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heartthrobin · 4 months ago

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the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle.

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports.

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge.

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner.

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers.

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor.

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed.

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish.

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster.

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge.

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you.

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone.

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move.

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face.

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches.

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.”

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again.

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.”

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor.

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick.

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.”

He’s brushing past you.

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded.

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable.

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?”

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked.

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him.

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration.

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him.

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.”

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle.

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own.

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.”

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness.

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms.

It’s quiet.

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks.

“Why’re you out here alone?”

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him.

Why do you care?

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters.

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.”

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t.

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches.

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something.

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent.

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room.

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.”

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours.

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!”

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch.

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow.

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction.

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way.

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it.

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets.

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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bunnyscryptarchived · 9 months ago

Text

fight fire with fire.

when i said you don’t take any of rafe’s shit i meant it

pairing: dark!crybaby!rafe cameron x reader

synopsis: your boyfriend accuses you of flirting with someone at a party causing an argument to ensue. what happens when he snaps and you snap back..

warnings: slight domestic violence (reader hits his ass back), swearing, dark!reader (kinda? sorta?) dark!crybaby!rafe but lets be real……thats just rafe lmao

a/n: the synopsis isn’t the best i’m sorry, my brain malfunctioned. this idea has been eating at me and i’ve changed the scenario like 3 times. the ending wasn’t what i planned originally but i hope you enjoy! pls comment, reblog, like! feedback is always appreciated <33

“bet you won’t disrespect me like that again, hmm?”

you held your breath, hand pressed against your cheek. the stinging in your face and the throbbing in your throat from his where his grip had been confirming what you already knew. brain going a mile a minute as your kept your gaze on the ground and that infuriated rafe even more.

grabbing both sides of your face to force your attention back to him.

“hmm?! don’t- dont you ever raise you voice at me like that again. don’t you ever fix your lips to fucking swear at me like that.” he sneered, shaking you violently causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. “do i make myself clear?”

“look at me when i’m talking to you!” you snap them open— wide eyes staring into his. “now i asked you a question. do i make myself clear?”

he removes his hands from your face when you let out a yes. nodding his head, stepping back to run a hand across his mouth with a huff.

all this because someone had flirted with you at a house party. rafe didn’t like how another guy, a pogue at that, had the nerve to walk up and talk to you. he especially didn’t like that you “entertained” him. you weren’t, you were making nice, friendly conversation while you got a drink. but rafe didn’t see that, he saw you smiling at another dude that wasn’t him and already planted the idea in his head that you wanted that "dirty pogues" attention instead of his.

so he charged over to you and dragged you to his truck, no words spoken. ignoring all your concerned questions.

when you got home is when he snapped. chastising you for flirting with someone else. pacing back and forth, voice getting loud. “the fuck is wrong with you? flirting with that pogue. humiliating me like that.” confused and hurt is all you felt as he accused you of wanting someone else so you defended yourself. he wasn’t hearing any of it tho. so your voice raised a bit, wanting to get it thru to him but to rafe it was af it you screamed at him. saying how this is ridiculous and “you’re being a fucking asshole.”

that was the last thing you got out before his hand was on your throat and your head whipped violently to the side.

you let out a shaky breath as you stare at him with wrath that was hidden by faux fear.

he looks back at you, letting out a long sigh. “look baby..” voice now calm, and quiet as he walked back into your space. “listen i- i know i shouldn’t take my anger out on you like that, okay. but… you- you can’t talk back to me like that, a’ight. i know you can be a good girl, you just need a little discipline s’all.” he eyed you, focusing at your cheek. “cause cussing at me like? tsk, you’ll have bigger problems than a little sl-“

he wasn’t able to get out the rest of his words before you delivered a swift slap to his face. catching him off guard causing his head to whip to the side. he recovers quickly, looking back at you with a look that would make anyone else cower in a corner and tremble but before he can retaliate you strike him again. your nails scratching him in the mix making him step back with a hiss— pressing a hand to his cheek he pulls it back it to see his fingers stained crimson. three cuts adorning his face. eyes filled with tears.

your quick to walk up to him, grabbing his jaw tight. nails pressing into his skin— digging deeper when he grabs your wrist.

“don’t…” you start, licking your lips. “don’t you ever…. lay your hands on me like that again.” you spoke lowly, bringing his face closer to yours. eyes locked on his tear filled ones. “i will fucking bury you, you understand me?” you shake his head bit, making him wince from your nails going deeper. "let g-" you squeeze his lips together. “don’t think that just because i love you i won’t throw back what you give me times 10.” you other hand wipes a tear that falls from his eye. “my love, i’d do anything for you but..” your eyes narrow. “hit me again and you’ll have bigger problems than a couple of claw marks. do i make myself clear?” you mock and don’t let go until he croaks out “okay” releasing his face with a little shove. blood seeping through the indents from your grip. you ignore the whimper he lets out and head towards the bathroom. “sit on the couch” not checking to make sure he does. you know he will.

coming back with the first aid kit, you sit on his lap and begin cleaning his cuts in silence. thumb softly rubbing against his cheek when he lets out a hiss from the alcohol. placing a bandage on the cuts, you place a kiss on top.

“baby look at me”

he lifts his eyes to meet yours— red from irritation making you frown, leaning forward to press a kiss to his eyelids. he sighs softly, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. you comb your fingers through his hair, feeling his grip tighten. “we okay?” he bites his bottom lip, hand reaching up to caress the cheek he made contact with. you close your eyes with a soft sigh. feeling his lips press to your skin, he mutters against it, “yeah. we’re okay”. it's quiet for a while before he breaks it. "i- i'm gonna get my shit together, ya know. 'm gonna do better. be a better man for you. i promise. i j... you- don't leave me a'ight." his eyes start to well up with tears again. "please- you can't- just don't leave, okay. you.. you gotta see." repeatedly pointing to his chest as his voice cracks. "gonna show you how 'm a be someone you deserve. you just gotta stick with me baby. i promise. i promise you."

you grab his hand, pressing kisses to his knuckles to quiet his babbles. "hey. hey." his body jolted from your voice snapping a bit but he still uttered on causing you to sigh and grab his throat. tight. forcing his head up to pay attention to you. he sniffed loudly, wide eyes staring back in to yours. “i love you, you know that, yeah?” he nodded his head. “okay.” you circled your thumb softly over his skin, a show of affection. “show me then”

you leaned your forehead against his. "and don’t try that shit again."

#rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron fic #outer banks #dark!reader #drew starkey

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hawkinasock · 2 months ago

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haiii pls spill abt ur chimera yq ideas... i have my own (https://www.tumblr.com/waterfrontcomplex/758520749229277184/dunmeshi-chapter-37ep-17-spoilers-look?source=share)

i also drew my own idea of him (swallow + abundant deer)

Yes ofc!! I'm so happy that someone else has had this idea too, it has so much potential. I want to see all the chimera Yanqings.

Mine looks like this. I actually didn't have a design drawn out for him initially, so I had to whip something up quickly. That's why it took me so long to answer </3

Originally, he had a more swallow-based design.

I still really like it, but I changed the lore a lot, so I made the new one, the current au, which goes something like this:

(CW for blatant body horror, descriptions of digestion, as well as brief details regarding real world animal death)

Here's my idea. Like most aeons, Lan The Hunt has emanators that carry out their will. One of these emanator's is currently unnamed and without a solid design yet. It has an animalistic appearance in my head. Imagine Feixiao's inner beast, or the Mourning Aix from WuWa. That'll give you the best reference.

It travels the cosmos, tracking down and eliminating the Abundance. it does this with the use of extremely powerful olfactory cells. Even with galaxies separating them, the emanator can detect abominations through smell alone, and when it finds one, it will consume it to ensure it cannot possibly regenerate.

Suffice to say, it's very good at its job, and Yanqing, unfortunately, is not an exception to their heightened senses. Surprisingly to no one, Abundance Yanqing coexists with this au, and he is immediately recognized as an abomination when the emanator is in proximity of the Luofu. Yanqing is unaware of his status as an spawn of Yaoshi, so when the devourer of monsters (working title) visits the Luofu, he never would have expected it to turn its eyes onto him.

To say the Luofu is thrown into chaos when one of Lan's emanator's eats a Liuetenant of The Hunt is an understatement. The emanator insists no mistake has been made and it is justified through Lan's divine will. It actually shifts the blame onto Jing Yuan for assigning an abomination as his Lieutenant in the first place, citing incompetence on his part. Kind of a shitty thing to do after eating the man's son but okay...

Not long after, the emanator starts to... change. It begins experiencing sudden and visible signs of mara: bouts of aggression, delirium, and eventually flora and fungus sprouting from its flesh. It's incorrectly concluded that Yanqing's death was a result of early unset mara in the emanator, and Jing Yuan decides the emanator has to be killed via decapitation, such is their duty as followers of The Hunt.

You can probably guess where this is going.

So, you know how bones are capable of fusing together or into other objects during the healing process? Like that deer that was shot by an arrow and the ribcage actually fused itself with the arrow? That's essentially how chimera Yanqing is born.

As an abomination, Yanqing is capable of postmortem regeneration, and as an abomination that is particularly favored by Yaoshi (in my delusional mind) his regeneration capabilities far exceed that of the average denizen, and one this emanator's digestive system was not capable of overriding.

Much like how that deer bone fused with the arrow, Yanqing's body begins the process of fusing back together after partial consumption, and during that process, he inadvertently fuses with the emanator's body, which triggered those mara symptoms. Additionally, because there had also been remains of other denizens in the emanator's stomach, they were unintentionally included in the revitalization process. This, in the end, gave the chimera's body the claws of a Borisin, the wings of a Wingweaver, and the head of a human (his body structure is also the same as the Houyhnhnm, but that's obviously a coincidence on my part lol).

The flowers and mushrooms don't really serve any other purpose besides looking pretty and emphasizing his connection to the abundance - his power is so palpable that life is literally sprouting through his skin. I just think it's kinda neat.

Anyways, in terms of psychological aftereffects, Yanqing himself is still there. However, his sense of self is muddied and most of his memories suppressed. Because he's at the head, he's in control of his own movements and actions. Usually, he's completely docile, but in the face of people currently trying to kill him, he becomes confused and scared, and fights back in self-defense. He's also experiencing prolonged dysmorphia from his new form, which causes him greater confusion and even pain.

For Jing Yuan? I think everyone would agree he wouldn't want to kill Yanqing. He believes there's still a way to reverse Yanqing's affliction, even if the Ten Lords insist otherwise.

Currently I don't have an detailed outline of what happens next. My current ideas are similar to yours actually, where the disciples take an interest in Yanqing for whatever reason, be it desperation to stop the Luofu from killing him and seeing him as blessed by Yaoshi, what have you. It could honestly go a similar route as Dvalin's manipulation by the hands of the Abyss. If I were to give this au a happy ending, I could incorporate the Viscorpus' ability to shapeshift and have Yanqing hone that ability, allowing him to regain his human form.

That's all I have for what was meant to be a short, detailed summary </3 All these asks always end with me yapping, forgive me. I've had this au cooking in my head for so long now, and I'm glad I have an excuse to spurge about it now.

(p.s. pls make more of your chimera au, I would eat it up)

#the design might change. we'll see #ask #honkai star rail #hsr #yanqing #chimera yanqing au #abundance!yanqing theory #i dont really like how i drew the fungus tbh #i wouldve made it more detailed but that wouldve taken forever #long post #btw the suspicious amount of notes with no users isn't a bot #my friend's account is just scuffed to an abnormal degree </3

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kookiewithluv · 9 days ago

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⛈️🤒❤️‍🩹😚 + Jimin pretty please

TITLE: Almost Romantic

PAIRING: jimin x reader

GENRE: rom-com, slice of life(?), Slow burn, Drama

WORD COUNT: 6k

TRIGGER WARNING: none (this is the first time i'm writing something with no trigger warning! hehe)

SUMMARY: After an awkward car ride in the rain, you end up at Park Jimin's fancy place, sneezing and fighting off both a cold and your long-time crush on him.

a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

a/n: Hey Anon! First off, let me apologize for taking forever to get back to you. I mean, wow, it took me so long you'd think I was trying to cure world hunger or something. Honestly, I have no idea what I ended up doing, and after all this time, I can only hope it's halfway decent. If you like it, please tell me so I can stop questioning all my life choices. And thank you for sending a Jimin request because OMG, I am dangerously obsessed with this man. Seriously. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Luv ya!

