitha’s friend gasps. There’s a buzzing in your ears as your mind goes blank.

They say hindsight's 20-20. You’ll look back on this not being your brightest moment, nor your proudest. 

"And what if I was?"

"What?" asks Tabitha, confused. 

"And what if I was?" you grit out again. Your ladle’s been abandoned in its cauldron. Hands on your hips, you fully face Tabitha. 

Tabitha lets out a laugh as if she can’t believe you, “Was what?”

"Dating Seungcheol" You sound petulant, like a child not getting what they wanted, but you don’t care. A myriad of hexes danced on the tip of your tongue. You don’t even remember picking up your wand. Soonyoung watches, mouth agape and head turning quickly between you two like he’s spectating a quidditch match. 

"Fat chance." Tabitha spits out, voice laced with venom.

"Well, I am," you snap. At this point, you have some forethought to whisper,  hissing quietly, "I’m Seungcheol's girlfriend."

Soonyoung, however, did not receive the memo, losing all sense of decorum. He shrieks, louder than Moaning Myrtle, his voice echoing through the classroom, ricocheting off the walls, "You're dating Seungcheol?"

Time stops for a moment as a blanket of silence falls over the classroom. All the students stopped talking, and all you can hear is the quiet bubbling of the cauldrons. 

Then there’s an uproar as chattering breaks out amongst the students.

Your eyes widen at the realisation of what you'd just said, whipping past Soonyoungs to connect with two equally wide dark brown ones at the front of the classroom.

Soonyoungs hands fly to cover his mouth, having surprised even himself. 

He goes to shove your shoulder lightly, as if to ask mate, what the fuck?, and you lose your balance, knocking into the table. 

It happens faster than either of you two could react. 

The cauldron wobbles before tipping over and spilling itself all over the table and onto your arm.

You yelp as the lavender potion bubbles over your robe sleeves, seeping through the fabric and onto your skin. Squeezing your eyes, you cry out. The pain’s searing as the unfinished potion burns through the top layer of your skin. 

Soonyoung starts panicking. "Augmenti! Augmenti!" he wails, but the water spurts out of his wand in all directions but onto you. Tears gather in your eyes as you start to see white, and you can feel your head beginning to pound as the pain takes over. 

Suddenly, someone is guiding you. Two firm hands lead you around the table and out of the classroom, one on your back, and the other helping to hold your arm up. You let yourself be blindly led down the corridor as tears stream down your face, letting out sobs as the pain in your arm increases.

Your unknown saviour gently pushes you along, all the way to the infirmary. 

They sit you down on what you assume is one of the hospital beds as Madam Pomfrey rushes over, immediately fussing over your injury. She conjures up a salve for the burn and forces a tonic down your throat for the pain, or your nerves, you weren’t sure. 

Soon after, the pain starts to dull and the tears begin to slow. You hiccup from the crying, slowly rocking in your seat.

Feeling better, you turn to thank your classmate, who you were clearly traumatising and would probably never be able to face ever again, only to be met with the worried doe eyes of Seungcheol Choi. You don’t know why, but it makes you crumble and your eyes start to well with tears again, lower lip trembling intensely and threatening to let out a low pitched wail.

Seungcheol falters. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay," he reassures you with the softest voice you'd ever heard him use. "Does it still hurt? I can go get more salve from Madam Promferey." He made to get up, but you shook your head vigorously, not wanting an audience for what was seemingly going to be your downfall. 

He seems to hesitate for a moment before asking, carefully, "Is it maybe what Soonyoung was yelling about? Before the accident?" This only sets off your waterworks once more, and you start blubbering.

"I don't know why, o-or how. It just came out. I swear, I didn't mean–oh merlin, if I could take it back–don't know what I was thinking–" You start to hyperventilate, your chest heaving up and down, breathing becoming ragged.

"Hey! Hey, it's alright," He was rubbing your back now, in a soothingly slow up-and-down motion. You'd almost forgotten his hand was even there. "I'm not mad. I promise I'm not mad."

Seungcheol was too nice. Much too kind. It only made you cry harder though. What were you thinking?! Telling Tabitha you were dating Seungcheol. Where did that even come from? If you weren't absolutely positive Seungcheol was not currently dating anyone, you'd feel doubly dreadful about what you'd done.

Rumours spread like wildfire in this godforsaken school. 

You hear the class bell go off and your stomach drops. There was no stopping it now. Your classmates would move on to their next class, and a few minutes of passing time would be all it takes for everyone else to find out what had happened. You know Seungcheol knows this, yet here he was, still being so sweet to you. 

Maybe it’s because he knew. Knew that when you'd eventually have to reveal the truth, you wouldn’t be able to even lift your head at this school for the rest of the year. 

Your lower lip still trembles, but you’d reduced your blubbering to just quiet sniffles now. You take this moment to glance at Seungcheol, who’s still rubbing softly at your back. It was surprisingly soothing. Any other time, it would've made you flinch, moving as far away from him as possible. Worry fills Seungcheol's big brown eyes, his eyebrows intensely furrowed.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. Seungcheol begins to pat softly at your back, like he’s calming a baby, and he pauses for a moment. 

"Hmm, what’s that?" 

You cast your eyes away before saying with a hiccup, "I-I'm sorry." You use your good arm to wipe away at your runny nose and your tear-streaked face.

He hums, thumb softly stroking you. 

"What if–," Seungcheol takes a deep breath, as if what he was about to say was the most important thing you'd ever hear. 

“What if,” He starts again, ”I had a mutually beneficial proposition?"

You whip your head to face him, furrowing your brows in confusion. 

Seungcheol takes another deep breath, as if bracing himself. "Look, you're a reasonable girl, I'm a reasonable guy. You look like maybe you need some downtime from the Whistler, and I would love it if my, ah . . . admirers, would get off my back for two seconds so I could focus on what really matters."

"What really matters?" You shake your head in disbelief, eyes widening, "And how do you know about–"

"Quidditch," Seungcheol cuts you off, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Also, you and Soonyoung are not nearly as subtle or discreet as you guys think you are," he says with a small knowing smile. A faint dimple creases his cheek. 

He runs his free hand through his hair, "Look, I need to focus on school this year, you understand that better than anyone." You did, 12 N.E.W.T.s were no joke.

The only problem is, Seungcheol is starting to sound a lot like Soonyoung before one of his schemey schemes. 

You narrow your eyes at Seunghceol, the same way you would if you were with Soonyoung, "What exactly is this proposition of yours?"

Seungcheol clears his throat before revealing his earth-shattering proposition.

"Let's date."

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR OTHER OTHER WEBSITES

[milfsloverblog]

Oooh. How about a fic where the reader gives Brienne her favor at every melee and Brienne is just clueless

Tokens of Devotion

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!reader

A/N: I started writing this so many weeks ago, sorry it took so long anon! I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, it was a lovely idea!!<3

Brienne could hardly believe it the first time she’d seen you waving a ribbon at her, calling her name in the hope of catching her attention.

“Me?” She mouthed, pointing at her breastplate.

“Yes, you!” You nodded and waved the blue ribbon more vigorously.

The woman hesitated. What if this was some sort of sick joke? What if once she’d get close to you, the whole crowd started laughing at how much of an imbecile she was for thinking a lady would ever give her, Brienne the Beauty, her favour.

“Please!” You insisted, knowing the mêlée was about to start.

After a few more seconds of hesitancy, Brienne eventually made her way to you. She kept her head up and her shoulders straight, readying herself for the inevitable mockery.

“Thank you,” you said when she was finally close enough. “For a second I thought I would have to give my favour to another knight…And I really did not want to.”

The tall woman dared to look at you then and the beauty of her features nearly made the ribbon slip from in-between your fingers. It took everything within you to tear your eyes away from her face and tie your favour to her pauldron.

“I should be the one thanking you, my lady. I will fight for your honour.” The blonde said, letting her eyes roam on your face while you looked down at your working hands.

You knew it was simply a polite way to address you, but your heart fluttered anyway. Oh, to be her lady.

Your fingers lingered on the steel of her armour for a couple of seconds too long before you eventually pulled away.

“May it bring you luck.” You gestured to the ribbon.

“It already did.” Brienne said, giving you an awkward nod before walking away back to the field, her heart beating loudly inside her rib cage. Her very first favour. She would carry it proudly, and she would make sure to be victorious.

The mêlée lasted for over an hour, men falling left and right, some being disarmed and others simply yielding to their opponent.

“Yield!” Brienne barked at the last man standing, still firmly holding her sword in front of her.

It had been the two of them for a moment now, Brienne’s muscles burning and begging the knight to let go of her sword. But she wouldn’t give up, she didn’t want to disappoint the lady in the crowd who was rooting for her.

“I yield.” The knight spat the words out after another couple of minutes, being too exhausted to keep fighting even if it meant losing to a woman.

You loudly cheered when Brienne was announced victorious, louder than anyone else in the crowd did. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach at the thought that maybe your favour had given her the strength to win. Not that you doubted she would have won anyway.

Brienne removed her gauntlets and her helmet, slicking her short blonde hair back before she made her way over to you again.

“I knew you would be victorious!” You said excitedly, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress to prevent them from reaching for the tall woman.

“Well, I had to fight for both your honour and mine, didn’t I?” Brienne pushed a shy smile and offered you her hand to shake. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Brienne of Tarth.” You smiled and gently grabbed her hand, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss on it instead of going for a simple handshake.

Brienne was left at a loss for words, her cheeks taking a pinkish colour as you let go of her hand. No one had ever done that before, certainly not a woman.

“Well, I suppose there will be people waiting to celebrate with you at the tavern. Until we meet again!” You winked at the knight, disappearing into the crowd before she could say anything else.

Brienne stood there for another minute, dumbfounded by the whole scene that had just happened until she was practically dragged to the tavern to celebrate.

She found that drinking did not help to forget the feeling of your lips on her hand, if anything it only made it worse.

When she showed up to the next melee a month later, Brienne wasn't expecting to see you. Not that she wasn't wishing to see you again; she simply didn't think you would come back for her. Why would you?

How wrong she was, she realised when she heard the familiar voice calling her name. There you were, a smile that reached your ears as you waved something that, from afar, looked like a piece of fabric.

Four long strides were enough for Brienne to be standing right in front of you, your heart once again starting to beat uncontrollably fast when you noticed that your previous favour was still tied to her armour.

“Well, will you start collecting my favours then?” You joked, showing her the piece of fabric that you were holding.

Brienne looked away for a second, desperately trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. She had thought about removing the ribbon from her pauldron, but couldn’t find the courage to do it. Not when she was reminded of your face every time she’d look at it.

“It was only a joke. Although I would not mind seeing a collection of favours on your armour. Only mine, though, or I might get jealous.” You smiled at the blonde. “Will you accept my favour, Brienne of Tarth?”

“Of course, how could anyone decline such an offer?” She nodded and took another step closer. Looking down at your hands she noticed that the piece of fabric matched your dress, raising an eyebrow to silently question you.

“I lost my ribbon on the way here.” You admitted. “So I ripped a piece of my dress.”

“My lady, you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, but I wanted to.” You looked up into her blue eyes and pushed a soft smile.

Have you ever been told how beautiful you are, you wanted to ask, how looking into your eyes feels like swimming in Tarth’s sapphire water?

“The mêlée is about to begin, my lady.” Brienne snapped you out of your thoughts, her hand gently wrapping around yours.

“Yes, yes of course. I apologise, I was…” You shook your head and chose not to finish your sentence.

You quickly tied the piece of fabric to her pauldron, right next to your previous favour. And it felt right, seeing a piece of your dress on her armour, knowing that you two were now matching.

“Think of me.” You whispered and let go of her before taking a step back.

Brienne swallowed thickly and quickly walked back to the battlefield, her mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. She wondered for a second if you had cast a spell on her, if the ribbon and fabric tied to her armour were enchanted with a love spell.

The woman was brought back to reality by the tip of an opponent’s sword nearly poking her breastplate. She quickly parried the sword away, moving swiftly to avoid a counterattack.

You watched her fight for what seemed to be hours, cheering every time she landed a successful strike or avoided a blow. It almost looked like a perfectly rehearsed dance, the way she moved around effortlessly.

You could only imagine what she looked like under her helmet as she fought, snarling and groaning from all the effort. Your mind wandered and for a second you imagined her on top of you, groaning and sweating from another kind of effort.