The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, drumming against the tin roof of the bus stop above you. The cold air howled through the deserted street, wrapping itself around you like an unwelcome guest. The flickering streetlight cast a pale, ghostly glow, its harsh light accentuating the emptiness around you. You hugged yourself tightly, your arms gripping your sides as if you could hold yourself together.

You shivered, your breath coming out in quick, visible puffs. The dampness seeped through your clothes, clinging to your skin and chilling you to the bone. Drops of water slid down your face, some from the rain, others threatening to spill from your eyes. You blinked them away furiously, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down. Mina had warned you about staying late at the office, but as always, you thought you knew better. Now you stood here, stranded and freezing, your phone a useless piece of metal in your bag.

A gust of wind tore through the street, whipping your hair into your face and dragging the rain sideways. You turned your head away, teeth chattering. The cold felt like it was pressing in, squeezing the air from your lungs. You couldn’t even hear your own shaky breathing over the roar of the storm.

The faint glow of headlights pierced through the rain, growing brighter as the car approached. Your heart surged with a flicker of hope, and you stumbled forward, arm jerking up to wave frantically. “Please,” you whispered, though your voice was swallowed by the storm. “Please stop.”

The car’s tires splashed through a puddle, sending icy water spraying onto your shoes. Its headlights illuminated you for a split second before sweeping past, leaving you in the dark once more. You stood frozen, your arm still raised as you stared after the fading taillights.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, trying to choke back the lump rising in your throat. Your hand dropped slowly to your side, trembling as you clenched it into a fist. The ache in your chest grew heavier, a suffocating weight that pressed against your ribs. A tear slipped free, quickly hidden by the rain streaking down your face. You swiped at your cheeks angrily.

The wind howled again, and you crumpled onto the cold bench behind you, wrapping your arms around you, tightly. Your nails dug into your damp sleeves as your shoulders began to shake. You couldn’t cry—what good would it do? No one was coming. No one ever did. The darkness pressed in closer, whispering that you were alone, as you rocked yourself gently.

Your heart jolted as you caught sight of the same car stopped just a few feet away. Its brake lights glowed faintly in the rain before it suddenly began reversing. The tires splashed through puddles, the sound sharp against the muffled roar of the storm. Before you could process what was happening, the car screeched to a halt right in front of you.

Were you happy? No.

Relieved? Not even close.

Scared? Absolutely.

Your legs locked in place as you stared at the car, your mind racing. Why would someone stop now after ignoring you the first time? The question sent a shiver down your spine. The pounding rain felt distant compared to the thunderous beating of your heart. Every nerve screamed at you to run, but your feet refused to move. You tried to steady your breathing, silently chanting, Stay calm, stay calm, but your chest tightened like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

The car door opposite you creaked open, the noise slicing through the storm like a warning bell. Your body tensed, muscles coiling as if preparing to bolt. But just as quickly, the door slammed shut again. What? Your brows furrowed, and for a fleeting moment, confusion overpowered fear. Is this person okay? Or are they just messing with me?

The passenger window began to lower, gliding down with a soft whoosh. Your breath hitched as a familiar face emerged, half-shrouded in the shadows of the car's interior. Park Jimin. Your boss. Your obnoxiously attractive, arrogant, self-absorbed boss. Relief washed over you like a bucket of icy water, though it was short-lived.

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and clipped as he motioned impatiently with his hand. You hesitated, frozen under his sharp gaze, but another gust of wind pushed you forward, your feet dragging against the puddled pavement. The rain soaked you even more as you opened the car door and slid in, trembling from the cold. The interior smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne, but any sense of comfort was destroyed by his sharp voice cutting through the space.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? And why were you walking so damn slow?”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing despite the exhaustion clawing at you. Of course, his first instinct wasn’t to ask if you were okay but to criticize. You forced a tight-lipped smile, your fingers curling into the damp fabric of your skirt.

“Yes, Mr. Park. I’m perfectly fine,” you bit out, the words dripping with sarcasm you tried to mask behind a strained politeness. Your fake smile wavered as you glanced at him, silently debating whether strangling him would be worth losing your ride home.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head slightly, as though reading your thoughts. His eyes trailed over your face, lingering for a moment before they dropped lower. You noticed the shift in his expression too late. His gaze flicked to your collarbone, then downward. His eyes widened briefly before he snapped his head forward, clearing his throat with a harsh sound.

Confused, you frowned and followed his gaze. Your stomach sank as your eyes landed on the problem. Your white blouse, drenched from the rain, clung to your body like a second skin, and the bright red lace of your bra was clearly visible underneath.

A gasp escaped your lips as your arms flew up instinctively to cover your chest. “Oh my god,” you muttered, turning your body away from him, your face heating despite the cold. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, clutching your arms tightly around yourself.

Jimin rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze entirely. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose as he shrugged off his blazer. Without a word, he leaned over and held it out to you. You snatched it from his hand, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“You could’ve stopped the car near me,” you muttered under your breath, slipping the warm fabric over your shoulders. The faint scent of his cologne clung to it. So... manly.

His head snapped toward you, brows furrowed. “So, it’s my fault now?”

“Duh!” you shot back, pulling the blazer tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from his attitude.

“And what about the fact that you were walking so maddeningly slow? Like you were planning to camp out there all night?”

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low but dripping with frustration.

Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in mock disbelief. “Did you just—”

“Yes, yes, yes! I just told you to shut uuuupppp!” you yelled, throwing your hands in the air. Your voice echoed sharply inside the car, silencing him completely. The weight of your outburst hit you like a tidal wave, embarrassment creeping up your neck. You turned your face away, heat flooding your cheeks. Great. Now I look like a lunatic.

He stared at you, stunned, his lips slightly parted as though he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. His wide eyes and slack jaw only made you angrier. You could practically feel his judgment radiating off him, and it made you want to crawl under a rock—or strangle him slowly and thoroughly.

“Stop staring and start the damn car,” you snapped, your voice cracking slightly.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he blinked, shaking his head. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he hurriedly looked away, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Fine,” he muttered, starting the engine with a low rumble.

The car began to move, the rain now a blurred sheet outside the windows. Silence settled between you, heavy and awkward, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. You sank back into the seat, pressing your hand to your forehead as a dull ache throbbed at your temples. A cold shiver raced down your spine, and you took a shaky breath, hoping it would settle your nerves.

“How long, Mr. Park?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the fight in you momentarily drained.

“Not far,” he replied, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “My house is just a few blocks away. We’ll be there soon.”

Your heart stopped. You sat up straighter, your hands clutching the blazer tightly. “What the hell do you mean, your house?”

He spared you another glance, his brows knitting together in mild confusion. “I’m taking you home,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Whose home?” you nearly screeched, pulling the blazer tighter around you as though it could somehow protect you from this insanity.

“Mine,” he said simply, his eyes darting back to the road.

"Home. Your home," you repeated, your tone sharp as you gestured toward him. "I wanted to go to my home."

Jimin’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking in irritation. “I didn’t know the address,” he said flatly, avoiding your gaze.

“You could’ve just asked!”

“I wanted to, but you yelled at me to shut up.”

“And so your brilliant solution was to bring me here?” you retorted, throwing your hands up in disbelief.

His eyes snapped to yours, narrowing as he pulled the car to a jerky stop. “Excuse me? I live here. What the hell do you mean by here?” he asked, his voice low and offended, his brows drawing together.

You glared at him, your lips curling into a bitter scowl. “Then why have you stopped in the middle of nowhere?”

Jimin’s lips parted, a humourless laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “I think you’ve been out in the rain too long. Maybe some water leaked into your brain because it’s clearly not working. We are not in the middle of nowhere, you deranged woman.”

Before you could retort, he pushed his door open with a sharp motion and stepped out, slamming it shut behind him. You stared after him in disbelief, his broad back retreating into the rain. Grumbling under your breath, you wrestled with your seatbelt, finally kicking the door open and following him.

The rain hit you like icy needles, soaking through your clothes as you stumbled out of the car. The moment you stepped onto the pavement, you froze, your jaw slack. In front of you stood a towering, modern building, its glass facade gleaming despite the downpour. “Wow,” you muttered under your breath, momentarily forgetting your anger. But then you caught sight of Jimin’s retreating figure, and you cursed under your breath, hiking up your heels to chase after him.

“Of course, you’d leave me behind,” you muttered as your heels clicked against the wet pavement.

Jimin turned his head slightly, flashing you a grin that made you want to slap it off his face. “Oh, you’re here! I thought you’d decided to spend the night in the car,” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You narrowed your eyes at him, shivering as you wrapped his blazer tighter around yourself. “Do you have a knife at home?” you asked, your tone casual as you both inside the elevator.

He paused mid-step, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Yeah… why?”

“Just so I know where to find one,” you replied, tilting your head innocently. “For when you start talking too much rubbish.”

Jimin turned to face you fully, his brows lifting as his mouth parted in shock. For a brief moment, he looked genuinely alarmed. Then, as you burst into laughter at his expression, he sighed in relief, shaking his head.

“You think you’re funny?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You smirked, lifting your chin. “I think I’m adorable.”

His lips twitched into a smirk of his own as he leaned in, his face now dangerously close to yours. You wanted to step back, but the cold glass of the elevator doors pressed against your back, trapping you. His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he opened his mouth to respond—

And then you sneezed.

Hard.

Right into his face.

The moment froze, your eyes widening in horror as he flinched, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “What the actual hell?!” he yelled, his voice a mixture of disbelief and rage. He stepped back, his face scrunching up in disgust as he muttered a string of curses, switching languages with every expletive. English, Japanese, Chinese, and then a barrage of rapid Korean filled the small elevator.

You stared down at your feet, heat crawling up your neck. “Sorry…” you mumbled, barely audible, too mortified to meet his eyes.

He glared at you, his nostrils flaring. “Sorry? Sorry?!” He stepped forward, looking like he had a whole speech prepared—

But the elevator dinged, its doors sliding open.

For the first time that night, you silently thanked every god you could think of as Jimin stomped out, muttering under his breath. You hurried after him, sneezing again as the cold air hit you.

“Sit,” he barked, pointing to the plush couch in his spacious living room. His voice was sharp, but his eyes softened for a moment as they flicked to your shivering form.

You sat without a word, clutching his blazer tightly around you. Jimin disappeared into hallway, still muttering under his breath. As you sneezed again, you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all, even if he was plotting your demise in the next room.

He came back, dressed in a plain sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his hair sticking up in messy tufts, like he’d been running his hands through it. Barefoot and casual, he should’ve looked harmless, but instead, he looked annoyingly good. His sharp gaze locked on you as he walked closer, his lips pressed into a tight line, like he had something serious to say. Your throat dried up when he stopped right in front of you, the scent of his and something uniquely him filling the air between you. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and just as his lips parted to speak—

You sneezed.

Right on his face.

“Women, seriously?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he wiped the back of his hand against his face.

You scowled, tugging his oversized blazer tighter around yourself. “What? I can’t help it!”

“You can’t help anything. The only thing you can help at is being mean and senseless.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped, leaning toward him, ready to unleash your fury—but another sneeze erupted before you could get the words out.

“Eww!” he exclaimed, jerking back like you’d just sprayed him with acid.

He pointed toward the hallway, his expression torn between disgust and resignation. “You, come with me. Before you drown my house with your sneezes.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging after him as he led you through the sleek, modern interior of his house.

“I didn’t ask you to bring me here,” you grumbled, your damp hair sticking to your neck. “You could’ve just dropped me off at my place.”

He turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing in exasperation. “Did you see how hard it was raining? You wanted me to take you home and then drive back through that storm? I could’ve gotten stuck—or worse. You should be grateful!”

You glared at his back, muttering under your breath, “Grateful, my ass.”

Jimin stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, revealing a spacious, minimalist bedroom. He disappeared into the walk-in closet without a word, emerging moments later with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

“Here,” he said, shoving the clothes into your arms. “Change into this.” His voice softened, just for a second, before he added, “Bathroom’s on the right. Don’t take forever.”

You raised a brow as he turned and left without waiting for a response. Rude.

But as you glanced around his room—simple yet elegant with muted tones and clean lines—you couldn’t deny the faint flutter in your chest. It was surreal, standing here, surrounded by the essence of him. Once upon a time, when you’d first started working at the company, you’d harboured the most ridiculous crush on him. Obsessive, even. But you’d gotten over it. Or at least you thought you had.

Quickly peeling off your wet clothes, you slipped into the hoodie and sweatpants. They were far too big, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but they were warm and soft. And they smelled… like him. Clean, woodsy, with the faintest hint of something sharp and intoxicating. You hated how comforting it felt.

Or maybe you didn’t.

When you returned to the living room, he was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. His eyes flicked to you, scanning you briefly before he gestured toward the coffee table. “Soup,” he said simply.

Your gaze shifted to the large bowl sitting on the table, steam rising from the golden liquid. Your heart softened a fraction as you sat beside him, the warmth of the soup drawing you in. Without a second thought, you grabbed the bowl and scooped up a spoonful.

The second it touched your tongue, the heat seared your mouth, and you yelped, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. Jimin’s eyes widened, as he shot forward. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed, snatching the bowl out of your hands and placing it back on the table.

Before you could respond, he was in front of you, crouching slightly, his face a mixture of panic and concern. leaning closer. He started fanning your mouth with his hand, his brows furrowed as he muttered under his breath. Then, without warning, he leaned in further and blew.

The cool air hit your lips, and your breath hitched. His face was inches from yours now, his dark eyes focused intently on your mouth. You froze, acutely aware of the way his hand hovered just beneath your chin, steadying you. The moment stretched, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. His gaze flicked to yours, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His lips parted slightly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Are you blind? C-Can’t you see it’s hot?” he scolded, his voice breaking slightly as he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on the couch. His eyes darted away from yours, and for a fleeting moment, you caught the faintest hint of colour creeping up his neck.

You nodded, the sting of embarrassment silencing any snarky retort. Any other day, you’d have torn into him for bossing you around, but now? You couldn’t even muster a glare. Instead, you pressed your palms to your cheeks, only to realize they were burning.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Your mind raced as you sat frozen in place. You’re over him. You’re over him, you chanted silently, willing the blush to disappear. But deep down, you knew the truth—your heart was still as stupid as ever.

And then, just as you thought you could gather yourself, you sneezed again.

His head whipped toward you, eyes narrowing slightly. You braced for the scolding that was surely coming, shoulders tensing as you sucked in a breath.

But instead, he shifted closer.

Your breath hitched.

His gaze softened, his brows knitting together with concern as he leaned in. “Are you really sick?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost gentle.

Before you could answer, his hand moved toward your face. You froze as his fingertips brushed your forehead, testing your temperature. His touch was warm—too warm—and your heart thudded violently in your chest.

He frowned, his hand lingering for a moment longer before sliding down to the side of your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw.

That was it. You were doomed.

Your pulse quickened beneath his touch, and you swore he could feel it. His brows furrowed deeper, his expression shifting from mild concern to genuine worry. “You’re turning red,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb moved slightly, tracing an invisible line along your skin. “Do… Do I need to call a doctor?”

The tenderness in his tone almost shattered you. Why did he have to be like this? Why now?

You shook your head quickly, snapping out of your daze and leaning back, desperate to put some distance between you. “No,” you managed to croak, your voice embarrassingly hoarse.

He blinked, his hand falling back to his side as he sat upright. “Oh,” he said, his tone clipped. His shoulders stiffened as if he suddenly realized how close he’d been.

You caught his slight grimace as he scooted away, the small gap between you growing wider.

Your chest tightened, and before you knew it, you were pouting.

His gaze flicked to you, one brow arching in confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

You shook your head quickly, too flustered to explain.

“Seriously, what’s wrong now?” he pressed, his brows drawing together again.

But you just shook your head once more, biting your lip to keep from saying something stupid—like how much you’d missed this, how much you wished he’d never pulled away.

And yet, even as he leaned back into his corner of the couch, his gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. And that tiny, almost imperceptible pause was enough to make your heart ache with hope.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice low and casual as he glanced over at you.

“No,” you said quickly, your tone sharper than intended.

His lips quirked up, clearly not believing you. “You sure? I can cook,” he offered, his brows lifting in that way that made his face unbearably soft, like he was trying to coax the truth out of you.

You shook your head firmly. “I’m sure,” you mumbled, shifting your gaze back to the soup in your hands. You’d already eaten, and you knew he had too.

A comfortable silence fell between you. He leaned back on the couch, his head resting against the cushions, eyes fluttering closed. His chest rose and fell evenly, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked utterly at peace.

And absolutely stunning.

You tried not to stare, but your eyes betrayed you, taking in every detail. The way his jawline looked sharper under the dim light, the soft curve of his lashes resting against his cheeks, and his lips—God, his lips—full and slightly parted, as if he was moments away from whispering something that would undo you.

Your gaze trailed down to his clothes, his sweatshirt slightly rumpled but hugging his shoulders perfectly. His loose, comfy sweatpants sat just right on his hips, and even in such an unassuming outfit, he looked... ethereal.

It wasn’t fair. How could someone look like that just sitting there?

You pulled your eyes away, forcing yourself to look out the glass wall instead. The rain pounded relentlessly against it, streaks of water catching the faint glow of the city lights outside. The storm showed no signs of stopping, and you couldn’t help but regret staying late at the office.

I could’ve finished it all tomorrow, you thought bitterly, tightening your grip on the warm bowl in your hands. Your eyes drifted back to him, unable to help yourself. The question burned at the back of your mind: why had he stayed late? You knew he often worked late, but on busy nights like this, he typically stayed at the office rather than going home. Tonight, though, he’d changed that.

You frowned slightly. What was different this time?

You didn’t know—and couldn’t have known—that the difference was you.

He had seen the storm warning on the news and had sent everyone home early, but you had stayed behind, stubbornly working. He had been about to leave, but seeing you there, so focused, so unaware of the weather worsening, had stopped him in his tracks. Jimin was nothing if not professional, but he had always harboured an unspoken interest in you—a quiet, persistent fondness he never let show.

And now, here you both were.

The silence stretched on, the sound of the rain filling the space between you. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but when you finally opened your mouth to speak, the words were out before you could stop them. And you almost regretted it. Almost.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" The question slipped out before you could stop yourself, your eyes widening in surprise at your own words.

Jimin’s eyes flicked open, locking with yours instantly. There was a quiet amusement in his gaze, and his lips tugged up into that soft, teasing smile that made your heart do something you tried to ignore. He didn’t speak right away, just studied you as if he could read everything you weren’t saying.

“No,” he replied, his voice quiet and surprisingly soft. “Why do you ask?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling silly, and looked everywhere but at him—out the window, at your hands, the bowl of soup on the table. Anywhere but him.

He leaned back into the couch, clearly amused, a playful edge to his tone. “Why are you behaving like this?” His smile was still there, small but knowing.

“Like what?” you blurted out, but even as the words left your mouth, you knew it was a bit of a dumb question.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He raised an eyebrow, watching you like you were a puzzle he was determined to figure out.

You stared at him, blinking a few times like he’d just sprouted another head, making his laughter bubble up, soft but genuine.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he teased.

“Because you’re talking weird,” you said, voice a bit sharper than you intended, but your words faltered under his gaze.

He chuckled again, the sound warm and disarming, sending a flutter through your chest. “You’re behaving weird,” he countered.

You let out a frustrated huff and turned away from him, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, hoping the action would somehow shield you from whatever was happening between the two of you.

He chuckled again, and it was like a spark igniting inside you, frustrating and electrifying all at once. You glared at him, but even that seemed pointless when he was looking at you like that—like he could read the thoughts swirling in your head.

The silence that fell was oddly peaceful, but it didn’t sit well with you. You always needed something more. Chaos, noise, anything but stillness. Fidgeting in your seat, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You broke the silence, your voice sounding louder than you intended.

“Mr. Park—”

He cut you off with a soft smile, sitting up slightly. “You can call me Jimin,” he said, the words coming out like an invitation, a subtle challenge in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, hesitant. You glanced away quickly, feeling the heat creep up your neck as you crossed your arms defensively. “Are you sure?”

His gaze didn’t waver, locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel suddenly exposed, vulnerable in a way you couldn’t explain. “Why do you look so unsure?” he asked, his voice gentle but with a teasing edge.

You stiffened, trying to find something—anything—to say. “You were perfectly okay threatening me and cursing at me. What happened now?”

His face twisted into a playful look of disbelief. “When did I—”

You were about to cut him off, but the teasing glint in his eyes silenced you.

“Huh?” His head tilted, and his smile grew, mischievous and daring.

“Okay! But I don’t mean any of it,” you blurted out, the words tumbling over each other as you sat up straighter, hoping it would make you look less flustered.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, his laugh escaping just beneath his words. The playful glint in his eyes only deepened as he relaxed back into the couch, arms spread wide like he was claiming the space between you. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and you couldn’t help but feel that same pull in your chest, though you tried to ignore it.

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest, trying to regain some control over yourself. “You really think you’re so charming, don’t you?”

He leaned in slightly, his smile widening, and your stomach fluttered despite your best attempts to stay unaffected.

“I don’t just think... I know.” His voice was full of that confidence that made your heart race, that impossible assurance that had you questioning everything.

You rolled your eyes, but even you knew it was more for show than anything. Your lips wanted to curl up, but you kept them pressed tight, the heat in your cheeks betraying the hard facade you tried to maintain.

“Yeah, right. Your just full of yourself,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected, but the playful tone that slipped into your voice gave you away.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening. “But I’ve got goods to back it up. Just look at how you're blushing.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you immediately shifted in your seat, trying to hide the heat spreading across your face. Your heart was racing now, and you could barely keep your breath steady.

“Am not!” you protested, but it came out weak, a poor defence against the blush that was clearly visible.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, before standing up. “Sure, let’s go.”

Confused, you followed him, your feet moving almost mechanically. You barely registered his words at first, still caught in the strange feeling his teasing had left in your chest. “It’s getting late. We should go to bed.”

Something about the way he said "we" made your stomach twist, or was it flutter? You weren’t sure. All you could hear now was the odd ringing in your ears, a soft buzz that drowned out everything else.

“We?” The word slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, confusion knitting your brows together as you watched him.

He gave you a small, almost reassuring smile as he stepped into his bedroom, holding the door open for you. His eyes never left you as he waited, his gaze warm, not at all like you had imagined it would be.

You stepped in hesitantly, your heart pounding with every step you took closer to him. Your mind was swirling, but you couldn’t place what was happening. You trusted him, you did, but something about this moment felt different—felt new.

“What happened?” he asked softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull you toward him, his touch grounding you in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

You blinked, confused. “Huh?”

His eyes searched your face with concern, his brows furrowing as his fingers grazed your cheek. “You’re so... pale.”

“Am I?” you whispered, suddenly aware of how unsteady you felt.

He didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. His touch moved from your face to your forehead, gently pressing as though checking for something. His fingers trailed down to your neck, the soft touch sending shivers down your spine.

You felt lightheaded, almost as if his hand was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your knees wobbled, your breath catching in your throat as your vision blurred.

“What happened to you?” His voice was barely a whisper now, a trace of worry creeping in that made your heart thud painfully in your chest.

The softness in his tone made your legs feel even weaker, like they could give out at any moment. Your body trembled slightly under his touch, your mind too foggy to make sense of anything.

Before you could even respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, his strength surprising you. He laid you down gently on the bed, the sudden movement making everything feel even more surreal.

You felt lighter than you ever had, almost weightless, like you could just float away. But your head—your head felt impossibly heavy, as if you couldn’t hold it up anymore. The dizziness washed over you in waves, your senses fading. You barely registered the way his face hovered above you, worry etched deep in his expression as he watched you. His hand was still on your forehead, his touch warm against your cool skin.

You barely registered the way his face hovered above you, worry etched deep in his expression as he watched you. His hand was still on your forehead, his touch warm against your cool skin.