It was only a silly girl crush, something that would pass in no time. At least you hoped it was. You’d heard about the rumours saying Brienne had had some sort of intimate relationship with Jaime Lannister. You knew you could never compare to the most handsome man in Westeros, if he was her type, you simply had no chance with her. It was only a silly girl crush anyway, it would pass in no time.

You were lost in your thoughts when Brienne was declared victorious, the crowd loudly cheering for her.

The knight removed her helmet and immediately turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together when she couldn’t find your face anywhere in the crowd.

-

“So, Brienne, tell us about the girl?” Tyrion asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“What girl?” Brienne huffed a little too defensively.

“The girl.” He insisted. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about, you’ve been fidgeting with that piece of fabric since we’ve sat down.” He said, pointing at the favour on her pauldron.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Is it about my brother?” Tyrion smirked.

“Tyrion-“ Brienne warned him but to no avail.

“Oh come on! He chose Cersei’s cunt, you will have to get over it someday.” He shrugged.

“Shut your mouth!” Brienne barked and slammed her hand on the table, the whole tavern going quiet for a couple of seconds. “This has nothing to do with Jaime. I don’t know what you think you saw about that girl and me. Nothing is going on.”

“Oh, really? Is that why she always is the loudest cheer in the crowd? Or why she is the one you immediately looked for after your victory?” Tyrion cocked an eyebrow.

“I said I would not be having this conversation with you.” The tall woman hissed and emptied her cup before storming out of the tavern.

She almost felt like ripping the ribbon and fabric from her armour right there and then, grabbing them and being about to yank them off when she suddenly remembered how bright your smile was every time she’d acknowledged you.

She didn’t want to feel these things again, not after Jaime. She never wanted to feel these things again, and yet...

Love, what a disease.

“Brienne?” The tall woman’s back immediately straightened when she heard her name being called.

“My lady…” She turned around, her hand still firmly gripping your favours.

“Are you alright? You look…upset?” You took a step closer, gently wrapping your hand around hers. It was almost comical how small yours looked next to hers. “Would you like me to take these off for you?”

“No, no, I-“ Brienne closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Why are you doing this?” She asked looking at you.

“I’m sorry?” You frowned, confusion painting your features.

“This,” she said. “Acting like you care. Acting nice. How long will you keep the joke going? How long until you admit that you’ve been taking the piss out of me?!”

“Taking the piss out of-“ You huffed loudly. “You think I’ve been mocking you? Why on earth would I do that?! Why would I rip a piece of my most beautiful dress to give you as a favour? All for a joke?!”

“If not for a joke, then why?!” You could hear the pain in her voice, how it slightly trembled no matter how hard she tried to keep her composure.

“Because I like you.” You admitted in a whisper. “And I’m no Jaime Lannister, I’m no prettiest woman in Westeros, I’ve got nothing to offer you but those silly little favours. Those, and my devotion. I would never, ever be cruel to you.”

You barely had time to register Brienne’s hand cupping your cheek and pulling you into the softest kiss, her body trembling as if she was still fearing that this was all a joke. So you kissed her back with all you had, arms thrown around her neck to hold her close.

“It’s enough,” Brienne whispered when she pulled away, her forehead pressed against yours. “Those silly little favours and your devotion, it would be more than enough.”

“Good.” You smiled, taking her hand in yours. “How about we share a drink, mh? To celebrate your victory.”

Brienne nodded, her fingers intertwining with yours as she led you back to the tavern, holding the door open to let you in.

Tyrion grinned like the right imbecile he was when you sat down in front of him with Brienne. He introduced himself before turning to look at the woman by your side.

“Much more pretty than Jaime, if you ask me.” He smirked and pointed his chin at you.

You saw Brienne nod in agreement and looked down to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

Isn’t it crazy, you thought as you fidgeted with the ripped fabric of your dress, what those little tokens of devotion could lead to?

[teawithmadalice]

THE DRAGONS DAUGHTER

Thranduil X OC! Daughter • CHAPTER 3

SUMMARY: Thranduil lost his beloved daughter 500 years ago, on his search for the white gems of Lasgalen- his wife's final gift to him, he finds a young elf who reminds him of his lost daughter.

Or An intruder breaks into Erebor and meets a peculiar She-elf.

WC: 1.3K

CHAP 2 • CHAP 3 (YOU ARE HERE) • CHAP 4

Many people find silence unnerving, but the young elfling had spent so long in it, the cold embrace of quiet was her only friend.

One thing any mortal must know about dragons, the ferocious, fire breathing, mountain dwelling beasts is that they sleep. They sleep for years upon years, waking up once their hunger had become so ravenous they wake and breathe fire and eat all whom cross their path, stealing any wealth or earthly possessions the victims leave behind, bringing them to their lair and sleeping amongst the fallens possessions.

For about 150 years after the fated day when Aewneth was placed at the mouth of Erebor, Smaug stayed awake, he taught the girl how to speak, read and raised her as his own flesh and blood, she was odd, even for the dragon, who has seen every type of mortal and immortal that has ever inhabited the lands of middle earth.

It had been 60 years since her father last awoke, Aewneth spent her time painting, weaving delicate embroidery, reading, writing, shifting through the hoard. It was repetitive, yes, but it was her routine. A quiet, methodic, systematic routine.

It was dusk when she heard the soft pitter patter of little, light footsteps that echoes through the maze of mines and rocky tunnels.

Interesting.

•••••••••

Bilbo Baggins wasn't a burglar. Maybe he could steal a sword off an orc or some food from a fellow traveler, but breaking into a fallen kingdom, stealing an ancient jewel from under a sleeping dragons nose and getting out unnoticed? Definitely above his pay grade.

But a Baggins will always stay true to his word, he promised the dwarves a burglar, and a burglar he will be. 

His breath was steady as he moved through the dark passageways leading into Erebor, the rest of the company would wait on the cliff side for Bilbo's return- or the sound of a fire breathing dragon waking up incredibly agitated from his 60 year long slumber.

His heartbeat hammered harder in every step he took closer to the horde- he fidgeted with the ring in his hands, just one foot in front of the other, one foot in fr-

"You are not supposed to be here." 

A soft voice spoke from behind the Hobbit, he jumped, dropping the ring with a clatter onto the stone floor, the noise echoing throughout the tunnels.

An elf stood behind him, her head was ducked slightly, the Dwarven halls of Erebor were seemingly not built for someone of her height. She wore a silver gown, with hand embroidered flowers at the scooped neckline, her hair flowed in golden waves down her back, silver rings and jewelry were intricately braided into her hair. He stammered to find his words, why would a she-elf be here, in the unlit halls of Erebor?

"Who are you?" She continued, not waiting for a response, voice still soft. Bilbo could not detect any malice or threat in her voice, she spoke softly, kindly, it was odd- why on earth is she here? she could hardly be on a mission, she wasn't dressed in armour, had no weapons on her person either.

"I'm Bilbo Baggins, from Bag-end." He smiled awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other, her stare was unsettling, the ice blue of her eyes pierced into his soul, she looked like one of the wood elves he had the misfortune of getting on the wrong side of. The mere thought of beer barrels made his skin crawl even now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Bilbo Baggins from Bag-end. May I inquire why you are here? it is every dangerous, you know. A dragon lives amongst these walls" The elf tilted her head.

"I could ask you the same thing my Lady" he smiled, a charismatic laugh falling from his lips as he tried to ease the tension and the ever present thumping of his heart.

"I suppose you are right." And with a soft sigh she continued.

"I live here." She smiled, looking down at the Hobbit, "I've lived in these halls all my life, almost... 500 years now I believe."

She hummed absent-mindedly, eyes beginning to wonder towards the unlit torches on the wall, seeming to contemplate her next actions as she made no attempt to conceal her facial expressions. 

"How about I make us supper and we talk about why you have chosen to come here, you are no dwarf and have no blood ties to this fallen kingdom. You intrigue me. And if we are being completely transparent, ive never had company before."

"Of course my lady", his heartbeat thumps in his ears. Great. This has just become 10 times more difficult. Not only did he have to stealth a dragon, now he has to sneak past a young elfling with incredible hearing and fast reflexes.

Amazing.

She turned around, after gesturing the halfling to follow her, navigating effortlessly through the maze of tunnels, the soft fabric of her dress flowing behind her as she strides with purpose.

The ring in Bilbo's hands became heavier as he followed suit, as much as a home cooked meal seemed appealing after months away in the wilderness far from the shire, it would not get the arkenstone any closer to being in his possession. With a shaky breath and nimble hands, Bilbo slipped the golden band onto his forefinger, the familiar blur of invisibility invaded his vision, every motion swirled in patterns.

He continued to follow the oblivious she elf, though he created a bit more distance and stayed light on his feet, praying to every spirit in middle earth that the fall of his footsteps would not be loud enough to be noticed.

But Bilbo Baggins was playing the role of a burglar, he had been ever since he signed that contract back in Bag-end, and he mustn't let his company down, he will get the arkenstone, deliver it to Thorin Oakenshield and free his dwarf friends home from the tightened grasp of Smaug.

He must.

A soft white glow emitted from his peripheral vision, the maze of tunnels finally came to a close, here he could make a run for it, find the treasure and flee without any one knowing what happened.

Of course Bilbo knew that would be wishful thinking, but even he was bewildered once the labyrinth of corridors came to an end and he stared down at the heaps and piles of gold, finding a single white gem in the sea of treasure was almost impossible, and certainly would take longer than one night, the door into the mountain would close and he would be trapped. The fact that there was a sleeping dragons beneath said gold, a young elf with hearing as sharp as nails, and the fact that the only description of the gem he seeked was that it was "white" and that he would "know it when he saw it", only added to the inevitable failure of this mission.

A burglar Bilbo could be, a miracle worker? Not so much.

Bilbo spared a look behind him at the young she elf, she looked around bemused and bewildered,

"A disappearing halfling... How strange." She pondered quietly, eyes flickering around the great hall.

"Perhaps I imagined him" she hummed, turning on her heel and leaving back into the tunnels, going to God knows where. Bilbo thanked the elves eccentric nature in his head, before turning his gaze back onto the hoard.

Time to get to work.

••••••

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[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter III

“I find it hard to believe, that you were given your first cup of wine at such a young age” Daerlyssa suppressed her shock, as she and Aegon were sat beside one another.

“Well, believe it” Aegon let out a soft chuckle, “it is no surprise for you to find me drunk everyday, during your stay here. I am warning you in advance.”

“Not to worry. Besides, it is not my place to say, whether or not you should be drinking. That is for you to decide” Daerlyssa responds.

It had become quiet for a couple of seconds, as Aegon looked toward her, watching as she admired the books sat on the shelves in front of her.

“My father’s books. Some important.. histories, and stuff” He sounded bored by the topic of it.

“I’ve only ever known my mother to read books. My father, Daemon.. he is quite a complicated man” Daerlyssa chuckled as she stood up, getting a closer look toward the books.

“As I’ve heard” Aegon responds, as he stood up after her, “do you?.. read books?”

Aegon cringed at the thought and the fact that he had the audacity to ask such a question.

Daerlyssa shook her head as she turned to face him, “Daemon does not allow it. He says it would corrupt my mind.”

“I see” Aegon nods with a slight smirk played across his lips, “I referred to the books of histories. But perhaps Daemon is referring elsewise.”

“What do you mean?” Daerlyssa asks.

“How do I put it?..” Aegon whispered, as he thought for a moment, looking around, before looking back toward her.

The innocence played on her face, with her eyes glistening as she awaited his response.

“Perhaps it is best I keep it to myself” Aegon responds, “I would be speaking out of turn, otherwise.”

“You must tell me now” Daerlyssa sighed, “you can not mention such a thing, only to then dismiss it completely.”

“You are a young woman. You will come to learn of it one day” Aegon responds.

“Why does every person refer to me as a young woman, to only then hide matters or myself? I know I am a young woman. That is established. However, I should be taught many things at this age” Daerlyssa pouted.

“It is simply not my place, Daerlyssa. I can not say” Aegon sighed, “the most I can speak of it, is that a man’s saying and doings could perhaps… heighten a woman’s desire?”

Daerlyssa tilted her head as she looked toward him, confused, yet still very intrigued.

But she knew to find herself defeated, as that was all Aegon would speak on the matter.

“Do you have a book? One that.. heightens a woman’s desire?” Daerlyssa asks.

Her question causes Aegon to feel slightly warm, as he adjusts his armour, pulling his collar away from his neck.

“I-erm-?” He suffered, as he gulped, his eyes travelling down to her bosom, that heaved before him.

“Uncle?” Daerlyssa called out.

“Oh sorry” he was quick to looks away, gulping once again, “I um- I can not. Even if I did have one, I could not lend it to you. I do not want to be the cause of any trouble.”

“We can keep it a secret” Daerlyssa whispered.

“N-no, we can not” Aegon picked up his sword, from the bed he was sat on, “I have to go. My brother will be waiting for me.”

He turned as he hurried his footsteps out the his fathers chamber.

Daerlyssa’s eyes had followed him out, as she tilted her head, looking toward him quite confused, until she turned back toward the books of history, placed on her grandfather’s book shelves.

-

As it got to the evening, everyone had gathered for dinner.

Once again, neither Aemond, nor Aegon were seen to be around.

“I’m starting to think this alliance will be disappointing for the both of us” Daemon whispered.

“We do not know that yet. We hardly know, what Daerlyssa thinks, of Aegon yet” Rhaenyra responds.

“What? That he is a drunken mess?” Daemon sarcastically responded.

“It is not entirely his fault, for being drunk, Daemon. You can not fault him” Rhaenyra pointed her eyes toward her father.

Daemon turned his head, noticing Viserys drowning himself in his fifth cup of wine.

“Shouldn’t you slow yourself there, brother?” Daemon asks.

“It is needed, certainly” Viserys responds, knowing the shame he would face, if Aegon joins whilst he’s drunk, once again.

“Would you like to sit beside me?” Heleana asks, as Daerlyssa walks in.

“Oh thank you, but i was hoping to sit next to Aegon” Daerlyssa responds.

Having everyone turn to look at her.

“Oh, no well- it is just, me and Aegon get along quite well” she let out an awkward smile, “he is quite funny when you speak to him.”

“Except that is when he is sober” Jacerys remarks, “who knows what he’ll be like, should he be drunk.”

“There is no harm with him, brother” Daerlyssa made her way to a seat, which had an empty one beside her, “he is our family. We should include one another.”

“Y-yes. Yes we should” Viserys puts his cup down slowly, onto the table.

“We do not know what Aegon faces behind closed doors to make him want to.. become drunk” Daerlyssa gave a look to her grandfather, watching him turn away in guilt, “so we must be nice to one another.”

“It would be nice to have one day without either one of us trying to bite each others heads off” Lucerys mutters.

“Prince Aegon, your grace” Ser Harold called out, as Aegon tumbled in, his hair a mess and himself drunk, once again.

Before he could speak, Daerlyssa had stood up, “Uncle.”

Aegon looked away from his father, toward Daerlyssa, with a smile, “ah, Daerlyssa. How delightful.”

“We were just speaking about you” she smiled.

“You were?” He looked around, confused that no one seemed to be displeased by him being drunk.

“Come” Daerlyssa points to the seat beside her, “take a seat.”

“I don’t know what is going on, but it is clear our daughter is possessed” Daemon muttered.

“Or perhaps, as she said, she spoke to Aegon and he seemed to be a nice person. You can not judge every person that is not you, Daemon” Rhaenyra sighed, “she seems happy to have him beside her.”

“I suppose” Daemon glared at the two for a moment, before he turned to Viserys, “and perhaps you would know what she referred to, when it comes to behind closed doors?”

“I’m unsure but, glad they are getting along” Viserys cleared his throat, as he looked away.

Daemon looked toward Alicent, who surprisingly had nothing to say, as she sat back quietly.

“Something isn’t right” Daemon whispered to his wife.

“Whatever it is, we should not assert ourselves with it. It has nothing to do with us” Rhaenyra responds.

Jacerys sighed, as Daerlyssa offered Aegon the seat she was to sit in, now having his uncle sit inbetween the two of them.

“Thank you, for welcoming me in” Aegon seemed to be confused, and slightly less drunk, compared to the day before.

“It is no worry. I just wish for us to get along. Don’t you, Jacerys?” Daerlyssa asks.

Jacerys, playing on a smile, then turns to face them, “of course. Why not?”

His sarcasm was not hidden, having Aegon toward Daerlyssa, confused.

“Jace” Baela whispers, as she eyes him to stop.

Aegon look back toward Jace, noticing Baela holding onto his hand.

“A-ah! Right!” He clapped his hands, looking toward both of them, “you are bethroed aren’t you?”

“Yes, they are” Daerlyssa responds, “they make the perfect match.”

“Yes, they certainly do” Aegon responds, before he leans in to Jace, “as someone with much experience, if you ever need details, do not hesitate to ask.”

Jace tilts his head toward Aegon, before he whispered back, “I do not know what you are trying to maintain with this sudden friendship, but hold your tongue before my bethroed”

“Right” Aegon nods, as he turns away.

“What do you mean, of experience?” Daerlyssa asks, “in fact, could we revisit our conversation from this afternoon? I have been meaning to find out all day.”

“I am sorry but even if I could, I will not” Aegon notices Daemon’s eyes on him, causing him to gulp, “but, if you’d like to speak on food, then i must say, this dish tastes quite good.”

Daerlyssa pouts as she turns away.

She found it frustrating, that everyone continued to treat her as though she were a child.

Looking around, she noticed the chatter everyone shared with one another.

Conversations should could not be a part of, considering they all saw her to me of such a young age.

She could only wish there was someone, who did not treat her as a child.

“Brother” Aemond called out.

Aegon looked up at him, with a smile, and half a turkey leg in his mouth.

“Are you sober?” Aemond scoffed.

“This food is just too good” Aegon responds.

“Have a seat, brother. Your seat, specifically, is available today” Heleana responds.

“Hmm” Aemond looked toward Daerlyssa, as he tilted his head, “i wonder why.”

“I hoped to sit here, today. To have a nice conversation with my uncle” Daerlyssa responds.

Aemond looks toward Aegon, who was far too in with his turkey leg, to look back at Daerlyssa, who sat politely, with a smile.

Aemond nods, before he sits himself down, beside his sister, Heleana.

“It is strange” Aemond spoke, his tone low.

“What is?” Heleana asks.

“Yesterday, she sits in my seat, and today, she sits in the seat i was sat in” Aemond scoffed.

“Do hide your pride brother” Heleana responds, “she wished to sit beside Aegon. Apparently they have engaged in a conversation before. Daerlyssa seems to find funny.”

“Hmm” Aemond responds, as his eye averts toward his niece.

“What i am surprised about, is that you have decide to eat dinner with us twice. Since our sister and her family have been with us. It is the most i have seen you, within the evening” Heleana spoke to him, yet she seemed to find herself occupied with her fingers, as she fidgeted with them.

Yet Aemond could not give his sister a response. Rather, he leaned back into his chair, as he rested his arm onto the table.

Tilting his head, he observed his niece, who found herself with such joy, laughing along with his brother Aegon.

What was her game, for her to become interested in her brother, so suddenly?

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 4

[momojedi]

— LOSS topic. hunter x gn! jedi! reader

**

type. one shot note. this is just a small drabble while i finish all the other requests i've gotten! yes, another tlou reference. my fist hunter fanfic and obviously its angst, ugh. this is set a while after omega's abduction. tech is alive. reader met the remaining batch while they were out scavenging for any intel on omega's location - they don't know about who they're looking for specifically, not her importance. warnings. angst, argument, hurt/no comfort, kidnapping word count. 1,135

star wars masterlist || pinned post

10%

I feel the familiar knot of anger boil in the pits of my stomach. It's been a little over a month since I decided to fall in with the three mercenaries that had happened to go after the same bounty as me. It was only when we had settled on splitting the credits that my blood had run cold the second their helmets were off. It had taken Hunter a lot of patience and persuasion to finally get me to lower my lightsaber.

Hunter and I had quickly clicked from then on. But as time passed, I noticed more and more how protective he became of me, giving me little room to breathe and jumping in to defend me despite knowing I could handle myself. When Tech told me about Omega, the girl they'd ben so invested in finding, my heart broke for him. A father figure and his daughter separated by a gruesome Empire? I quickly took pity on him, tried to accommodate his behaviour but when he'd taken a blaster shot for me during a difficult mission, I cracked. I'd screamed at him, scolded him for putting himself in danger for me before storming off, the desperation in his eyes burning itself into my mind.

I've been hiding in the Marauder ever since, trying my best to avoid Hunter in the guise of assisting Tech and Echo in their research while listening to Wrecker's quiet chewing as he devours ration bar after ration bark, much to his brothers' annoyance. But of course, he won't let that slide.

"[Name]?" I bite my tongue when I hear the creaking of the metal steps under his weight as he steps into the shuttle. I'm not sure I can stand looking at his hurt expression, nor the dent in his armour where the shot had hit. So, I sigh.

"I know about Omega, Hunter."

Hunter freezes when her name falls from my lips and suddenly the air grows tense. "What?" His voice is shaking, as if it were still trying to grasp a sense of understanding on what I just said. I sigh, setting down the datapad as the download I was previously supervising proceeds.

20%

"Tech," I explain, rising from my seat and motioning toward said man who curiously enough started burying his face in his own datapad, "he told me about her and━" "[Name]." I stop dead in my tracks. Never has my name been spat harsher than it now. Hunter's eyes are shut, brows furrowed as he speaks with a precision that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His tone is dangerous, almost threatening when he finally opens his eyes again, the usual warmth in his gaze gone.

"You are treading on some mighty thin ice there."

I bite my inner cheek, letting out a deep sigh before crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm sorry about her, Hunter, I really am," I hesitate for a second before meeting his eyes again, "But I have lost people, too."

30%

Hunter stares, a cold and piercing glare that I hardly withstand. He's seething, fists clenched at his side. Then, he opens his mouth and my heart stops━

"You have no idea what loss is."

My mouth goes dry. Echo takes in a sharp breath. Tech awkwardly clears his throat. The loud clang of Gonky landing on the ground makes it clear even Wrecker is taken back.

"What?" It's more of a heartbroken grasp for reality than a question but I speak it anyways. Hunter remains quiet. "Hunter, I... Are you serious?"

40%

I didn't break away from society, didn't remain on the run, didn't lay low for months to be met with this. I know Hunter's words are lead by pure despair and fury toward the Empire, yet they still affected me. And so they did, badly. Echo set his healthy hand on the sergeant's shoulder. "Hunter, I think that's enough━"

"No," I bark, dashing forward and driving an accusatory finger into Hunter's chest plate, "No, you listen here and you listen good. Everyone I have ever cared for, my master, my troops, my friends - all of them have either died being slaughtered by the Empire, or left me." A familiar wetness forms in the corner of my eyes as I blink back the tears. "All except for you!"

50%

I swallow the lump in my throat as my voice breaks into a sob. "So don't act like you can't be taken away from me, too, because truth is, it just hurts me more."

Silence fills the Marauder once more. I can practically feel the tension radiating off Hunter as he watches me. Finally, he moves, but his action brings more harm than good. He turns away from me. Before disappearing into the cockpit though, he halts and faces the side to look at me over his shoulder.

"You're right. I don't have to protect you. You're not our family, after all," he stops, letting the words sink in. Then, he shoots his final bullet, sure to leave a deep scar, "We're dropping you off on Koboh. From here on out, we'll be going our separate ways."

Download cancelled!

Then, the door slides shut behind him. I remain frozen on the spot, the stares of the other batch members fading into the background along with the datapad subtle beeping as the download stops. Echo is the first to move. "I'll go talk to him." When he too disappears into the cockpit, Wrecker is the second to find his voice. "It'll be fine," he tries to reassure me, laying a comforting hand on my back, "it's a hard topic for him, just ... give him some time."

The air around me suddenly feels stuffy, rendering it hard to breathe. I barely excuse myself and leave behind a confused Wrecker and a perplexed Tech as I rush outside. I don't hold back, stumbling through the woods, away from the shuttle, from the Batch, from Hunter. Away from everything.

It's only after nearing a cliff at the edge of the forest that I stop, catching my breath and falling to my knees. My stomach churns as I feel my world fall apart. The last time I've felt like that, I watched my fellow Jedi be slaughtered by their own men. I bury my face in my hands, salty tears clinging to my palms.