“God, what... hap-happened?” he murmured again, but you couldn’t find the strength to answer. Your vision blurred even further, the world around you spinning uncontrollably. You felt yourself slip away, your body growing heavier.

And then, without warning, everything went black.

You blinked your eyes open, still disoriented, only to find Jimin staring down at you. His face was inches away, concern etched across his features. His hand was gently placed on your arm, and his eyes were wide, scanning your face for any sign of distress. The dim light in the room made the worried expression on his face all the more intense.

"You okay?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he helped you sit up, his hand guiding you gently. He reached for the glass of water from the bedside table, offering it to you with a quiet determination. Without thinking, you drank it in one go, the cool liquid helping to clear the fog in your mind. You nodded weakly, still feeling lightheaded, but trying to reassure him.

"You fainted," he said, his voice unsteady as he watched you closely, his brows furrowed in disbelief. You nodded again, still not fully processing what had just happened.

He looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise, lips parted in a mixture of concern and confusion. His expression was so pure, so real, it made something twist in your chest. You couldn’t help but chuckle, though it was soft, a little breathless.

"I’m fine, Jimin," you reassured him, the words coming out far less convincing than you hoped.

"No, you're not," he said firmly, his voice almost pleading, his tone so filled with worry it made your heart clench. "You fainted. Let’s go to doctor."

"I’m fine," you repeated, though the words felt weak. His eyes never left yours, searching for any sign that you were telling the truth. His hand reached up, rubbing his face in frustration, his worry only growing.

"And I’m worried," he said, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. His gaze softened, and you could see it in his eyes—the deep concern, the care that he couldn’t hide.

You felt a strange warmth spread through your chest, something raw and unspoken. But you also didn’t want him to act like this, not with you. Not now, not after everything.

“Why?” Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, and you couldn’t look him in the eyes. It was the question you’d been asking yourself for so long, and now it slipped out before you could stop it. Your heart raced, your chest tightening as you waited for him to answer.

For a moment, he was silent. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, his gaze softening, and you could feel the tension between you grow thicker, thicker still. Then, as if to break the tension, he slowly reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. His hand lingered, resting on your skin, as if he wasn’t ready to pull away.

“Sleep,” he murmured, the word leaving his lips like a tender command. But the last thing you wanted to do was sleep. The night was still young, the rain pouring outside, the sound of it filling the room. The cold breeze from the open window brushed against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing to do. You stared at him, confused, unsure why he was saying that. You hadn’t asked him to, hadn’t even thought of it.

“Why?” you asked, your voice cracking just slightly.

“Because you’re sleeping on my bed,” he said, his voice firm but kind, as if it was obvious. He made you lie back down, covering you with the duvet, the soft fabric comforting against your skin. As he stepped back, you couldn’t stop the aching feeling in your chest, that unbearable pull that made your heart beat faster.

He moved toward the door, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to leave but had to. Every step he took felt like an eternity, and you wanted to call out to him, tell him to stop. But you couldn’t. You didn’t have the words.

When he reached the door, he paused and turned around to face you. His gaze softened, and he smiled—a small, almost shy smile, but one that made your chest ache. "Sleep tight, love. We have something important to talk about tomorrow." And with that, he closed the door softly behind him.

You lay there in the quiet room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning. You stared at the door, your thoughts scattered, your breath shaky. Did he just…? Did he just call you love?

The word echoed in your head, a faint warmth spreading through your veins. It was too much, and yet, you couldn’t stop the flutter in your chest. The night had shifted, everything had shifted, but you didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope.

And as the rain continued to pour outside, the sound somehow soothing your frayed nerves, you let your eyes flutter shut, your heart still thumping, your thoughts tangled in him.

I don’t know if you liked it or not, but please, leave some feedback. Like, tell me how much you loved it or absolutely hated it. I’m all ears... honestly, I’m mostly just here for the drama either way.

#thankyou so much for sending me this ask anon #thanks anon!#anon ask #kookiewithluv #bts ffs #bts ff #bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin fic #jimin smut #park jimin #bts jimin #jimin #jimin ah #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jiminshiii

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eggluverz · 1 year ago

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halloween with the hsr boys

pairing: dan heng; jing yuan; blade x reader

sof's note: guess who is in a halloweeny mood :> meee! and i'm sure a lot of y'all are as well so let's bask in these autumn vibes together LOL special shoutout to the anon who suggested dan heng would watch like 15 vids before he carves a pumpkin fhsjkghdf that is so accurate <3 pls enjoy and happy fall!!

dan heng

not big on the spooky parts of halloween, but he loves getting in the halloween/autumn spirit by watching twitches and halloween town with you

you host a pumpkin carving contest on halloween eve between the two of you and dan heng 100% takes it seriously

days of prep before the big night, hours of youtube videos in his history… he even reads up on the origins of pumpkin carving—just to be fully immersed and prepared

when the time comes, dan heng has his tools lined up in the most efficient order as he readies himself to make his design

he, of course, wanted to carve a tree with maple leaves falling in the night sky

you stare at his template with wide eyes, quickly scrapping your happy face idea to think of something more creative…

noticing this, dan heng chuckles in amusement. “you don’t have to change your design to match mine”

you shake your head. “and risk losing the competition? no way”

“then may the best carver win”

when the two of you are done, you take a photo and send to your friends to vote

it was a close call, but dan heng ends up winning by two votes

“maybe i should’ve joined your pumpkin carving research…” you pout, staring between your finished product and his

“there’s always next year,” dan heng soothes, giving you a hug. “besides, you’re always the winner in my eyes.”

jing yuan

he would make all the pies for you

pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, sweet potato pie, apple crumble pie…you name it

he doesn’t even know how to make pie he just googled a bunch of recipes and winged it

you think something tastes off but you try to encourage him anyway

of course, jing yuan sees right through it

“it‘s not that i don’t like your baking, i really do, but i may have some suggestions for the future…”

“there is no need to sugarcoat your distaste, y/n,” he says with a laugh. “we can redo them together.”

the pies turn out even better the next time

the two of you end up picking up pie making as your fall-time hobby this year and bake pie for all your friends

he tries to make a mimi-safe pie as well

mimi hates it (pumpkin spice is not good on the lion’s tongue)

but you think the effort is cute :>

he ends halloween night off by sharing a yummy slice of apple crumble pie with whipped cream on top with you

“so sweet!” you state happily as he feeds you the first bite.

jing yuan leans forward and smiles. “not as sweet as you”

blade

goes all in for halloween

is dead instead most of the year, comes to life for the halloween spirit

he likes to decorate the house with you, even making a mini “haunted maze” in the driveway for the trick-or-treaters

accidentally makes a kid cry in it…

really, he just went in the maze to do a quick maintenance check, but he looked so menacing in his costume that a kid saw him and started crying

blade is too confused about what happened to feel bad

you give the kid extra candy and apologize to their parents while stifling a laugh at blade’s blank expression

“i didn’t even say ‘boo’,” he murmurs curiously.

you just pat him on the head and give him a kiss on the cheek

after the trick-or-treat shenanigans, you and blade relax and unwind on the comfort of your couch

his definition of unwinding on halloween is watching old horror movies

[or, if you cannot handle horror like me: he watches the barbie movies with you to help you take your mind off the halloween scares and go to sleep :3]

you cuddle him as you doze off while eating leftover halloween candy

blade carries you to bed and tucks you in for the night bc you deserve a good night’s rest <3

#dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #jing yuan #hsr blade #hsr

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ja3hwa · 11 months ago

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♡ 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐭.𝟓 | 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

【Synopsis】 : Fear was clouding both you and Hongjoong's judgement, leading you to question whether Hongjoong actually likes you the way you do him or not. Would a confession fix everything? Or would it cause a rift between the two of you?

『Word count』 : 1.21k

-> Genre: Smut. Angsty but Fluffy. Romance. DBF.

Pairing: Dilf!Hongjoong x Park!Reader

[Warnings] : Making out. Mentions of sex. Hongjoong can keep his hands to himself. Crying, heartbreak. Fear and insecurities. Lots of sappy cheesy romance novel stuff. Slight miscommunication trope. What can i say, i live to cause chaos. Hehe. Also, I love to point out that i love Seonghwa very much, and any i say about him doesn't mean anything.

Note: I know, I know. You were probably hoping for the first time, hehe. But no, Daddy Joong and Angel needed to have a heart to heart first. Haha. And I wanted the smut to be in one part, and it's gonna be a long one, hehe. Enjoy this for now, my beautiful babies. ♡♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Part Four | Buy Me A Ko-Fi

The dinner felt like something out of a romance novel or movie. Everything was perfect, down to the last bite of your dessert. The way the chocolate melted on your tongue and the whipped cream spilled down your throat, dripping down your chin. Hongjoong had to bite back a groan at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You found out that Hongjoong owns the restaurant, which caught you by complete surprise, given he didn’t know the first thing about cooking. He had spoken about how he was originally going to be a bar, but his mother mentioned she would have loved to own a restaurant with opened windows, grand red couches, and welcoming smiles. His dream quickly became something to resemble his mother. He wanted her to know how much he loved her, even when he was being his cold stand-off self. She helped a lot in his life, and he missed her every day.

He parked outside your apartment, and the silence continued. Only the soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the windshield. You didn’t want to get out of the car. You didn’t want the night to end, and as he turned to look at you in the eyes, you knew he didn’t want it to end either. “Why don’t you come up…. Coffee maybe…”

Your heart was racing, feeling all your nerves shaking at you. You needed to push yourself, push him. Show him you could be assertive… mature. He sighed, biting his bottom lip while looking back to the dark wet street in front of the car. He had conflicting feelings like his mind was splitting into two. You felt your heart breaking with each breath, with each silent second. “I don’t think that is a good idea…”

“Why?!” You said that way too quickly than you’d like, knuckles turning white as you clench the fabric of your dress in between your fingers. He just sighed again, making your heart shatter slowly. He raked his hand through his hair, searching for the right words to say without causing a miscommunication or pain.

“If I go up there, then I won't come back down.” His words made you hold a breath. Did he mean that? Was he worried about having sex with you? Be with you? You quickly responded with a simple ‘so’ which probably made you sound like an upset, desperate teenager, but you didn’t care, needing to hear him out. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not yet. Your father is uhh…”

There it was. The cruel reminder of who you were to him. His best friend's daughter. Just some silly little girl that he was fooling around with. You sagged completely into your chair, trying to balance the weight forming on your chest. You felt like you couldn’t breathe like you were suffocating in the small vehicle. No matter how hard you fight or how much he tries to forget, your relationship will be constantly based on what your father thinks. Your father's feelings. Not yours.

“I see…” You finally spoke. “Well, I’ll see you later than Hongjoong. Tonight was lovely…really lovely.” You got out before he could say another word. But you knew he was calling your name, trying to get you to hear his reasoning. Why he say what he said. The rain that was lightly spitting when you were in the restaurant was now bucketing down. You tried to get to the door of your building as quickly as possible, but a firm grip of your wrist stopped you. You turned to see a soaking Hongjoong, looking desperate and…regretful.

“I want to be with you. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” He yelled over the rain, your eyes growing wide as he put his left hand on your cheek, stroking your wet skin with his thumb. “I suck at voicing my thoughts. Please…please don’t think I don’t want you angel. You are the only thing in my life that makes me want to live again.”

You could feel your throat closing and your heart racing. Tears were falling along with the rain, ruining your make-up. He inched close, letting you feel his breath on your skin. Then you closed the gap, letting him lock his lips against yours. He kissed you more passionately, unlike the lust-filled kisses you’ve shared with him. He kissed you like you were the only person left in the world. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. He needed you more than he could ever explain. But fuck, if he wasn’t going to try to show you exactly how he feels, with every kiss, every soft touch and every whisper of sweet nothings in your ear. He wasn’t afraid of your father. He wasn’t afraid of what his other friends might think. He was going to shout from the rooftop how much he has fallen in love with you, and he was going to make sure you knew he meant every word.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.” You whispered, your tears turning into a sob. Your fingers were tangled in his wet shirt, fearing he’d disappear if you let go. And then he smiled, he laughed. His nose rubbing against yours, he whispered back…

“I’m definitely in love with you, angel. I’ve been in love with you the moment you step out of your car in that fucking perfect little dress.” He groaned kissing you again. He swallowed your giggles as you both felt a euphoric feeling like no other. It was like a switch went off. The last puzzle piece fell into place and nothing else outside your little bubble mattered. His plans to make your first time was about to go out the fucking window….

“If you don’t get back in my car right now, I’ll drag you into it.” His words were dark, tainting on your lips. It was like a drug you’d never get enough of. Quickly, without slipping, you got back into his expensive car, your hand never leaving his thigh as he drove and your lips suckling on his neck. Hongjoong was glad it was almost two in the morning, and no one was on the road. Otherwise, he would've most likely hit someone with how fast he was going. He made it back to his apartment in no time, and without another moment to spear, he dragged you towards the elevator by your hand. Fingers entangled with yours.. he pinned you against the wall in a feverish kiss, holding the back of your neck, guiding your mouth with his. This was not what he wanted your first time to be like. But god, did he need every second of it.

The way his hand crept up your dress, crawling at your hips. Feeling your frilly panties along his fingertips. His tongue raked down your hot skin, suckling a bright red mark on your neck. He was going to litter you with his marks, every part of your beautiful untouched body. Taint it like you were made for him. He was going to fuck you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. Because you deserved every treatment he gave you.

No matter what your father was going to think. He’d deal with the prick afterwards.

-♡

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sluttysnowangel666 · 4 months ago

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The Song of Blackwoods and Brackens - finale

Thank you so much to those who read and loved this story, I originally intended for it to be much shorter and with a way sadder ending( title was inspired by the song of achilles so i felt a tragic end was fitting) but i got carried away, and i couldn't find the strength to break everyone's hearts. This fanfic is the first time i've gotten back to writing since i was like 12 years old, usually these stories play in my head and i just leave them there but for some reason this one took a life of its own. if people would like to read the alternate ending, let me know and perhaps ill post it. until then, i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. thank you all my delulu bloody ben baddies, i love you more than you know.

masterlist

𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃

I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.

Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.

Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.

I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.

He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.

My ears were ringing, my eye was in excruciating pain, as well as my leg.

"Ben." I mumble out, disoriented. "Benny..."

I scan the area. Nothing but bodies. Oh, Gods. What if he was one of them?

There's cries of men in the distance, and the sound of fire crackling the burning mill.

I manage to push myself up, leaning on my sword. I cry out at the pain.

Gods... This was all my fault. I'd destroyed everything I touched. My brother was dead, I couldn't find my lover, I had no idea how long I'd been knocked unconscious.

"Benjicot!" I cried out. "Ben!"

An arrow whips past my head, nailing the wood post behind me. I do a full turn, and see a woman.

She's not much older than me, her hair is long and dark. Alysanne Blackwood.

"Black Aly." I say.

"Who are you?" She asks, an arrow aimed at me.

"I... don't know anymore."

"Judging by your clothes, you're a Bracken. My only concern is... you're a woman. Why is a Bracken woman fighting here instead of cowering in her chambers?"

I don't answer. "I've slain your uncle." She says.

I growl with anger. "You bitch!"

"Too slow." She teases.

I raise my sword, she pulls back on her bow.

"Stop this now!"

I turn, and he's there. Alive. He was greatly wounded, covered in blood as was I, but he was alive.

I can't hold back anymore. Gods, I was so angry with him, but I didn't even care. I limp towards him, bursting into tears the second I fall into his arms.

"Oh, my sweet." He cries, pulling us to the ground. He kisses my bloody head, sobbing into my hair. "We need to get you a maester, now."

I pull away, landing a hard slap across his face. "That's for knocking me unconscious, you craven."

"You left me no choice." He says, hardly phased.

"I know. I'm sorry." I say. He kisses me again.

"Nephew," Alysanne interrupts. "who is this woman dressed as a man?"

"My betrothed." He says.

"This battle... was all because you loved a Bracken?" She asks, incredulous.

"No." I answer. "It was my fault. My family started it... It was because I loved a Blackwood."

"What's the difference?"

"Fuck you, Alysanne."

"Tread lightly, Bracken scum. I'll still fly this arrow through your good eye-"

"Gods sakes, enough! The both of you." Benji demands. "Aly, please, she needs a maester."

Alysanne hesitates, but nods. She turns and runs, happy to be as far from my destructiveness as possible.

Benji helps me begin walking back to Raventree Hall, letting me lean on him for support.

I hear a cough, a familiar, raspy cough. I turn, shocked to see my uncle leaned against a post, an arrow in his left chest plate.

"Uncle." I say.

"You're still alive?" He coughs, blood spewing out of his mouth.

"I am." I say. I push off Benji to stand on my own.

"Get it over with." He sighs.

"Do you have any last words?" I ask.

"You're a disgrace to the Bracken name." He says.

"Well then," I pause. "it's a good thing I'm a Blackwood."

I turn to Benji, whose face reads nothing but pride in me.

"My betrothed," I start.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I believe I know what I want for our wedding."

"Whatever pleases, my lady. Ask and it is done."

I smirk, "I want his head."

One clean swipe was all it took.

Bloody Ben, gets on one knee, and holds up my uncle's head as a gesture of love to our union.

"Put it on a spike. Remind those what happens when you challenge a Blackwood."

———

The maester did what he could to stop the infection, but my right eye could not be saved.

"I look like a monster." I say, trying not to cry.

"The scar will be quite attractive." Ben says. I roll my good eye. "You can cover it, my love, if you so wish. Or perhaps a ruby, or obsidian to take its place."

My leg would fortunately recover. The scar ran from my thigh down to my calf. I have no idea how the maester was able to save it, but he did, and I was forever in his debt.

It would take me years to fully recover, but I had time. We had time.

It took days to clean up the land of bodies. Rain came, cleaning the grass of the blood that stained. After that, it was as if the battle never happened.

Each time I laid my eyes upon Stone Hedge, I sobbed. I would never forgive myself for my brother's death. While time would heal my wounds, they would never heal my grief.

———

Some years later

Benjicot and I married on the 20th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC. The union was approved by the queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her son Jacaerys had come to celebrate in her name.

I had become Lady Blackwood of Raventree Hall, and I was finally loved. I was loved deeply and greatly by my lord husband, Benjicot.

I had found a family in ones who were once considered my enemies. Alysanne and I set our differences aside and became sisters, Willem Blackwood accepted me as his new daughter.

The war however, was not so kind. It had been called The Dance of Dragons. My husband and I had gone off to fight for our kingdom numerous times, no matter how much he begged for me to stay back.

Nowhere felt more familiar to us than the battlefield. We fought side by side, protecting each other always. We had earned the nickname Bloody Ravens in time.

When the war finally ended, my husband and I returned home for good. Scars covered our bodies and we embraced them. They were reminders of who we were, and what we had endured together. Reminders that no matter what we faced, we would always be there to protect the other.

One day, my husband came to me.

"My little Bracken." He said, kissing my neck and wrapping his arms around me as we stood on the balcony, overlooking the land.

"Lord Husband." I greeted him. He hummed in my neck.

"I believe it's time we produced some heirs for House Blackwood." He says, planting gentle kisses along my neck.

"Is the babe in my belly not enough?" I ask, a playful smirk on my lips. He moves his hand down to my swollen belly, rubbing gentle circles.

"I want these halls running with Blackwood children." He continues to kiss me.

"Oh, my dear husband." I turn and cup his cheeks in my hand. "When I push this babe out within the next few days, you can fill me with another."

He smiles, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. Our daughter was born on the 3rd moon of 132 AC. Her name was Alyssa Blackwood. Benji held true to his word because after that pregnancy, we had 4 more; a boy and girl, the heir to Raventree Hall Aeron and his twin sister Aly Blackwood, another son, Benjamin Blackwood, another daughter, Nyra Blackwood, and another son Willem Blackwood.

"My little ravens." Benjicot called them.

And we lived in domestic bliss. Indeed, we had never felt peace again. But, who does after you have children? Our ravens roamed our halls, spreading chaos as Benjicot and I had when we were younger, but it was all we wanted. One day, my children would know the doomed song of their father and I's love. They would learn the history of our houses, the feud between them, the loss of their uncle. They were Bracken and Blackwood, through and through.

Bloody Ben died, and in his place was Benjicot Blackwood... Until the time always inevitably came where my husband and I went back out to fight. You can take the man out of the war, but you can never take the war out of the man.

Sometimes, we still snuck away at night, going back to that weirwood where it all began. We played, we swam, we fought, we fucked, we loved. It would always be our place, for just us. No matter what happened, no matter where we started, no matter who we were, who we became... we would always return to where we were meant to be.

And in years and years when Benji and I grew old and gray, ready to meet the Gods, we knew we would come back here again.

Together.

Where we began... Where we end.

𐂃 🐦‍⬛

#hotd #hotd season 2 #benji blackwood #benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #house blackwood #bloody ben #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot x reader #team black #aeron bracken #house bracken #kieran burton #ben blackwood #ben blackwood x reader #benjicot smut

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caratheewriter · 6 months ago

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Hey darling! I'm the anon who submitted this (https://serenewrote.tumblr.com/post/745794658206105600/i-just-read-your-daemon-x-dornish-daughter-and-im) and I loved what you wrote, but I can get the version with princess Martell fem!reader… And… I had another idea, I hope you don't mind… So reader gets pregnant and despite it being a difficult pregnancy and birth she gives birth to her daughter ( lady Martell), and they are living happily until when the girl is 5 years old, reader gets pregnant again, but this time she can't go to term, she is losing a lot of blood and the baby won't come out (and Daemon won't allows them to open her), then reader and the baby die, not before she says goodbye to her precious girl and Dae and makes him promise to take care of their daughter and try to be happy, they make one last vow of love and she dies . In this part, if it's not too much to ask, could you focus on Dae's relationship with his daughter? like how they deal with grief and how he takes care of her (in my head this happens before he marries Laena, but it's up to you) About two or three years pass and although he still loves and mourns the reader, he marries Laena who is a sweetheart to little Lady Martell and doesn't try to replace reader, and is an excellent maternal figure. In this part, the flow continues normally, Laena has the twins, years pass and they are well and happy, but when Laena gets pregnant again and dies, Lady Martell finds herself in the same situation again (she really feels the death of Laena and the baby while remembering Reader and her other unborn brother) She tries to comfort the girls and Daemon tries to comfort the three. They go to Westeros, the funeral and all that confusion takes place, but in the meantime Daemon receives a letter from Dorne saying that it is time for Lady Martell to return home (Dorne) and be prepared to take over the throne that belonged to her mother. Lady Martell is scared at first and goes to Daemon, they have a frank conversation and he says he will support whatever decision she makes (whether to accept it or not) but he encourages her to take on what is rightfully hers. She goes to Dorne and learns her duties quickly and efficiently. A year later, her coronation takes place Dae (who is beyond proud of his eldest daughter) and the rest of the family is there to celebrate. She is a good ruler and Dorne prospers under her leadership, but when the dance breaks out Rhae asks her to support the blacks, but Lady, or rather Princess Martell, says she will not take sides on any side (Dorne will not fight in a war which is not theirs) Rhaenyra, despite being disappointed, respects her decision, something the greens didn't do… please? (Sorry if I got carried away, but the original idea is so interesting that I couldn't help myself…but feel free to ignore this idea and do what you think is best, but if you happen to follow this idea, it will be Can you detail Lady Martell's relationships with Reader, Daemon, Laena, the twins and the rest of the family and her years ruling Dorne, please?)

Ok. Yes, I can absolutely whip this up for you! I had a feeling that is what you were leaning towards but I just had the first idea in mind when you had sent that request. So, I'm sorry that it wasn't exactly to your liking, apologies. Also, I'm gonna have to give y/n from that other one shot a name now. Little disclaimer: moons = 12 months aka 1 year. And here you go:

"It was all part of the story, even the scary nights" - Daemon x Fem! Martell! Reader

Prequel to "And nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free"

Warning(s): death during childbirth, infantile death

Word Count: 2085

110 AC

The battle at the Stepsons ended swiftly. They crowned Daemon, King of the Narrow Sea. To celebrate his conquest, Daemon set out to indulge in the finest of wines and there was only one place where it could be found, Dorne.