As my surroundings are darkened, I barely detect the imperial shuttle closing in on me from above. Only when the lamps power on, throwing a blinding light on me, I look up before swiftly being caught off-guard as the electrified net lands on me, partially knocking me out. Steps. A shadow looms over me, modulated voice barely drowned out by the shuttle's noise.

"Sir, we found the Jedi."

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pairing: Bucky x reader (No gender mentioned, but reader does wear a dress)

Words: 1.6k

Summary: You and Bucky are forced to work on Halloween and even when cosplaying as lovers you only seem to bicker.

Warnings: it gets just a lil goofy. If you’re not down to clown kindly exit my circus. Reader is a bit of a hellion. No use of y/n. Not that much plot rip. Lemme know if I missed something.

A/N: Started this last year but didn’t finish it in time. Originally this was like 70% different but then I had to scrap a bunch of stuff and now it’s this I guess.

Dividers by: ME :) pls enjoy

“Who am I supposed to be?” Bucky asked. 

“You’re kidding, right?”

He lamely gestured to the outfit. “A pirate?” 

“You’re Westley!” 

“What’s a Wesley?”

“No, West-ley!” You handed him the final piece of the costume. “From The Princess Bride!”

Bucky eyed the black mask skeptically and quickly tied it around his head.

“And you’re the Princess Bride?”

“In fact I am. I’m Buttercup!” You watched the scarlet dress twirl behind you in the full length mirror.

“Her name is Buttercup?” 

“I’m not appreciating the judgement in your tone. It was either this, or eggs and bacon. Would you like to be bacon?”

“This is fine.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You studied your costumes and scoffed. “I mean you’re practically wearing what you wear anyways. All black. Except instead of a gun you have a sword and you get a cute little bandana to wear on your head.”

You made the perfect couple. Bucky looked dashing as always in his pirate getup, and your smile rivaled the shine of your gold tiara. 

Neither of you thought you’d be spending the holiday with each other, but duty called. Your mission? To infiltrate a rich kid’s Halloween party and snap some photos of his gazillionaire father’s files. Why? Boring shit, bad guy did bad thing, yadda, yadda.  

You pulled up to the English country manor in one of Tony’s convertibles and gaped at the view. The large house sat upon a hill and was framed by flourishing gardens, illuminated only by the inside lights. You could hardly imagine how green and lush they looked in the daytime. 

“Are we clear on the plan?” Bucky asked as he opened your car door for you.

“Yes. Enter the party dressed in costumes,” You took the gloved hand he offered and stepped out.

“Locate the main office. I’ll be watching your back.” Bucky continued, the two of you starting your journey to the entrance.

“I pick the lock,” you nodded as you looped your arm with his.

“You’ll grab pictures of the files,”

“And then we’ll go back to the ground floor and party.”

Bucky stopped so suddenly that you went lurching backwards.

“That is not the plan.” 

“I’m officially adding it to the plan.” You said, removing your arm from his and continuing to walk.

“You can’t do that,” he grumbled, hand shooting out to grab yours before you could get too far.

“C’mon Buck!” You turned around to face him. “When was the last time you went to a Halloween party?”

“I don’t know.”

You stepped closer to him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“We deserve to have a little fun if we are forced to work on Halloween. Besides, I thought we were spies. You really think our chances of getting caught drastically increase if we hang around for a bit? You think we are that bad at our jobs?”

“But—”

“Fine,” you smirked, “we party first. Blend in. Then we get to business.”

His black mask only amplified his unamused glare.

“Ugh. Okay, we’ll play it by ear. Agreed?”

“Fine.” 

Unfortunately for you, there was very little partying to be done. Bucky gave you five minutes amongst the flood of witches, ghosts, cowboys, and angels before dragging you off to the west wing of the estate. 

You followed the large hall to a set of stairs, and ascended to the second floor. 

“I think this place used to be a castle,” you whispered, eyeing the strange suits of armour lining the hall.

“Focus.” Bucky said, five paces in front of you.

You skipped ahead and spun to face him, “I’m the most focused person in the world right now.”

You continued to skip backwards all the way down the hall until you reached the study doors. 

“All right,” you smiled after picking the lock with a single bobby pin, “be a good watch dog for me.”

Bucky grumbled, but you shut the doors behind you too quick for him to lodge an official complaint.

The study was as elegant as to be expected with a house such as this. The glass balcony doors in the back of the room stretched all the way up to the coffered ceiling, and towering bookshelves stacked with ancient spines lined the walls, but what caught your attention was the mahogany desk in the middle of it all. 

You made your way behind the desk and promptly began opening the drawers. 

It didn’t take long to find what you needed. 

Just as you snapped photos of the the final file, Bucky came bursting in and locking the door behind him. 

In the time it took him to warn “He’s coming, we have to go,” he had made it across the room to the balcony doors, wrenching them open, and dragging you with him. 

The exact same moment you shut the door came the creaking of the study entrance. Bucky yanked you away from the window and into his chest as he pressed his back against the stone wall.

“That was close,” / “Stop manhandling me—” you said at the same time.

“Manhandling?” Bucky whispered harshly into your ear, releasing your waist. “If that means saving your ass, then—”

“I can cover my own ass.”

“Is it really so hard for you to say thank you?”

“I can cover my own ass, thank you.”

“Do you want us to get caught?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t think it is when you keep acting like this.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Oh my g—”

“Keep your voice down or he’s going to hear us, stupid,” you shoved your palm against his mouth.

He squeezed your wrist and yanked it away from his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking ever do that again.” He snarled.

He caught your smirk and the twitch of your hand and pushed you away before you could shush him again.

“What did I just say? Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“I listen to you.”

“If you listened to me you would leave me alone.”

“Is that right?” You asked, a glimmer in your eye.

“Yes.”

“As you wish,” you said, and backed up against the balcony railing.

“What—” he began, but you were already hurling yourself over the ledge.

Bucky ran to grab you but could only look on in horror as you catapulted a full story to the lawn below. Instead of stopping where you fell, the steep hill sent you tumbling further away.

Bucky cursed as he launched himself after you, hitting the ground with a harsh thud, and rolling after you in stupor.

A chorus of grunts and oomphs echoed into the still night as the two of you tumbled down the ridiculously long hill. 

Rolling,

Rolling,

Rolling,

Bucky finally reached you at the bottom after what felt like minutes of nauseating turning. It took him only a moment to hoist himself up and run over to you, motionless on your stomach.

“Are you okay? Please, please,” he kneeled by your side and anxiously rolled you onto your back. “Look at me,”

“I’ve got grass in my mouth.” You mumbled, peaking an eye open at the dishelved man above you. His bandana was missing and his v-neck was ripped a little wider from the fall. Not to mention the literal dirt on his cheeks.

Bucky flashed a quick look of relief before turning red. He stood up and ripped the mask from his face. He furiously threw it to the ground and began to storm off.

“Where are you going?” You called, struggling to get up.

He halted. You watched in curiosity and unease as he balled his fists. He relaxed them, and tightened them again as he whirled around to face you.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was just doing as you asked,” you shrugged nonchalantly, steadily sitting up.

“I didn’t mean to throw yourself from the balcony! You could’ve really hurt yourself,”

“You didn’t have to come after me. You could’ve really hurt yourself, too.”

“Yes, but my body is made to withstand that kind of fall, yours isn’t.”

“I’m not w–”

“I know you’re not weak! Do you really think I’m calling you weak, or are you just arguing to argue?” 

You looked down at your muddied shoes and mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said,” you began, but the rest of your words were incomprehensible. 

“I can’t hear you,” 

“I said!” You swung your gaze up from the ground, “I don’t know how to talk to you! Okay?” 

“What are you even talking about?”

“You only seem interested in talking to me when we are arguing. Otherwise you act like you hardly know me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? When was the last time you started a conversation with me that wasn’t work related or related to something I had done to piss you off?”

“...”

“Exactly.”

“What,” he scoffed, “so you decide to throw yourself off a balcony?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to act like you care about me,” you said. 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I never said it was reasonable.”

“So if I tell you I care about you, you'll stop fighting me on everything?”

“Bucky, stop,” you groaned.

“No, I’m serious. Is that what it takes?”

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just say you care about me because I want you to. Then you’re just saying it to placate me.”

He sighed. 

He turned around and scanned the grass. A moment later he was picking up his mask and brushing off the dirt before retying it around his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on,” was all he said.

You followed him back up the hill as he led you to the back entrance of the party.

“Where are we going? I thought we are leaving.”

“You said you wanted to enjoy the party, didn’t you?”

“But—”

“You have thirty minutes. Okay?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think?”

You softly smiled. “Thank you, Bucky.”

Before he could respond, you had placed a quick kiss to his cheek and ran off into the crowd.

“As you wish.” He mumbled, fingers grazing lightly over the spot you had kissed.

A/N: If you made it to the end thank you so much. Please let me know if you liked it. I have anon on for my inbox if you're shy or if you ever have an ask :)

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Libations

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Length: ~4200 words Rating: M, sexual content and a bit of canon-typical violence, with very temporary character death. Summary:

Five and twenty words exactly and Aylin feels like she will expire on the spot, divine heritage and immortality be damned. By the time she has composed herself and her mind into something resembling coherence, excused herself from the meeting with her lieutenants, and started counting out the words of If you wish it, I shall leave my armour on, and— Aylin realises with a curse that her window for composing a reply has long gone.

Isobel, Aylin, the Sending spell, and the twists and turns of a century-long romance reflected in 25-word installments.

But for the most part our girls are simply playful and horny.

Written for day 7 of Aylin/Isobel Week 2025, for the prompts: The road to Baldur's Gate - and beyond | Courtship, romance, letters, bloodline.

I wanted to end the week on something (mostly) happy. A huge thanks to everyone who's taken part in this - I have so much to catch up on, be it reading, commenting, or replying, and it is a true delight. I hope you all enjoyed my own contributions, and I hope you enjoy this one as well.

Also on AO3.

—

Libations

The summer Isobel completes her training is one of the longest and driest in Reithwin's recollection. When it comes to be her turn for a field excursion and initiation mission with the other acolytes, Isobel begs and pleads and argues with her father for days. There is no need for the Lady of Moonrise to go, he claims; no point to Isobel putting herself at risk, or dragging herself through the dusty, sweltering inconveniences of a field campaign. But Isobel will not be deterred, and the cold war of the two stubborn Thorms in Moonrise Towers stretches on for a full blistering tenday.

Ultimately and begrudgingly, likely knowing his daughter is bound to simply leave of her own accord otherwise, Ketheric relents - but not without stipulations and conditions. For one, Isobel is to report back regularly using the Sending spell to keep him personally appraised of events and of her well-being. Second, Isobel is to use the freshly-procured and altogether excessive amount of scrolls of the selfsame spell, in order to make sure she is never straining her own magical resources.

And so Isobel sets out, saves a village, combats bandits, prevents a drought, heals more people than she ever thought herself capable of, and neglects to use a single one of the spell scrolls.

-

The first message is utter torment. Isobel toils over it, scraps so many bits of drafting paper her room starts looking decidedly snowed-in, and as white as her actually ice-locked balcony. At least Squire seems to be having fun batting the crumpled-up balls around the floor.

There is the form of address, to start with.

Dame Aylin seems, to Isobel's eye, proud and honoured by her role and many, many titles, very delightfully certain of her own resplendence, but also not so keen on being singled out for formalities and praise that erred on the side of worshipful. That kind of reverent prayer and supplication, she claimed as she waved it off, was meant for her great divine Mother.

She is striking and intimidating, to be sure - but once one tries it, she is the very opposite of unapproachable. Her smiles are wide, enthusiastic, freely given, and she is just as generous with hands clapped on shoulders or rousing proclamations. It is so easy, standing next to her, to believe yourself capable of grand deeds. A true beacon of hope and the quintessential paladin - Isobel could hardly hide her starry-eyed appreciation after mere moments in her orbit.

And yet whenever the glorious Dame Aylin turns that gleaming silver gaze towards her, when she truly looks at Isobel, all of this is so unmistakably tinged with something else. Something they are both aware of; something that looms, and seems both so unlikely and strange and so inevitable and so right. One of them need only take the first momentous step.

So, Isobel agonises, is this it? Is this the step? It seemed like such a clever idea when it occurred to her, when she knocked over her case of scrolls one unassuming morning, left over from all those years ago. A simple Sending spell: direct, private, with an invitation for the two of them to meet somewhere just as private. Promising a response within seconds, if the recipient is willing. And if not, well… Isobel could worry about that when the time came to face her goddess' literal daughter in the inevitable duty-related context again.