As Caraxas landed on the sands of Dorne, Daemon is greeted by the future Lady Y/n Martell, and her sister, Nymera.

"I heard the battle for the Stepsons was a victory. Congratulations, my prince."

The Rogue Prince smirks at Y/n, "Thank you, Princess. I also thank you for sending your fleet. Dorne isn't too fond of Targaryens."

Caraxes cries out and you look to see your sister walking up to him.

"Nymera! Leave the dragon alone! Sorry, my sister's curiosity will get her killed one day."

Daemon chuckles, "We were all a bit curious at her age."

Y/n looks Daemon up and down, "My father speaks of you."

"It seems my reputation procedes me."

"It's mostly just of what not to do and be as heir, my Prince. Although, I'm sure you are of good character."

Daemon scoffs. The audacity.

"I hope that your father won't turn me away, so that you can see how good my character is."

"Why do you think my sister and I are greeting you instead of him?"

Y/n led Daemon into the great hall where a celebration was taking place. She brought him over to her father, Qoren Martell.

"Father, Prince Daemon has come for a visit. I hope you can welcome him peacefully."

Qoren looks Daemon up and down, "A dragon in our midst can only bring trouble. I have half a mind to send him away."

Y/n rolls her eyes at her father's behavior. Daemon bows his head, "I promise, Lord Martell, to keep a peaceful visit and not disturb you."

"I hope for your sake that you keep that promise, dragon."

"Alright, father. That's enough. Come, Daemon. Let's join the festivities."

Y/n leads Daemon onto the floor for a dance, "You do know how to dance, right?"

Daemon scoffs at that implication, "I wouldn't be a proper prince if I didn't."

"But you aren't a proper prince. A proper prince doesn't leave for another city instead of returning to his wife."

Daemon places his hands at your waist, "I assure you, Princess. My lady wife is more than joyous for my absence."

The dance starts out slow then speeds up. At the music's climax, Daemon lifts you up. You look deep into each other's eyes.

"How unfortunate for you. To be trapped in a loveless marriage.

Daemon's eyes drop to your mouth. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"Yes, how unfortunate."

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

112 AC

In Lady Y/n Martell's chambers, she has begun her labors. Her handmaidens crowd around her.

“My lady, is there anything you need?”

The exhausted and straining Princess grits her teeth, “I would love it if the Maester wasn’t wasting his time doing gods know what and help me bring my child into the world.”

Two of the handmaidens run out to see what’s keeping the maester and Daemon walks in.

“Where’s the maester, my love?”

“If I knew, he would be here. It seems he has decided to spend his time elsewher-ahhh!”

Lady Y/n tenses up. She grabs Daemon with a fierce grip.

“My dragon, my maester is nowhere to be found and our little sand dragon has took it upon itself to push out.”

“Now? Like right now?”

Y/n took a deep breath, “Daemon?”

“My love?”

“You are going to help me, right now!"

"Y/n, I'm not a maester. I've never even seen a woman birth a baby. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Lucky for you, I have. Now, go and sit between my legs. It's nothing you haven't seen before-ahh!! Go now!"

Y/n's skin shines with sweat. She grips onto the chair. Daemon lifts his head from the sheet.

"Now, do I catch it when you push or....?"

Y/n looks at her lover. Surely he is not this stupid.

"Catch? catch?! If my child has even a second of air time before their first dragon ride, I'll cut your cock off and that is a promise. Now I'm going to start pushing so, focus!"

After copious amounts of pushing, Y/n and Daemon's daughter, named Aelyssa after Daemon's mother, decided to grace Westeros with her presence.

"Such powerful cries for a small little one."

"She's a dragon. Her cries are like roars."

"You, Aelyssa Targaryen, are going to be great."

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

117 AC- Aelyssa is 5

Aelyssa is conflicted. Her mother is pregnant and she is to have a sibling. She is only 5 moons old, she doesn't know how to be a big sister. She isn't allowed in the birthing room but if her mother's cries are anything to go by it seems like it isn't the place to be right now.

In the birthing room, Lady Martell isn't doing so well. The maesters are concerned with something.

"My lady, it seems as if the baby is breached somehow."

"I just need to push a little more, please!"

Maester Osferth looks at the woman with a solemn look. Daemon notices.

"What is it? Can she not continue pushing?"

"Well, my prince. It would be ill-advised to do so. Perhaps we could try and cut-"

"No, absolutely not! You will not cut her like some animal!"

Y/n looks up at Daemon, "My prince."

"My love."

"I fear the babe and I will not make it."

"Don't say that."

Y/n grips Daemon's hand, hard.

"And Aelyssa will need you more than ever. The rest of the realm will not be kind to her. You need to hold her and love her as you do now.

"I swear it."

Lady Y/n's grip on her lover loosens and she takes her last breath

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

118 AC - Aelyssa is 6

It has been one moon since Lady Martell's death and the baby. Once Lady Martell had died, they cut out the baby for burial. It was a boy.

Aelyssa has not gotten over it. She mourns in her room and has her food delivered to her door.

Her father has dragged her out of her chambers to break their fast. She hasn't taken one bite.

"Zaldrītsos, can you please eat something?"

"I am not hungry."

Daemon sighs, "Aelyssaa. You are grieving, so am I, but I do not want you starving yourself. Your mother would not want you to starve yourself."

"I'm just not hungry, father. It has nothing to do with Muña."

Daemon walks over to her and grabs her hand, "Come with me."

They walk out of the dining hall and down to the crypts. Aelyssa marvels at her people's ancestral burial place. They stop in front of Y/n's coffin. Daemon gestures for her to kneel.

"Hello, my love. It has been one moon since you were taken by the Stranger. We are grieving, but it is hard without you here. Our little sand-dragon is having trouble adjusting, naturally. Maybe this can give her peace of mind."

Aelyssa places her hands on her mother's coffin, "Hello, Muña. I admit that I am not doing well with your passing. I am not eating, but I cannot find the strength to eat. Not when you're not sitting with us. I know that you wouldn't like it, and I would try to cope better. There are also talks of my ascension as Dorne's new lady. Aunt Nymeria rules in my stead until I am ready."

Tears roll down Aelyssa's face. She makes no move to wipe them.

"I have ignored father, which I know I should not do as he is the only parent I have, but it is hard. I hope that you are looking down at us from the heavens and shall be proud of the woman I become."

Aelyssa launches into Daemon's arms, unable to hold her sobs.

"Oh, my sand-dragon. It's ok. The hole of grief is never filled, but you learn to live with their memory. I am always here. Do not be scared to come to me with anything that dwells in your head. The ones who love us and the ones we love, never truly leave us."

Daemon and Aelyssa spent that night in the crypt, sleeping beside Y/n.

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

125 AC - Aelyssa is 12

It has been 3 moons since Former Lady Martell's death. Aelyssa is still having some trouble adjusting.

She and Daemon are sparring in the training yard of Pentos. Instead of putting her all into it as usual, Aelyssa's been lagging and her father can tell.

"Stop."

Aelyssa looks up at her father, confused. "What? Why?"

Daemon takes her sword from her hand and kneels down, leveling with her.

"What troubles you, my little sunshine?"

"Nothing. Can we finish, Father?"

Daemon narrows his eyes, "No. We can talk about what's distracting you."

She sighs. Father always knows.

"You have married Lady Laena and she is with child, you will forget about me."

"Why would I ever push you aside? You are my firstborn. Nothing will change that."

"But your children will be legitimate in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms- well six, Dorne doesn't count. The lords, ladies, and the king, I am naught but a bastard to them. And your children might rule Driftmark, a powerful ally to the King. What am I but a future Lady to a kingdom that will never ally with the rest."

Daemon caressed Aelyssa's face. His eyes softened. He remembers Y/n's last words: The rest of the realm will not be kind to her. You need to hold her and love her.

"You are my daughter. Not a political tool. Legitimate or not, I don't care. My brother can moan and groan about you all he wants. I fell in love with your mother and still hold so much love for her. Every time I look at you, I see her. And that fills me with so much happiness because our love created something so beautiful and precious."

"I am not yet sold on Lady Laena. It will take time."

"I do not intend to rush you. Just understand that I still love you and always will. Nothing will ever change that."

"Love you too."

Aelyssa hugs Daemon. Not too keen on his reassurance but she trusts his word.

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

137 AC- Aelyssa is 14 (Rhaenyra and Daemon have married and now this is following the last few episodes of S1)

Aelyssa is dressed in gold yellow with hints of red and black. She is pacing in front of closed throne room doors. Daemon is watching her, amused.

"Have you reached the sand yet?"

Aelyssa glares at her father.

"Not the time. I'm nervous and Mother is not here to advise me. I fear I will dishonor her and my ancestors."

Daemon grabs Aelyssa's shoulders to stop her pacing.

"You will be great. You have not dishonored me, therefore you have not and will not dishonor her. Your mother would want you to rule Dorne however you see fit. Now, are you ready?"

Daemon holds his arm out. Aelyssa latches onto him. The doors open. They walk. The room is quiet and all eyes are on their soon-to-be Lady. They reached the front and Ser Cyrbon led Aelyssa up the steps and she sat on her throne.

"I present to you all, Aelyssa Martell, daughter of Y/n Martell, and your Lady! Hail Lady Aelyssa!"

"Hail Lady Aelyssa!"

It's done. You are now Lady of Dorne. You should address the people.

"To my people of Dorne. I welcome you to the new dawn of our kingdom. I intend to rule as my mother did and more. But know this, Dorne will forever remain: Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken!"

The people cheered, the guards looked on in pride. Daemon smiles, and the sun- the sun shines a bit brighter on you.

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

141 AC - Aelyssa is 18

No body was found. The search was in vain. We burn his clothes in place of his body.

Aelyssa is conflicted. She knows not how to comfort her cousins and her sisters. She walks up to Rhaenyra, careful.

"He will be avenged, I swear it."

They walk into the council room. Making battle plans. Rhaenyra and Aelyssa make eye contact throughout the meeting.

"Cousin, I ask you this because I need it. I could use your help."

"Dorne will not fight in a war which is not theirs."

"I am desperate."

"Lucerys did not die in vain. Justice will come but not from us, I'm afraid."

Aelyssa pulls Rhaenyra into a hug.

"I pray to the gods that you are successful. I can't wait to see you on the throne, Cousin. The Iron Throne.

fin.

And if Aelyssa sent Blood & Cheese instead of Daemon, no one will know.

#daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #my writing #hotd daemon #send asks #caratheewriter

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glitterforashes · 1 year ago

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𝐛𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 ; 𝐚𝐳𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

>> fluff, revenge fic, healing, self-empowerment, woman empowerment, women, just women, i love women, regaining self confidence. when i tell ya’ll that i squealed when i got this idea, i SQUEALED. originally this was just gonna be like an az x reader fight fic, but this is much better. the ending kinda sucks so excuse that!!! hope you enjoy<3

“you look.. beautiful.” azriel said, watching as you descended the winding staircase in one of rhys’ many estates, holding up your skirts gingerly. your face shone brighter than stars in the sky as you stepped softly onto the landing pad of the stairs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “promise..?” your soft voice was hardly above a whisper compared to the sound of wind raging outside, slamming against the walls and scratching at the windows. “always.” azriel extended his hand to you. you took it.

tonight was the annual gala held for the courts. every year a high lord would host the gathering in their court, and every other lord was free to attend and invite whoever they pleased. it was the night courts turn to host, right around the time of solstice— which meant you and your lover had spent very little time together in the last few weeks. very, very little time. rhysand had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off for days, planning an entire months worth of festivities, and of course azriel was one to help with that.

you had offered to help, but were turned down. “just stay here and look pretty.” cassian had said. the scowl you gifted him in return was angry enough to keep the room warm for several days. needless to say, you spent the first week pouting in your room. but now the time had come to celebrate and flaunt all the things your high lord had accomplished in the short time he had owned such a title. you wore a dark crimson dress, dangly pearl earrings, and multiple dainty white bracelets. your dress dipped generously between your breasts, stopping above your belly button, the back was open— putting your spine tattoo on display. the fabric was long, pooling around your ankles and dragging a bit on the floor in the back. azriel wore a black suit with a crimson undershirt and had little pearls keeping the cuffs of his sleeves in place.

azriel’s thumb rubbed the back of your hand in slow circles as he gazed down at you. you watched every thought he had run across his eyes like a film before he shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in. “are you ready?” he whispered, giving your hand a little squeeze. “as i’ll ever be.”

azriel brought your hand to his mouth and placed three gentle kisses across your knuckles, slowly, letting you feel the warmth and love behind each one. you felt tears well up in your eyes, which you quickly blinked away. “don’t make me cry my mascara off.” you mumbled, and az chuckled. he gripped your hand in his and placed his free hand on your lower back, urging you closer to him. you closed your eyes, felt the whip of wind and cold and calm swipe across your face before you were surrounded by flitting chatter and clinking of glasses and slow, soft music.

the gala. az had winnowed you both there, to that ballroom under the mountain, right at the foot of the thrones. you looked up to rhysand and feyre, giving a little curtsy and curt bow of your head. they nodded in acknowledgement before cassian clinked a fork to his champagne glass, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. the music slowed to a stop as you met the eyes of nearly three hundred people. you just knew helion had invited way more than he was meant to. azriel sensed your nerves and squeezed your hand subtly, giving you a glance out of the corner of his eye. “ladies and gentleman, high lord and high lady of the night court.”

rhysand and feyre rose from their thrones, both adorned in black fabrics and crowns. you felt your heart swell with adoration, fighting to keep a toothy smile from breaking out on your face. everyone in the room bowed down as you squeezed azriel’s hand back. some further than others. “shadowsinger of the night court.” cassian announced. azriel stepped forward and stood on rhysand’s left, gazing out at the crowd with a blank, intimidating expression. you felt a warmth spread through your lower stomach, a warmth you were quick to stifle. you couldn’t even fathom how embarrassing it would be if the scent of your arousal filled the room. surrounded by his shadows, he stood there, looking so tough and so.. beautiful. like an angel of death.

“court overseer, of the night court.” morrigan stepped up and stood on feyre’s right, resting her hands neatly in front of her. she looked smug, and you knew she was making eye contact with beron. she was beautiful, adorned in a scarlett red dress that did very little to cover any part of her body and multiple pieces of dainty gold jewelry. a type of beautiful you could only wish to be. “high lord of the night court’s second-in command.” amren took a graceful seat in front of morrigan positioned slightly to the side, her legs drawn close to her and tilted at a sideways angle, giving her a look of feline elegance. one slip and she would be exposed to the entire room. it occurred to you in that moment that every one of the females of the night court was dressed… very little. the thought made a smirk quirk up on your lips.

“maid of honor of the night court.” cassian announced finally. you stood a little taller as you ascended the steps, your hips moving sensually as found your spot in front of azriel on the second level stair, positioning your legs the same way amren had. you raised your chin high, the way morrigan had taught you. a year ago she had said to you, “when you feel like nothing, pretend you’re everything.” you took that advice to heart. you felt azriel’s shadows reach out to caress you, just barely stopping themselves before they got to the back of your neck.

“and finally, war general of the night court.” rhysand’s voice chimed, springing an air of nonchalant amusement and dominance through the room. all rose and began applause as you sat, basking in it like a cat in a ray of sunlight. the tension you had unknowingly wound up in your shoulders released as azriel’s shadows wrapped around you, caressing your waist and hips and the valley between your breasts.

the night progressed smoothly for the next two hours. you made idle chatter with visiting occupants and had a few glasses of wine on your rounds. feyre and rhysand stayed perched on their thrones until midnight, accepting praise and offerings and casual conversations. once the clock struck midnight, it was time for you to give your speech. rhysand had recruited you to do it this year, for what reason, you didn’t know.

you ascended the steps to their thrones and bowed your head, giving a kind smile. rhysand and feyre stepped to the side, standing beside their thrones so you could be directly in the middle of all the attention. amongst the socializing, nobody had noticed that you now stood before them, nervous and shaky. you smoothed your hands across the fabric of your dress, your shoulders tensing again. you met azriel’s eyes across the room. he raised an eyebrow at you, questioning. you flared your eyelids, he tilted his head, you shook yours, he gave a face, you frowned. you communicated like that until a smile broke out on your lips, forcing you to lick them and try to stifle it.

azriel raised his wine glass and clicked a fork against it, drawing all eyes to you. suddenly it felt like you decided to jump naked into the sidra at peek population hours of the day. “uhm..” you started, looking behind you to rhysand and feyre for guidance. they gave encouraging nods and a wink, enough for you to loosen your shoulders and do a little wiggle to get rid of the nerves. you cleared your throat quietly and brought your hands in front of you, standing poised and presentable, how a lady of the night court should stand.

“welcome to the night court.” you said simply. soft applause came from the crowd, and you smiled. it was going good so far. to be honest, you hadn’t prepared this speech at all. you were just gonna have to start pulling things out of your butt. “how’s everybody’s night going?” you asked. there was louder clapping and some whooping that you were certain came from helion. you shook your head, smiling a smile azriel’s heart nearly stopped beating for.

“i’m going to be honest, i didn’t prepare this speech.” laughter. you smiled wider. okay, this was good. they were liking you. “i won’t keep you for much longer though, i promise. i just wanted to invite all of you to feel as comfortable as possible— without breaking our possessions of course.” you smirked and carried on, saying basic formalities before launching into how amazing it was to be part of rhysand’s court, how you were honored to host the gala this year. “before i step down, i’d just like to say—“ you stopped as your eyes met green. there he was, in the right hand side of the middle row, sipping deeply from his wine glass.

your worst nightmare. he never attended the galas, never volunteered to host. you felt frozen as memories began flashing violently behind your eyes. when you had first started out working for rhysand, you were assigned to make peace with the spring court. you met tamlin, high lord of the spring court— and he quickly became your secret lover. this was of course, many many years ago, but the whisper of him never quite left your mind.

he had destroyed you and built you up in ways you couldn’t describe. he’d kiss your lips and simultaneously pull your hair, tell you how beautiful you were while telling you that no one would ever love you the way he did. would buy you glorious gifts while cutting you off from your family and friends, keeping you trapped in his estate all the time. would tell you lies and spin your mind so that you’d only ever feel safe in his violent arms. rhysand had rescued you some hundred years ago and promised to never send you back to that horrible place.

you realized that you were still in the spotlight and had been gaping for a good six seconds. you looked desperately for azriel’s eyes, your eyebrows furrowing up in worry. you found his gaze in a heartbeat. his eyebrows creased. ‘what’s wrong?’ he asked you, communicating in the way only you two could. you tore your gaze away from his and cleared your throat, smiling a shaky smile. you spoke in a wobbly voice and your knees buckled as you willed yourself not to look at tamlin or azriel. instead, you found the arched doorway in the back of the room to be particularly interesting.

“uh, everyone have a great night and please eat the food we’ve provided because we will not be able to finish it all.” you gave one more smile as applause erupted from the crowd and boisterous music picked up. the second the attention was off of you, you picked up your skirt and rushed into the crowd, forcing your way through to azriel. you were swept into a dance before you knew what was happening. a hand took yours and another met your waist. you blinked and suddenly you were following an upbeat choreography like second nature. you had learned it years ago, with azriel as your dance partner. but when you looked up, it wasn’t azriel you were dancing with.

it was tamlin. you felt bile rise up viciously in your throat. he smelled the same, looked the same. you didn’t miss the way he held you tighter than he needed to, his fingertips digging into your waist and back of your hand. “(y/n).” he said, but his voice wasn’t warm like when you first met him. it was cold and entirely devoid of emotion. “tamlin.” you swallowed thickly, trying to force down the junk pile of emotions that threatened to explode out of your mouth and eyes. “that was some speech you gave.” he said, guiding you around the room as you two danced, twirling and stepping and swaying in sync. you didn’t respond. your eyes left his to try and find azriel through the blur of dancing bodies around you.

“look at me when i speak to you.” his voice growled, and you looked to him without giving it too much thought. it was as if he was your owner and you a dog, programmed to follow his every order without hesitation. “good girl.. you haven’t lost your training yet.” he smirked, sinister and disgusting and so gut-churning you nearly wanted to scream for help. he made you feel so degraded with so few words, you fought and lost to the tears welling up in your eyes.

you didn’t respond. his expression fell into a blank slate and he stared at you, through you, as he spun you faster with the crescendo of the music. you willed yourself to steel your heart and paint your face with aloofness, trying to pretend like you weren’t affected by him, by his presence, by his cold fingers against your skin. your nostrils flared in the way they always did when you were trying not to cry. “are you having fun being a night court whore?” he asked. your eyes flicked to his immediately, wide with shock. “oh, excuse my poor manners. i just couldn’t help but notice your choice of.. clothing.” he said, flitting distasteful eyes towards your dress.

“the night court is my home.” you said, voice firm and threatening. “i am not a whore of it, and you will not speak to me that way in my. home.” your words shocked you, you had never stood up to him before. but as your lips continued moving, you felt an awful sort of dark hatred start in your toes and spread, filling your entire body until it felt like it was going to crawl out of your throat and slit tamlin’s wide open. your face felt hot and you were shaking, stumbling as the dance abruptly stopped.

your eyes flicked from the floor to his, and you swear you saw him flinch. “how dare you?” you asked, voice hardly above a whisper. it felt like the storm from outside was in your skull now, whipping around so violently you couldn’t hear or think. your eyes were wild with rage as they stared into tamlin’s. your fingers were digging into his skin now as you tried to keep the violence that rose inside of you at bay. “how. fucking. dare you?” you asked again, raising your voice. he stared, expression void of emotion. “after..” you could barely breathe, borderline hyperventilating as you began giggling, a manic fit of disbelief putting itself into play.

you swallowed hard, laughing now. your eyes were wild still, but with something different. something worse. “after all you’ve done to me. after the years i spent running from you, trying to forget.. you think,” you push your fingernail accusingly against his chest, hard. “you think you can come into MY home and speak to me like THAT?” you laugh, a hiccuping, uncoordinated laugh that was anything but humorous. “fuck you, tamlin.” you sneer, chest rising and falling hard as you breathe, unable to stop your lips. “fuck you, and you’re godsdamned fucking face, and your mean hands, and your need to control fucking everything.”

you pushed him back with one finger, stalking towards him as he backed up. you were pushing him toward the door without realizing it, people were parting like minos for a shark, but you didn’t notice. you could barely see, think, hear anything but the storm. you looked like a wildfire flame, the anger radiating off of you could heat the room. “this is MY. HOME.” you yelled, voice full and boisterous in the way his was everytime he had threatened to kill you. “and you are NOT welcome in it ever FUCKING again, so just GET OUT!”

you screamed at him, and then it stopped. the storm, the noise, the emotions, all of it. it all disappeared. you looked up at him with teary, confused eyes, your body trembling like an autumn leaf in the wind. “just get out.” you whispered, voice shaking as you pointed at the door his back was nearly against. he squared his jaw and shoulders in the way he always did when he knew he lost, and turned. “fuck you too, (y/n).” he tore the door open and slipped through it, slamming it so hard on the way out it rattled the entire ballroom.

silence. there was loud, horrible silence. your hair a mess, tears running down your cheeks, you turned towards the guests of the ball. they stared at you like you had just unleashed one of the beginning time beasts. your entire body broke out into a cold sweat, you couldn’t stop shaking. shaking, why were you shaking? you scanned less than half the room before azriel was in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. “(y/n).”

you broke. you threw yourself into his arms and crumpled, ugly, hot, fat tears flowing down your face. in his arms is where you realized how scared you were, how scared you had been. if it had been any different, if it had been in any other court.. tamlin would have killed you. very slowly did your ears begin to register the applause, the deafening applause that rattled off of every wall in the room. you detached your puffy, tear-streaked face from azriel’s chest and looked around, met the faces of every court member clapping and cheering for you.

you looked up at azriel confused. he held a hand firm on your lower back and grinned softly down at you. he put his hand softly on the back of your head and pushed it against him, holding you and your shock at bay. “never liked that prick anyway!” helion shouted from across the room, earning boisterous laughter from a group of males and females. cassian rushed towards you and swept you away from azriel, leading you back to the thrones. morrigan patted your dress down and messily wiped mascara stains off your face the best she could with her thumb and some saliva. you laughed, confused, but happy. your heart was thundering in your chest.