Honoured Emissary, Sword of the Silverlight, Champion of the Moonmaiden, Blessed Moondaughter - Isobel could use twenty-five words and more just getting through the preamble. Nonsense. Missing the point entirely, at that.

So she simply settles for Dame Aylin, not yet feeling quite so bold as to leave the title out, notes down her auspicious beginning on her current and latest little vellum scrap, and stops.

Now: counting out the remaining twenty-three perfect and exact words she wishes to send, to be heard.

Isobel groans and lets her head thunk against the solid wood of her desk.

-

It started with that fateful meeting in the audience hall of Moonrise, threading the first of its tiny roots through them both. But it flourished with the surprising summons that made Aylin's heart beat like a lively drum, and the brief private audience that turned into a long night of confessions - and rather rapidly growing closeness to stave off the cold - in the frost-garlanded gardens beneath Moonrise.

In the warm months since, it has only bloomed.

Aylin finds herself on the receiving end of many a message from Reithwin's wisest and brightest and most mettlesome cleric, after that audacious first one. The invitations take many forms, from mock-formal proclamations to open suggestions for trysts, and Aylin adores and eagerly answers every single one.

Respected Emissary, starts the latest message, arriving just as Aylin is done cleaning and putting away the equipment she had borrowed for her morning training. The smile audible in Isobel's voice implies this one will be a cheeky mix of her habitual styles. You are hereby invited to attend today's solstice festivities at Moonrise Towers. Following supper, your presence is requested on the topmost west-facing balcony.

The entire whirlwind of the past few months has been altogether exhilarating and so delightfully new. Aylin finds herself wishing to leap into the air to twirl and loop at least some her immense exuberance away; to chase and herd clouds until they spell Isobel's name out in the otherwise clear sky.

Instead, she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, to slow the blood still rushing through her veins after her drills and stretches and let her ruffled feathers settle back down, then replies: I shall be flying past momentarily, my darling. If my presence is welcome and desired this early, leave your window open.

The window, it turns out, is not merely left open as a signal of welcome. Isobel, leaning out of it, all but grabs Aylin right out of the air to pull her in for a kiss. And then another. And another, until Aylin laughs against her mouth and begs for a reprieve long enough to clamber into the room.

Selûnites, diverse and scattered as they are, have modes of dress and raiments just as varied. Aylin respects them all deeply, and regularly feels her heart both lightened and gladdened when encountering familiar insignia, sometimes with an interesting twist on the moon-and-stars-inspired designs, in some remote corner of the world.

Isobel is a highly skilled, well-qualified cleric, and she has doubtlessly earned her vestments well. She wears them with great pride, and on many occasions - never letting those around her forget she is a servant of Selûne just as much as she is the Lady of Moonrise, and Reithwin, and all the lands around it.

Aylin, of course, likes her best wearing nothing at all. But when needs must, when the time is too short, when the day is full of obligations for them both, she makes do. She ducks her head underneath layers and layers of robes with great delight, presses a trail of kisses up one calf, then all along the inside of a thigh, and prays her Mother doesn't mind Her clerical vestments being worn for a sweeter ritual than the one they shall take part in later.

-

Another change of seasons comes, then another, but the sweetness of their time together changes not at all - and neither does the enticing tension of their brief times apart.

Isobel grows well-practised in casting the Sending spell, and makes sure to have the bit of clipped copper wire it requires close at hand. Still, she keeps her stock of scrolls replenished, too. They are pricey - but Isobel allows herself this one indulgence, this one luxury.

She supposes she will eventually stop blushing furiously during her morning prayers, when it comes to the preparation of her chosen rituals and spells for the day. Isobel hopes the Goddess is amused, if anything; Her blessings She gives freely and easily enough.

But no amount of flushed distraction or momentary embarrassment can deter Isobel. Not when her beloved is so quick with the replies, so eager to rise to any challenge; not when a cleverly-worded message so often leads to her presence at Isobel's side and sparks such delectable inspiration in her.

Tonight, however, is merely frustrating. An inconvenience at most, in the grand scheme of things, but Aylin being called away on a brief but urgent matter when they'd had an indulgent romantic evening arranged soured both their moods considerably.

Aylin promised to return as soon as she was able that very night, swore the two of them would salvage whatever bit of their plans they could; swore, again, to make up for this ill-timed absence a dozen times over.

So Isobel waits, relieved as the humidity of the day slowly clears, watches the moon steadily traverse the clear summer sky, and indulges in thoughts since all else is out of reach. She hums and contemplates the shapes of a gorgeous, strong neck trailing down to a beautifully corded shoulder, with that one eye-catching line of gold woven across it.

She discards their plans one by one; the dinner, the stroll, tasting the new seasonal ales at the inn, the bath— well, perhaps not the bath.

Isobel goes out onto her balcony, pacing in the blessedly fresh breeze that still fails to drive the nigh-feverish flush from her skin, and sends her message.

I am in no mood for romantic candlelight. I wish to see this firestorm kindled within me illuminate the divinely chiselled marble of your face.

Aylin's reply is as a murmur against her ear, as light as the caress of the midsummer wind on its sensitive tip.

Our Lady of Silver, in all her foresight, has fashioned for my beloved a throne. Soon you shall take your rightful place upon it.

Not an hour later, when the sound of wings finally comes from just out of view, Isobel feels like she could take flight herself.

-

The winter campaign against an unpleasant alliance of Sharrans and Cyricists is long and arduous, and takes Aylin further north than Neverwinter. The cold is biting and the ground hard, particularly after she has allowed herself to get used to the luxury of a high-born lady's warm bed. But worst of all is the gaping wound that her absence feels like. For all the joy Aylin draws from the loyal comrades she has been fighting with, they are simply not Isobel Thorm. Her darling, unmatched in every aspect.

Another day dawns, another map is unfurled upon the camp-table, another scouting party reports their findings. The dark forces seem to be dwindling, at long last, and Aylin lets burgeoning hope wash over her.

My fierce, fearless paladin, Isobel's sweet voice bursts out of nowhere, rich with yearning and just a touch breathy, pouring like honey over Aylin's mind. I often wonder how it would taste, to have a sip of you fresh from battle, eyes still ablaze, raging. Consider.

Five and twenty words exactly and Aylin feels like she will expire on the spot, divine heritage and immortality be damned.

By the time she has composed herself and her mind into something resembling coherence, excused herself from the meeting with her lieutenants, and started counting out the words of If you wish it, I shall leave my armour on, and— Aylin realises with a curse that her window for composing a reply has long gone.

-

She misses her sorely, today. Her Aylin, her angel, off on an important quest that turned into a months-long endeavour. And it is not - well, it is not just the enthralling physical proximity, or the delicious skills of mouth or fingers, nor simply her wonderful warmth during the cold winter months. It is the large, sword-calloused hand always ready to envelop Isobel's, the blindingly bright smile, the eyes softened and gentle and wide in their endless attentiveness, the way she makes even the simplest everyday statements sound like poetry.

The world feels just a little bit emptier, because she is not here. So Isobel does the one thing she can, and weaves a bit of magic to let her know.

My precious angel, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were meant to be mine, and I yours. And then she pauses - Isobel cannot, in that tiny span of time she has to finish her spell, summarise the enormity of this feeling. So she concludes simply: I miss you.

The reply comes almost instantly, the beloved voice effervescent in Isobel's mind and sending delightful shivers down her spine.

Darling, I yearn for your blessèd presence more than words can say. I shall endeavour to show you most ardently upon my return. Eternally yours—

Isobel smiles at the sudden stop, clutches the thin remnants of her little wire to her chest. She wants to throw herself on her bed and giggle giddily like an enamoured schoolgirl. Wants to flee the tower and leave Reithwin behind immediately, running off to wherever Aylin was.

Instead she takes a deep breath in a room that feels slightly less cold and desolate, and prepares to go about another day.

-

The days have grown long and warm, but the spring showers have not yet begun. Aylin takes advantage of the light and flies back to Reithwin as fast as her wings can carry her - faster, perhaps, as she notes some soreness and a twinge of fatigue that her tireless self is hardly used to.

But it matters little, for she cuts the deliberately unannounced return trip from her long absence by almost half. Awash in self-satisfaction, Aylin sneaks up the stairs at Moonrise on subtle foot instead of flying up by resplendent wing. She reaches the second floor landing when an almost-expected, certainly-anticipated message rings out so musically in her mind.

I have seen this long winter to its bitter end, with nothing but thoughts of you to keep me warm. Will my reprieve come soon?

She knocks at the door, and Isobel opens it, then stares, agape. Aylin smirks, meets her wide eyes shining bright with joyful surprise, and sends her reply, gaze unbroken.

Momentarily, my dearest. I do so love when you spill your sweetness down my throat.

"Aylin," Isobel half-cries, half-hisses, flushed. She yanks Aylin into the room and kicks the door closed in one movement, then locks it in another. Yanks, again, Aylin down for a kiss, quickly followed by several more, frustration and delight mingling delectably.

Aylin grins into the kisses, then chuckles when Isobel nips at her lower lip. "Is vengeance not my most holy duty? Here is but some small restitution, for your… adventurous messaging, darling Isobel. Or is it that you would have preferred me speak the words aloud? I am more than willing—"

"Aylin," Isobel breaks her daze enough to twine her fingers in Aylin's hair and gently pull, urging her downwards. "Put that incorrigible mouth to better use, my love. I'm— it won't take very long."

Aylin follows and obeys, eagerly and happily. On her knees, large hands grasping at the softness of Isobel's thighs tightly, chastised mouth hot and willing and hungry.

-

Summer comes early that year, and stays late.

And so does Aylin. Perhaps it is her Mother's way of repaying her for a prolonged tour of duty. Perhaps Selûne merely wishes to spoil Her dear daughter. In any case, Isobel has no complaints whatsoever.

Aylin, it seems, cannot get enough of any of it. Not the vagaries of mortal life that she keeps discovering, nor the extended indulgence of this honeymoon.

"I have bathed in the silver waters beneath Argentil," she proclaims, "coasted through the timeless Astral Sea… but this… this is a wonder beyond even my reckoning."

The wonder is a perfectly average and perfectly divine day spent alone together. They are in Isobel's room, all of its doors and windows open to allow as much of the sweet-smelling late afternoon air in as possible. Entangled in each other upon an utterly mussed up bed, gloriously happy and sated.

"Nothing compares to this," Aylin murmurs her conclusion against Isobel's damp, tangled hair, and presses as close to her as plain, mundane, material flesh and skin and bone will allow.

Isobel frowns; the sweetness, unbidden, suddenly developing a bitter aftertaste. Her darling is a being of two worlds and Isobel has anchored her to one. When she is gone, what tether will remain, if any?

But that is not a contemplation for now. Not when Aylin's hands, always prone to wandering, start trailing some rather suggestive paths over her bare skin once more.

"Again?" Isobel laughs, though she cannot find it in herself to complain at all.

"Hmm," Aylin hums against her neck, which she now seems determined to entirely cover with kisses. "Call me a glutton, then. Name me… ravenous and insatiable. Dame Aylin has never shrunk from the truth."

"What else is she, this Dame Aylin?"

Aylin pauses and lifts her head to look at Isobel. Then she smirks, always all too happy to play along. "Proud, to be sure. Though not without reason, I should think."

"Oh?"

Aylin nibbles on the sensitive pointed tip of an ear, before whispering into it - and how delightful, Isobel muses, to face an opponent who knows all your weaknesses. "She does not need to weave spells and convey her words directly into her beloved's mind at inopportune times in order to make her blush, for one."

"Is that so? Well," Isobel smiles, turning to face her with a steely look in her eyes, unflinching in her challenge. "Prove it."

Aylin inclines her head, the picture of respectful obedience, save for the cheeky twist to her lip she is failing to suppress, and the telltale way her feathers have ruffled up. "As you wish. Let me first count the words, in the interest of complete fairness."

Within moments, she bends down to murmur against Isobel's ear again. "My darling, enticing within and without," each word Aylin accompanies by a light trail of fingers - under Isobel's chin, along her rib cage, up and then down the inside of each thigh. "Bids me drip upon her sheets my eagerness to receive whatever gifts she sees fit to bestow upon me."

"Not bad at all," Isobel replies, biting her lip to stifle her grin at the delightful frisson the words have invoked, and pressing her thighs together when Aylin's hand tries to venture further. "But why don't you try again?"

-

Your counsel is required on a crucial matter. Come to Moonrise at your earliest convenience. It is of vital importance that you do not delay.

It is Isobel's message, of course, but Aylin is struck by the tone of it. No endearments, and no playful teasing - utter seriousness.

I am on my way, beloved, worry not, Aylin replies, simply and swiftly. Then she frowns, turns to the assembly of merchants and tollhouse clerks Ketheric Thorm had drawn her into for incomprehensible and likely petty reasons, and excuses herself.

A few wing-beats, and Aylin has coasted across the breadth of half the town. A turn and a dash and she is flying up the imposing tower of Moonrise along most of its height, until she alights on Isobel's balcony. She herself is standing there, expectant, but entirely unperturbed and blissfully calm even in the chill breeze.

Aylin sighs, understanding what has transpired at once. "My darling, as grateful as I am for your valiant rescue, you cannot make a habit of this."

Isobel does not pout - it would be unbecoming. Instead she raises a clever eyebrow and smiles just so. "Oh? Whyever not?"

"What if you needed me urgently and I thought it merely one of your jests, your sweet games…"

Isobel smirks, maddeningly close, wildly beautiful. "But I always need you quite urgently." Then, upon seeing Aylin's frown, her teasing drops, and she amends with all seriousness. "If it has become uncomfortable, or if you don't like it for any reason at all, I'll stop, of course. Aylin—"

"No! No, no. It is not that. I enjoy it, I do. All of these delightful reminders… as if you were with me, always, even when I am leagues away. But soon…"

"Soon, there will be no need," Isobel finishes, reiterating that most solemn pledge. As soon as the season turns, as soon as the roads clear, the two of them are setting off on long-promised adventures of their own. Then she gives that little smirk again that makes her eyes glimmer with the most exquisite mischief. "But it can still be fun, regardless."

Aylin nods, then raises Isobel's hand for a kiss. "Shall we go inside, then, and see to this urgent matter?"

-

There are months that pass like days, and days that pass like years, and years that, in their passing, vary their span from decades to minutes.

And there is a period of Aylin's life when she would have named herself blissfully happy. Utterly content, even. But, however long it lasted, it could never have been long enough.

-

The first dagger comes out of nowhere; out of a darkness so complete the warm, diffused light of the hallway torches right outside the room does not even touch it. The force of it and the pain send Isobel to the ground. Her spear is kicked out of her hands, swallowed by the shadows.

She hears the assassin cry out in surprise, then hears Squire yelp.

Isobel seizes the distraction, drags herself along the floor, towards the brooch she has been using as a spellcasting focus, and the bit of wire clipped to it just in case, that has torn off her robes and skidded under her desk. But the assassin looms over her once more, twists the knife out of her back, and kicks at her hand again, and Isobel's lifeline is lost in the darkness, too.

The contents of her desk are strewn on the floor around her, most of them stained by the growing, concerningly large puddle of blood beneath her.

One of them is a scroll. Isobel reaches for it with rapidly numbing fingers, and starts to speak as it disintegrates in her hand.

"Aylin," she gasps out, just barely, "help."

The rest of the words go unused.

Miles away, Aylin is startled awake from her doze, awash in a cold terror that matches the icy winds outside, and knows it is too late.

-

Then there is a century of silence. But this, too, passes.

-

It is a honey-sweet molasses-thick summer afternoon when Isobel finally sees the sea. And as wondrous as it is in all its seemingly endless span before her, at the moment the most fascinating part of it is the droplets and rivulets that cling to and race across Aylin's skin. Gold, gold, gold, wherever she looks.

She presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder, wide, strong, solid, with an ancient oath Isobel herself has sworn: tenderness for Aylin, always, forever, to make up for a century of none and to fill up every crevice of her being. This time it is but a small measure poured from Isobel's lips, in exchange for the salty tang.

The water is a bit too cold for Isobel's taste - she did not go in past her ankles, and swiftly retreated to the sun-warmed sand they'd spread a blanket over. But she still gets a refreshing taste of it when Aylin rushes in up to her chest, spreading her wings and fluffing the feathers, flicking this way and that, working the water into all of her and showering Isobel with a pleasant spray. Her pure, joyful grin is utterly contagious, and her exclamations as she swims out make Isobel's heart swell.

Isobel reaches over to the satchel at her side, plucks out a scroll and sends I love you I love you I love you I love you until the words run out to Aylin, within glorious sight but just out of reach.

Aylin's surprise is evident as she starts, then turns to swim and wade back immediately. Her eyebrows shoot up almost comically as she catches sight of the entire armful of scrolls Isobel has packed away.

"My darling," she begins, as close to hesitant Isobel has ever seen her be, incongruously combined with her ever-impressive broad frame currently on such luxurious display. "Do you not find it beautiful, nay, miraculous, that should you have any desires, you need only ever lean closer and whisper them into my ear?"

"I do," Isobel answers, truthful and heartfelt, and awash anew in appreciation of all their hard-won blessings. "But for the sake of a little fun once in a while, I thought it couldn't hurt. Besides, the young master of Ramazith's Tower and all its endless magical riches owed us a favour, and obliged, no questions asked."

Aylin hums in understanding, and grins. "So," she drawls, in a beautifully and heatingly familiar tone, "does my beloved harbour any wishes of me?"

"Not for the moment," Isobel shakes her head but does not try to hide her sly smile. "Enjoy yourself - I was merely enjoying the view."

Aylin nods, but stays crouched next to her, eyes narrowed, intent. Then with little warning she scoops Isobel up in her arms, and ambles back through the sand and pebbles and into the sea. She effortlessly keeps Isobel above the surface of the chilly water - such casual thoughtfulness - and lets her instead be soaked by the clinging seawater warmed by her own endlessly warm body.

Isobel laughs and laughs and laughs, then throws her arms around her and kisses her sweetly.

Suspended, amber-clad and preserved in all its beauty, the moment lasts forever.

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 9 - Favour

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

Warning - This chapter contains canon typical violence.

~~~

The summer tourney brings competitors from as far north as Deepwood Motte, to as far south as Sunspear, but none have set more tongues wagging than Aemond Targaryen.  

According to Maris, he never usually partakes in any tourneys, yet he was partaking in this one, and there was hardly a lady at court who did not dream he would ask for her favour. 

But not you. You were only glad you’d not had to endure his company since Helaena’s name day. Though Maris could not say the same. 

It had been three days, and if she did not spend more time with Aemond, then he could never fall in love with her, and that just wouldn’t do. 

So, with the royal summer quickly drawing to a close, she had begun to beg your father to extend your stay for another two weeks. Enough time, in her opinion, to secure a prince.  

But Borros Baratheon was not borne for the life of a courtier and, from what he’d seen in the Red Keep, his daughters would all find far better matches with his banner men instead of the ‘pompous arses at court’. 

Still, despite his feelings on the Red Keep, he was pleased enough when a scroll arrived just before the joust was about to begin, inviting your family to sit in the royal box at the behest of the queen.  

Ordinarily you would dread such an invitation, but knowing Aemond would be preparing for the tourney elsewhere, meant you could be quite comfortable with his family instead of crammed into the stands with everyone else.  

Though if you were completely honest, you weren’t exactly looking forward to a spectacle of blood and violence, and the idea of men charging at each other with giant sticks was a little absurd.  

But you could enjoy the ceremony of it all. With the horses dressed in house colours, countless banners flying proudly in a blue sky, and all that well polished armour.  

Some of it was like a work of art, so distinct and detailed. The only place you ever saw armour like that was at a tourney, where it was designed for intrigue instead of practicality. Though you think practicality should really be the main thought behind such things.  

Still, you’re excited to see it and you’ve wondered, more times than you'd care to admit, just what Aemond’s armour will look like. Practical or beautiful.  

When you enter the royal box, excited to see the crowd which has been making so much noise, Queen Alicent stands and, though you’re expecting her to greet your father, she bypasses him in favour of you .  

“Lady Baratheon,” she says warmly, taking your arm in hers as though you’re old friends, before she leads you to sit in the chair beside her. 

You can only imagine what your family must think of this, yet its only Maris who’s desperately trying to catch your eye, her gaze so forlorn. 

“Why have you abandoned our Cyvasse games? I’ve missed them terribly,” Alicent says, and you’re taken aback. You’d never really thought your games were anything more than a distraction until court resumed. 

“Forgive me, your grace,” you bow your head, “I thought perhaps you were in no need of my company when the hunt returned.” 

She laughs kindly, “so you will leave me to play all my games with Aemond, when you have seen what a devil he is? I am quite in need of your help if we are to conquer him.” 

You meet her eye and laugh, but your laughter is uneasy compared to hers. “I believe it will take more than a few days to conquer his grace.” 

She looks thoughtful, “will your father not extend your families stay?” 

“We are all eager to return home,” you say, though it is only you and your father who wish to return to Storms End.  

Alicent does not hide her disappointment, and you’re not sure why you feel so guilty except you do. As though you’re letting her down in some way, yet you haven’t made any promises at all. 

“I’ve never visited the Stormlands, but we have a palace there. Summerhall, you have seen it?” 

“I have not, your grace.” 

She seems surprised. “Aemond stayed there in the spring. I thought perhaps that was where he had met you.” 

Your face feels hot, flustered. “Met me?”   

“Yes, you knew him before you came to court, did you not?” 

You lick your lips, your throat suddenly feeling far too dry for words, “no, your grace.” 

She seems surprised again. “When my son returned from Summerhall and suggested we invite your family to court, I thought perhaps he had made a dear new friend .” 

You try not to react, but you are reacting, your mind reeling, your cheeks burning even hotter than before. 

“Perhaps he met my father?” you say, feeling pleased to have thought of some reasonable explanation when she is looking at you with the shrewd expression she usually reserves for her son. 

“Perhaps,” she leans even closer, so there are no prying ears in your conversation, “but he does not look at your father, or indeed any of your sisters, the way he looks at you .” 

If a dragon could swoop from the sky and eat you alive, you would thank it for the pleasure, but you’re not that lucky. 

Of course Aemond looks at you differently , you think nervously. You’re the only one in your family who was stupid enough to be naked on a beach! 

But you can’t say that to the queen. In fact, you cannot even bring yourself to say anything at all and, perhaps, in saying nothing, you tell her everything she needs to know.  

Then the games begin. The fanfare sounding, two men riding into the forum, but you can hardly concentrate. Your heart is pounding so hard you feel it might burst from your chest. 

“You may sit with your sisters,” Alicent says, her voice making you startle, and you stand, knowing it will be rude for you to leave without at least looking at her. 

But when you turn to her, the knowing smile on her face makes you nervous all over again. 

“You should be at the front in case someone asks for your favour,” she adds as though she hasn’t said quite enough.  

You curtsy politely and cannot return to your sisters quick enough. 

Someone . You know she means Aemond, but the idea of him asking for your favour seems absurd. It’s too bold and far too romantic. 

Aemond might be insanely arrogant in most regards, but he was also painfully reserved. He didn’t dance, hardly smiled and, if that wasn’t enough, the only time he was mildly tolerable was when you were alone. 

In public, he was so unreasonably rude and certainly not the type to ask for anyone’s favour, least of all yours. 

He might have suggested your family come to court, but you were certain that was only to allow him the pleasure of tormenting you face to face. Except , the stack of books in your chamber had no bearing on torment but you could not think of that now.  

“What did the queen say to you?” Maris demands before you’ve even taken your seat.  

“We spoke of Cyvasse and... Summerhall , she said Prince Aemond likes to stay there sometimes.” 

“He does?” Her face lights up, excited by this new information, and you can see the very moment fresh schemes begin to cloud her mind instead of more questions.  

Cassandra says nothing. Yet the way she looks at you makes you feel uneasy, as though she's on the verge of asking something far more probing than Maris had.  

So, you do your best to ignore her, glad when the crowd grows far too lively for easy conversation, leaving nothing to do but watch with sickening fascination at the whole spectacle. 

Aemond’s match is last, and his competitor is a man named Lord Glover who you have never seen before, though he is very hard to miss.  

“He is a beast,” Maris exclaims, and she’s right. He’s so tall and broad shouldered, you almost think he should be carrying his horse and not the other way around. 

As he approaches the royal box, he removes his helmet to reveal soft brown curls and a friendly, open smile.  

He bows his head to the Queen, then her children, before his attention turns to you and your sisters. 

“I would have come South far sooner if I had known of all the beautiful ladies they hide at court,” he says, forcing his horse to a stop and, even from where you’re sitting, you can see the pretty colour of his eyes, like moss in the rain.  

“You hail from the north, Lord Glover?” you ask, intrigued by all the stories which had always described it as some dangerous and mythical place. 

“Almost as far North as you can go before the wall, but do not hold that against me.” 

“My sister likes windswept places,” Maris interjects with a playful laugh, and you find yourself blushing at the way his smile burns brighter. 

“Well, in that case, may I have the honour of your favour and your name, my Lady?”  

Without thinking, you catch Alicent’s eye, and her stare is quite fixed as you rise from your chair, holding your handkerchief.  

You’d almost forgotten to bring it and take care to ensure the wonky cornflower is hidden from view as you tell him your name and begin to tie it around his lance.  

But before you have finished, the noise from the crowd grows more excited, and you glance over Lord Glover’s shoulder to where Aemond has rode into the forum.  

Wearing all black with a horse as dark as his armour, his helmet tucked under his arm. A sensible choice, you think. No garish pieces and made for battle instead of pageantry, though he seems to enjoy the spectator's cheers well enough, slowly lapping the ground before his eye finds you.  

You glance back down, finishing the knot on your favour, trying only to feel the softness of Lord Glover’s mossy gaze, instead of the ice which burns from Aemond’s. 

Then he takes your hand, “may I have your first dance this evening, my lady?” 

You can’t help but return his easy smile, excited by the prospect of a man who has not been corrupted by Aemond. “You may, Lord Glover, and good luck.” 

Seeming pleased with your answer, he presses his lips to the back of your hand, and your heart does a little leap when his finger grazes across your wrist.  

“I shall look forward to it,” he says, with one last smile, before kicking his horse into a trot just as Aemond approaches the box. 

“Your little sister seems to have hedged all her bets on the loser,” he declares boldly, looking at Maris.  

“You have fought Lord Glover before?” you interrupt, annoyed by his arrogance. 

“No,” he twists his head towards you, “but I do not play to lose.”   

You think of your Cyvasse game and feel even more annoyed, “nobody plays to lose, your grace. I’m sure Lord Glover is anticipating his victory with as much enthusiasm as yourself.”  

Aemond’s jaw tightens, his lance sliding up to slam on the rail beside you, but you don’t startle. You hold firm and perhaps, if you were thinking more clearly, you’d be thinking this entire exchange is another one which is far too familiar.  

But somehow, it's like everyone else doesn’t exist, just you, the prince and yet another disagreement. 

“His victory?” He says and you can hear the distain in his voice as plainly as you can see it on his face, yet you prod him. 

Looking towards Lord Glover with a smile, “I can certainly see no reason why not.” 

“Your favour, Lady Baratheon,” Aemond commands and your eyes snap back to his, but his attention has turned to Maris.

She hops up from her chair, her cheeks flushed and her handkerchief waving in the air with all those delicate little stitches. 

This is everything she’s wanted for weeks, yet you cannot bring yourself to smile for her as you sit back down. Your chest feels too tight, your shoulders rigid.  

You were so certain he wouldn’t ask anyone .  

Yet he was asking her, and perhaps if he was being sweeter, you might have been more concerned about the acute pang of jealousy which struck the moment she jumped up from the chair.  

But Aemond is being Aemond. There’s no romance, no kiss of the hand. His mouth is a hard line, his attention elsewhere.  

He doesn’t even see the way Maris is smiling or how her fingers are trembling with excitement as she knots her handkerchief into a bow.  

It's all so perfunctory to him, and you forget about your own feelings, whatever they are, because you cannot stand the way he’s ignoring her.  

Why did he even ask?  

Can he not see how much she adores him?   

If you were Maris, you would scrunch the handkerchief into a tight ball and throw it at his stupid head. 

Yet Maris is still smiling and it's you who reclaims his attention, his eye dark and dangerous as he pulls the helmet over his head. 

Fear seizes control of your veins and you’re not sure if it's for Aemond or Lord Glover. But the size comparison really is alarming when they’re at either end of the arena. 

Glover is well over 6 feet tall, his arms like sturdy branches of a tree. It's difficult to imagine a scenario where he could lose. Yet you cannot underestimate Aemond, nor can you bring yourself to watch.  

Your eyes squeeze shut the very moment the horses begin to pound the earth, and it's only a few seconds, before the sound of splintered wood cracks through the air like a clap of thunder.  

There’s a thud, the high whinny of a horse, followed by the sharp metal draw of a sword. 

You force your eyes to peel open, one at a time, to find both men dismounted and circling each other with their weapons in hand. 

Glover charges, his sword clashing heavily with Aemond’s shield, and only then are you certain it was the dragon who’d been unseated.  

Aemond seems to favour his left leg, holding his arm tightly into his ribs before his sword raises to meet with Glover’s next attack.  

With every clash, you shift closer and closer to the edge of your seat, time seeming to move more slowly than it had in the previous fights. 

More than ever, you’re wondering why in the world anyone would ever do this?  

Aemond leaps forward then back, tricking Glover into thinking he’s going to attack. So, when Glover swings his sword, Aemond isn’t there. Instead, he strikes the giant knight in the side, toppling him over like the felling of a great tree. 

“Finish him!” the crowd shouts but Glover is surprisingly agile, rolling beneath the jousting fence to give himself space to manoeuvre back onto his feet. 

If Aemond wasn’t injured, you’re certain he would have followed him, but he uses the time to regain his own strength before they clashed again. Shield against shield, thrashing until Aemond’s crumples in his hands and he throws it aside. 

Glover uses the opportunity to thrust his sword towards Aemond’s chest, forcing the dragon to duck and weave, a thing that cannot be easy given his injury. Yet he does it so flawlessly, as though the pain is nothing to him. 

Glover’s next strike is even harder and, though Aemond brings his sword up to meet it, he cannot repel the attack. Instead, Glover presses his weight into the sword, forcing Aemond to his knee.  

By now you’re leaning onto the railing in front of you with both hands and the crowds are calling, “finish him,” yet again. Though you’re uncertain if the words are meant for the Prince or Lord Glover. Yet the distraction proves in Aemond’s favour.  

Glover is too busy enjoying the taste of victory before it has really touched his lips and, as he revels in the cheers with the dragon at his feet, Aemond springs free, slicing his sword up and under the giant Lords Helmet. 

The move is so quick, your brain barely has time to register it, and, for a moment, they both just stand there, leaving you to wonder if the sword had hit him at all.  

Then Lord Glover folds in on himself, a thick stream of blood hitting the dirt just before he does.  

You gasp, the sound completely swallowed by the deafening ovation of a bloodthirsty crowd, as Aemond removes his helmet and throws it to the dirt.  

His lip is busted open, his hand clasped against his ribs, but that does not stop the smile on his face as he turns to the royal box and finds your horrified expression. 

You shrink back into the chair and Maris leans in with a smug grin, “and he won with my favour.” 

You don’t answer, your gasp has seemed to drain all speech from your throat, and it doesn’t return until some hours later.  

~~~

[deathbxnny]

☆《Returning home to you.》☆

-----♡

A/N: I've been in such a writing mood today, so don't mind me~

Summary: HSR characters return to you after a long mission/trip/day of work.

Characters featured: Kafka, Blade, Welt, Jing Yuan, Gepard

Content: Fluff and nothing else really(?), sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not really proofread, so I apologise for any mistakes.))

-----♡

》Kafka

The work of a Stellaron hunter is difficult and time consuming. And so, whenever Kafka comes back home to you, after a month long trip into far away galaxies, she hardly ever leaves your side after. She clinges to you, teasing you with sweet words, asking you if you've missed her. And she knows you have, as she also missed you dearly.

She sighs in satisfaction, when she finally gets to hold you in her arms in bed, her face burried in your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you. She whispers soft apologies in your ears, swearing that she had done everything she could to come back to you as soon as possible. Her voice is slow and gentle as ever, so soft and loving just for you.

She hands you gifts and trinkets as an apology, smiling with an amused and content in glint in her eyes, as you happily thank her for them. She spoils you rotten and enjoys every moment of it.

Coming home to you is by far Kafka's favourite thing, even if she sometimes wishes, that she'd never have to leave you in the first place. But seeing the excitement and happiness in your face, after a long time of absence, makes it nearly worth it.

-----♡

》Blade

Blade tries to seem unaffected, indifferent. But it's hard to keep up, when he finally sees you again after so long. He says nothing of how much he missed you, how much he yearned for you. He doesn't know he'd even begin to phrase this deep passion and love he had for you.

And so, he shows it by gifting you trinkets, pretty clothes or just gifts that reminded him of you. It's his way of apologising in a way. To silently show you, that he did think of you, whilst he was away. He always thought of you, one way or another.

The way he holds you also tells you more than enough. His hands on your waist or his arms around your body are tight and desperate, a quiet confirmation that he did miss you. Horribly so.

He tells you about small details from his missions, people that bothered him, perhaps even a mention of Kafka's shenanigans or the capture of a Stellaron. You listen with interest, even if most of it is vague for your safety. He doesn't want to speak about the gory details with you.

When you were about to fall asleep, safely tucked away in his arms, you could've sworn that you heard him tell you that he missed you. But you can't be for certain, especially not if he denies it so stubbornly as he always does.

-----♡

》Jing Yuan

He demands kisses and hugs from you the moment he steps through the door. He's exhausted, yet saved the last of his energy just for you. After such an seemingly endless day at work, he wants nothing more than to be doted on by his dear S/O. Which you ofcourse don't mind doing.

You help him out of his armour and help him get into something comfortable, before he asks for you to cuddle him. He just wants to hold you close and forget all his troubles and duties for just a moment. Being a general demands so much from him and you are one of the few things that bring him solace.

He nearly dramatically tells you about his day, his hands absently trailing along your curves in comfort. Eventually he just falls asleep mid sentence, his head burried in your hair, the familiar scent lulling him into a peaceful slumber only you could provide him with. His grip is tight and secure even in his sleep, that's for sure.

Sometimes he enjoys cooking for the both of you, even if you insist that he should rest and that you can do it for him. He just finds it relaxing to do mundane and domestic things with you. It was his way of resting and you eventually just learn to go with it. You don't mind anyways, ofcourse. Spending time with him is something you love doing the most.

-----♡

》Welt Yang

After a long mission that kept him away from the Astral Express for a while, he practically fell into your welcoming and gentle embrace. His hands find your hips, holding you close, as he whispers of how much he missed you into your hair.

He tells you many stories of his travels, about the things he experienced when he was away. And you listen to him with curious eyes, your body curled up into his, as you both of you sip on some warm tea.

He in turn listens to you talk about what you've done in his absence. No matter what it is, he'll always listen intently, never missing a single detail, no matter how mundane it is. He keeps everything stored in his mind an heart, your voice enough to bring him joy.

It fills him with warmth and happiness to know, that he always has someone to come home to now. A person he'd protect with his life. He sometimes just stops mid sentence just to tell you how happy he is. How glad he is to have you.

He'll keep you close to him, your head resting against his chest, as you both relax and watch the stars together. You don't need to say anything, basking in eachothers presence at last is more than enough. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

-----♡

》Gepard Landau

He never comes home without something to give to you. He knows, that his work and duties as the captain of the Silvermaneguards can be alot of strain on a relationship, which is why he makes sure to put a smile on your face everytime he comes back. He gets you flowers most of the time, one's that remind him of you. Once you smile, he can finally allow himself to also relax.

He's not the best with words, often times getting too flustered to actually tell you how much he missed you. Not that he needs to say much with how tightly he hugged you. He's just glad to be home with you.

He's used to being busy all the time, so expect him to still clean or cook with or for you. You're probably going to have to restrain him to the couch to make him stop or just join him in bed for a well-deserved cuddle session. You can always just do your chores tomorrow, once he's well rested.

Gepard tells you about some things that happened out on the front lines, yet nothing disturbing or worrying. The last thing he wants is for you to feel worried or scared about anything. He'll always protect you after all. He listens to you ramble about your day, about how you visited Serval or how you saw a cute dress in a shop. He listens to everything you say.

He falls asleep pretty fast in your warm embrace. He doesn't try to, but he can't help it, when you're so comforting to him after such a long day.

-----♡

A/N: Thank you for reading! Requests are also open!<33

[parvulous-writings]

no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes:  if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY: Grim Tales

Bargain

Blake could only watch in horror as Jaune was stabbed through the heart by Adam's blade. Seconds felt like an eternity as he was pushed to the floor and his once vibrant blue eyes had suddenly turned dull. She screamed out his name, crawling to him in desperation.

Blake: *reaches to Jaune* Jaune! No! Please. *shakes him* You can't do this to me. No. Please no. *cries* Jaune!

Blake looked at Adam and raised her hand. A small, purple coloured magic circle appeared and a panther-like shadow beast emerged, lunging at him. Adam scoffed and simply cut it with his sword. Blake momentarily left Jaune and drew her tantō, whispering a spell to enchant it. It glowed purple and she charged towards him. Her attacks proved fruitless, as Adam's swordplay was devastating, yet refined. Each blow she tried to land was effortless parried. Seeing an opening, he grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her up.

Adam: Did you honestly think that you could beat me with that pathetic excuse for magic?

Blake: Ack! Y-You monster! *stabs Adam's arm*

Adam barely had a reaction, not even a flinch. Instead, black liquid began to seep out of the wound and seemed to shift. It began to crawl up and down his arm, slowly enveloping him until it spread all around his body and transforming into jet black armour. Blake was horrified.

Blake: Adam... what have you done?

Adam: *chuckles* I have surpassed the weakness of humanity. I offered you a share and what did you do? Cast me aside like I was nothing. But I don't need you or the White Fang anymore. I'm part of a new era, one where I'm promised the rightful title of ruler among you and the Faunus.

There were no words left for Blake to say. Her best friend, her brother, was gone. It may have Adam's face and voice, but not his soul. For the first time in her life, she felt truly defeated. Adam grabbed the tantō from his arm and stabbed Blake right in the abdomen.

Blake: AAAAAAGH!!!!

He threw on top of her dying husband and slimy, black wings protruded from the back of his armour. As flew off into the night, Blake reached to Jaune's cheek and stroked it.

Blake: Forgive me, Jaune.

* * *

The voice of Blake was ringing in Jaune's ears. He tried to open his eyes, but he could feel an intense, burning heat that kept them shut. Blake's voice began fading and in its place was a deep, sharp growl.

???: Jaune.

Jaune: Wha? What the-?

???: Jaune Arc.

Jaune: Who are you? What's going on?

???: Open your eyes.

Jaune slowly opened his eyes and found himself in a dark, desolate landscape. Volcanoes were erupting and the sky was a deep red. Surrounding him were all types of Grimm, hungry and itching to kill. Jaune jumped back and tried to reach for his sword. But it wasn't there.

Jaune: What the hell? Where's Crocea Mors?!

???: Even if you had it with you, I doubt you'd be able to fight all of us by yourself.

Jaune turned around and saw a large, indigo dragon-like man sitting atop a black, bony throne. The Grimm growled gently and all bowed their heads to it. Jaune couldn't believe it. He was the presence of the progenitor of Grimm.

Jaune: Y-You're the God of Darkness.

GOD: Indeed I am. Though you'll forgive my curiosity as to why a man of your virtous character ended up here. You're far from perfect, but you hardly belong in the Land of Darkness.

The God of Darkness stood up from his throne and approached the young man. Jaune slowly backed away, terror coursing throughout his body. The dark dragon stared deep into his eyes with intense focus, not even blinking once.

GOD: Oh... now this is interesting. In your heart lies vengeance and a deep desire for bloodshed. Oh we could use that *chuckles* Someone has wronged you.

Jaune: I... I... I remember being stabbed in the heart. By... *gasps* Adam!

GOD: I know him. One of my finest soldiers. Or at least he used to be. *walks to throne* Tell me, boy, how much do you desire Adam's head?

Jaune clenched fists. He thought back to all the times he and Blake were pursued by Adam. Countless deaths of innocents had followed him, including that of the White Fang. To see him betray his own family like that, who raised him, cared for him and taught him the ways of a Magic Knight, made Jaune furious. And now he had taken him from his beloved wife and son. Tears ran down his face.

Jaune: I'll do anything. Anything.

GOD: *smiles* I see. I can offer you a chance at revenge, a chance to see your family again. But, I require something in return. You must serve me. You must become my Grimm Knight, slaughter my enemies and become my weapon! *clenches fist* In exchange, you shall be stronger, faster, more dangerous than you will ever become with your pitiful human magic. Will you do it?

Jaune: I will! Whatever it takes, just promise me that I'll see Blake and Anthony again!

GOD: It shall be done. But swear your loyalty to me first.

Jaune didn't hesitate to bend the knee.

Jaune: I Jaune of House Arc, hereby swear my loyalty to you. I will be your weapon to vanquish all who stand before you. I will be your servant of darkness. I will make Adam pay for what he did to me.

The ground below him cracked and hundreds of small tendrils latched onto him, piercing bits of his skin. Jaune grit his teeth as he tried to bare the pain. The tendrils shifted into dark armour and his chest bore an emblem of a dragon's skull. Jaune's once luminous, blonde hair had now become white as a ghost.

GOD: You now serve me. Rise, Wyvern.

Jaune rose his head and gave a threatening, guttaral roar. His journey to retribution had begun.

[puggnugget]

The Grove Party

PART TWO to "A Sight for Sore Eyes"

Hi again!

This is following immediately after "A Sight for Sore Eyes", where it continues to follow a female Tav and Gale storyline. This second installation does not include smut, but a lot of character work including that of Karlach and Astarion to help explore their characters as well as Gale.

You have successfully saved the Grove from the dangers that threatened it, and now find yourself in the midst of celebrations at your camp. You've hardly spoken to Gale since the night you caught him self indulging in his tent, but plan on making an attempt this night.

Notes: A loooot of angst, longing, character work, this will lead to much more smut down the road of course - but I felt it was important to include this to help narrate the story line I have in my mind and I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count: 1,363

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

A week had passed since you bore witness to Gale's act of carnal sin while stowed away in his tent, the Grove now safe and the Tiefling refugees preparing to head for Baulder's Gate. Talks of the celebration to come this evening had left you and your group ready for a night of wine and much needed pleasantry and merriment.

You continued to struggle awkwardly anytime Gale was in your company, averting from his gaze, especially since he seemed to be more distant and cold as of lately. You wondered if maybe he knew you had bore witness to his self indulgence, perhaps, Astarion had let something slip from his tongue. No, definitely not, you thought to yourself. You were his prime meal ticket these days, several bite marks adorned on your body proof of his lavish feedings, especially that of your poor, tender neck which ached something awful.

The sun was due to set, company was soon to arrive. You applied some healing salve to the raw and agitated bite marks in a futile effort to soothe them, knowing well that more would appear in their place in due time.

You sifted through clothes in your tent, looking for something that wasn't common garb or armour for the nights festivities you were looking forward to partaking in. Ah, this would certainly do, you beamed at your selection - a silk lilac dress, a bit low cut with a not-so-modest leg slit. It had been a bit too long since you were able to indulge in your finer garb and wares, and if not tonight you may never get another chance with the stow away in your skull.

The moon rose, casting a pale but luminous greeting. People flocked to your encampment in droves, some already having partook in their home made swill during the walk. It was loud and boisterous outside your tent as you smoothed your dress, a sense of nervousness washed over you - be it the crowd of people, the likelihood of Astarion's endless teasing, the idea of conversing with Gale, or all three, you did not know.

"Solider! C'mon already, you're taking bloody ages!" Karlach whined, lifting the fabric of your tent for entry.

"Gods damn," She scoffed in surprise.

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling far too exposed.

"What? It's awful, isn't it? I shall just put on my regular garb and be out in but a moment," You insisted. Karlach forced a goblet of pungent red wine into your hand, her eyes excited and her smile beaming.

"You look hot, hotter than I feel, and I feel hotter than Hell's hole," She tapped her goblet to yours before taking a long swig, her ever present optimistic mood giving you some semblance of confidence.

"C'mon mate, lets drink, be merry!" She ushered you out of the tent, being mindful to not make direct contact with your skin lest you burn to a crisp.

After a few goblets of wine, and several rounds walked around the camp to greet your guests and comrades the world around you seemed warm despite the cool breeze being carried over the Coast's waters. You did as Karlach had ordered previously, you drank, you were merry, and hells, you even danced a bit. One might dare say you were enjoying yourself for the first time in a long time.

You settled by the roaring bonfire where Karlach and Astarion sat, expectantly waiting for you. There was a mischievous gleam in Karlach's eyes as she appraised you, the kind of look she gets when she knows a little too much.

You couldn't even open your mouth before Karlach let out a loud, shrill cackle.

"What?" You slurred, plopping down on the ground less than gracefully.

"Karlach, control yourself, dear," Astarion smirked as he swirled his goblet.

"I thought you were-" she hicced, "I thought you were banging Ass-tarion here,".

"What gave you that impression?" You chuckled to yourself, cocking an eyebrow.

"Look at you! You're like his, his personal distillery or something," She pointed a finger at the bite marks. You rubbed your neck, suddenly aware of the ache once more.

"But! You're a Gods damned pervert!" She cried laughing, nearly toppling over and spilling her wine.

You shot daggers across the fire at Astarion with your eyes, your jaw clenched as your face flushed from pure, unfiltered embarrassment.

"Come now, pet, I assured you I wouldn't tell Gale, but I can't hog all the fun!" He shrugged, sipping his wine with indifference.

Your eyes shot up from the bonfire, searching, until they finally landed on Gale who met your gaze, standing outside his tent. A quick stolen glance before his eyes fluttered to his goblet.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, brows furrowed deeply, Karlach continued to sway and laugh.

"C'mon, Solider! Tonight's the night, go ride his staff!" She shouted, mock grinding. You stumbled to your feet, goblet in hand.

"Good one, Karlach," Astarion smirked, leaning back at his plot of chaos unfolding before you.

You were done being the butt of the joke this evening, your eyes flittered up towards Gale once more and yet again your eyes were met with his. You could not get a read on his face from such a distance, but you found yourself moving towards him with liquid courage at your side and not much forethought.

"Evening, Gale,"

You weren't sure he could hear your softly spoken greeting over the boisterous merriment behind you. None the less, he replied.

"Ah! Good evening Tav," His lips curled into a smile, but there was a hollowness in his eyes.

"Enjoying the festivities the night has brought, I trust?" He gestured towards the crowd behind you but your eyes never wavered from him. He was always so beautiful in the moonlight, the way his hair cascaded down his face with flecks of silver streams.

Once again, the sight of him caused a stir in your loins, that all-too-familiar slick wetness prominent. Your legs shuffled from the discomfort.

"Yeah, it's a lovely night." You managed.

"Certainly different from our every day excursions, not a Goblin in sight, exquisite, really." He jested. You nodded in agreement, trying to find the right words, something more than mere small talk.

"Thank you for seeking me out, truly, amidst all this merriment I didn't think you'd have a chance to stop by." His tone was softer, nearly a whisper, slowly swirling his goblet around - he seemed miles away.

"Of course, Gale, I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner, this is all so much." You sipped from your goblet nervously, your eyes scanning him, trying to read and understand a man that was an abundance of mysteries.

"Look, I was thinking… Maybe we could take a walk? Just the two of us, catch up a bit." You smiled softly, pushing a fallen strand of hair from your face. There was a long pause between you where you had hoped you'd be enthusiastically greeted with a yes. You felt yourself sinking inward with every dreadfully long second.

"Ehm, I believe you've found someone else to make merry with this beautiful night. He has a certain charm about him, Astarion, then again, so does a tiger when it purrs." His expression was flat, absent. "Far be it from me to question your tastes." His body was stiff, rigid.

"Gale, I-" Before you could finish, Gale started prattling once more.

"Please, go enjoy the party! Worry not on my account." He feigned a smile, getting ready to retreat into his tent for the evening.

"Gale, I'm not with Astarion," You stated, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"I can be foolish, but I am no fool, Tav. He's all over you." He gestured begrudgingly towards the bite marks as he slipped into the tent. You stood there for a while in his absence, trying to get a grasp on the situation and what had just transpired. Your attempt at connection for this evening with Gale thwarted entirely, your frustration rising. You slammed the last mouthful of wine back into your gullet, throwing the goblet on the ground and retreated to your tent - all sense of enthusiasm gone.