“ladies and gentleman,” cassian announced loudly, gesturing widely to you like you were a showcase painting. “maid of honor!”

the applause that erupted from the crowd almost moved you to tears again. you met azriel’s eyes and he grinned, sending an expression of admiration towards you that spoke a thousand and one words.

- extra ! -

two weeks later, it was the night of winter solstice. you, the entire inner circle, and elain were sitting around the fireplace, exchanging gifts and sipping wine and recalling stories from the year passed. with all the wine in your system, you didn’t notice when azriel slipped away from you. “okay, okay! my turn.” feyre said. “this is to you, (y/n).” she said. she motioned to the staircase, where azriel stood. next to him was a flat box about as large as him covered with a silk black curtain.

azriel cleared his throat, and you could tell he was nervous, though his facade hadn’t changed to the naked eye. “(y/n)..” he said. “i love you, and everyone else loves you. you are the strongest, most beautiful female i’ve ever seen. happy solstice..” he removed the cloth from the box and in front of you stood a painting of you at the gala, victorious, incredulous look on your face, mascara stains on your cheeks and all, being held up by cassian and mor as every court cheered for you.

your hands flew over your mouth as your eyes welled with tears, the tipsiness making you overly emotional. you stood and rushed to feyre, nearly knocking her backwards as you wrapped her in a hug. “it’s so beautiful! thank you so much..” you cried as azriel came up behind you and placed a hand on the small of your back, crouching down to sit next to the pile of you and feyre.

you turned and tossed yourself messily into his arms as everyone began making fun of you; with the exception of amren who was trying to find herself in the painting. “i love you azriel.” you sniffled. he lifted your chin and grinned down at you softly, pressing his lips against your cheek. he whispered against your skin, bringing your head to his chest. “i love you too, darling.”

#fanfiction #x reader #fluff #acotar #azriel #christmas #solstice #ewtamlin #inner circle #a court of starlight #azriel romance #azriel x reader #christmas fic #cutie pie #azriel x reader fluff

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sunnysoulzz · 1 year ago

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Newt scamander x reader 🤭

Im SOOO sorry about how long this has taken, writers block is an ass fr anywayyyy

I just finished reading two, long, newt scamander fanfics and now I got that heartache that comes with finishing something you like, and sooo I’m filling the void with my own fanfic 🤭

^ this was the original idea! (Made by @krispypotato)

I will say, I did change the original idea up a bit, sorry!

Warning: smut, newt x reader, Dom?newt (he gets subby towards the end), sex pollen lol, reader is down bad for newt, more horny then cute 😭, condom without the condom 😎 (protection? Spell teehee)

No pronouns are mentions but it’s afab! <333

It was a lazy Saturday. You had been newt’s assistant for almost a year now. Ever since you got this job, things have always been interesting between you and newt, though you didn’t want to admit it. The long stares, getting flustered when you brushed his hand against yours, your heart racing whenever he got close to you, you could go on and on. He was just so pretty, how could you not? His curly brown-red hair, his freckles, his adorable smile, ahhhhh.

Recently, newt brought a new animal into his care. Neither of you knew much about the creature yet, but you’d try your best.

You were busy feeding the mooncalves when newt called you over. “Hey, can you bring the food?” He called out. “Sure!” You yelled back, grabbing the bucket of meats and herbs. You found newt petting the new creature, trying to gain its trust. You walked slowly, trying not to scare it. You handed the bucket to newt, who then promptly started feeding the creature. The creature was pretty small compared to some of your others, it couldn’t have been much bigger then a large dog. You found it with its leg trapped between rocks and a tree, of course, newt saved it and brought it back. Newt held the food out for the creature to eat. You couldn’t help but watch him, his smile, his lean build, his nice hands… You blushed at your own thoughts. You looked away quickly, starring off into space before newt snapped you out of it “it’s beginning to trust us, it isn’t running away anymore” he said, turning to you, that pretty smile still on his face. You couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m glad! It was a pain trying to rap it’s leg properly” you giggled, “hopefully now it’ll be easier”. Newt nodded, not taking his eyes of you.

Unluckily for the both of you, one of the animals in your care screeched, sending the new creature into a panic and splashing both you and newt in a pink/yellow glittery powder. “Ugh…” you sighed out, whipping some of the dust off your shirt. Newt chuckled before turning towards the screech, “let’s go find out what happened” he said, his voice laced with slight worry. He placed a hand on your shoulder, but he quickly removed it as he walked towards the animals. You nodded and quickly followed him.

You later found out one of the animals screeched because it got a splinter, you helped the animal, and then walked over to newt. Newt was standing at his desk, using a towel to get rid of the glittery dust. You sat down in the chair closest to him. He handed you the towel, smiling softly at you, before quickly turning his head towards his work. You brushed yourself off, suddenly starting to feel oddly calm. “Thanks” you said, placing the now glittery towel on back of one of the chairs.

You leaned back in the chair. All the creatures had been fed, the injured ones had been checked to make sure they were healing, and now you could finally rest. You looked around you before your eyes landed on newt again. He had a piece of paper in his hand, he looked like he was reading it but you saw his eyes jump from you to the creatures and then to the paper again, a light blush was present on his face. You took a deep breath in, looking down at your hands in your lap. You felt like you were getting hotter, sweat seemed to stick to your forehead. You shuffled in your seat, your clothes suddenly feeling to tight. Newt let out a small groan, you looked over to him again, letting out a little “hm?” To see if something was wrong. Newt seemed to jump almost, from hearing your voice. He turned around, facing you. “Ah- Uhm- well I think we’re all done here” he said, adjusting his collar, “you can head home” he finished, his eyes quickly looking away from you. “Are you sure? I can stick around a little longer, make sure that everything is ok after their feeding, and stuff…” you trailed off. Even though you were uncomfortable, you really didn’t want to leave newts side. “No, it’s fine, everything is done” he said, clearing his throat, the blush on his facing growing deeper. You stood up from the chair, stepping closer to him.

“I wanna make sure the animals are ok tho, what if she gets another splinter-“ you were cut off when newt grabbed your arms, “please, everything is fine, go home” his breathing was heavy. You looked him in the eyes, your face going red. He starred deep into your eyes before realising and quickly letting go off you and looking away. He cleared his throat again. There was an awkward silence between you two, the only sounds to be heard were the animals, and heavy breathing from the both of you. Your body started feeling tingly, you felt almost light headed. The feeling becoming overwhelming, your head filled with thoughts of newt, what he’d look like on top of you, what he could do with his rough hands, or his tongue. You gave in, you let out a shaky breath, “a-alright, I’ll see you tomorrow…” you smiled at him. He looked at you, his eyes dark, and filled with lust. He nodded his head, he leaned up against the desk.

You took a step back, still facing him. Suddenly his eyes widened. As you went to turn around you, your foot got caught on a loss brick, newt reached his hand out to you, barely grabbing onto your shirt before you both felt and hit the floor. Luckily, his hand was able to reach the back of your head before you reached the ground, so you didn’t hit your head. You weren’t badly hurt, neither was newt. You looked up, newt was now on top of you, his hands now on either side of your head, he looked down at you, his breathing speeding up slightly. He seemed to snap back to reality when you reached out to touch his face, you both realised what was happening. You quickly moved your hand back and newt sat up. “Uh- come on, I’ll..get you a Band-Aid” newt said quietly, helping you stand.

There was another awkward silence as you walked upstairs to his living room. Normally the silences were fine, since you both felt comfortable in each others presence, but now, you’re both uneasy, the both of you feeling tense with no way to relieve it. You sat in his living room while newt shuffled around for a Band-Aid. The air was thick with tension. You felt more lustful by the second. Your mind started to go foggy again. You let out a deep sigh, still feeling bubbly, “so, Uhm” you started, “do you know what the new creature is?” You starred down at your hands. “…not really, I-I think I’ve seen it before, but I can’t remember much about it, off the top of my head” he said, finding the Band-Aid. He walked over to you, placing his wand on the coffee table near by. He crouched down in front of you, delicately placing the Band-Aid on your elbow. He looked up at you, his adams apple bobbing. “…I think” he said, nervously, “I think, I can guess, what it’s defence mechanism is” he looked away from you. You started off into space for a second. Suddenly realising that this feeling started after it had sprayed you and newt in the glittery dust. Your mouth hung agape as you realised.

“I don’t think…this will go away unless we do something about it” newt said in a moment of unexpected confidence, though his face was bright red. “Will you…help me?” Newt said softly. You held newts face, “mmhm, if you help me as well” you said. Newt licked his lips, letting out another sigh before smiling slightly and kissing you. He stood up and quickly pushed you to lay longways on the couch, his lips never leaving yours. His hands were now by your head again. You started unbuttoning his shirt.

His lips detached from yours, his hands went to your shirt. He quickly unbuttoned your shirt and threw it on the floor. “You’re so beautiful…” he muttered against your skin. His lips sucked redish purple splotches on your neck. You moaned as your hands tangled in his hair. “Wait..” you said. He immediately stopped and looked up at you, worrying he did something wrong. “I wanna touch you too” you blushed, looking away from him. He panted, looking from your neck, to your face, and then away from you. He sat up, still between your legs, “Mmhmm” he said. He quickly took off his shirt. You unbuttoned your pants, and took them off, with his help. You were left in just your underwear, he still had his pants on, though you could see his cock strained uncomfortably against them. “…gorgeous..” you heard him mumble. Your face went redder, you couldn’t tell if it was the sex pollen talking or if he really thought that.

He kissed your neck, leaving small kisses against the deep red marks on your skin. You reached down to his pants, you hooked your fingers around the waist band of them, pulling them down. He swiftly unbuttoned them and pulled them off, leaving him in just his boxers. He breathed deeply against your neck, his hot breath making you shiver. He kissed at your neck more, his hands lightly placed on your hips. “Please…newt” you said, reaching down to stroke the outline of his cock. He groaned at your touch. He sat up, quickly removing his boxers and letting his dick spring free. You starred for longer then you should have. He looked away suddenly feeling nervous. You quickly snapped out of your daze, your face bright red. You took off your panties, throwing them somewhere on the floor. Now it was his turn to stare. He starred down at your body, his hands moving to your face and then down your body. You let out a small moan as his hand moved to grip your hip. He used his other hand to quickly reach over to the table and grab his wand, casting a…protection spell on himself.

“Is it..ok..if i..” newt stuttered out. His hand gripping you hip tighter. “Yes newt just- please” you mumbled. Newt smiled at your neediness, his fingers when down to your entrance, without wasting anytime he pushed his finger in you. You moaned gripped the bedsheets, newt quickly added another finger, he pumped his digits inside you, though a little sloppy. “Newt, please… I want you..” you moaned out, your eyes stared deeply into his. “But…I need to prep you don’t I..?” His soft eyes looked back at you, he was worried he’d end up accidentally hurting you. “It’s good enough, I need you inside of me” you grabbed his wrist, making him pull out. His face when even more red, he was flustered yet very excited.

He pumped his cock in his hands before steadying himself and pushing his tip inside you, using his precum as lube. You moaned loudly. He slowly pushed himself inside of you. He leaned over you, putting a head next to your head, your arms went to rap around his neck. Once he was fully inside you he stabilised himself. he looked down at you, his breath heavy and his face red. “Are you alright?” He mumbled. “Mmhmm” you said, he slowly pulled himself out again, starting to thrust into you. A string of moans left your lips as your nails dug into his back.

You moaned out his name while he grunted in your ear. He kissed your jawline, his eyes were glossy and filled with lust, he wanted more of you. His hands moved gently down your body, just because he was roughly fucking you doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to touch you were the most graceful thing he had ever seen. His hands travelled down your body, landing on your hips, he moved your body against his, causing his dick to reach deeper inside you. Your hands landed on the bedsheets, you gripped them tightly as you moaned.

His thrusts eventually grew sloppy, his breathing was laboured, and his grunts and groans had turned into whimpers and soft moans as he got closer to his climax. “You look so..delicate” he whimpered out, his grip on your hips loosening. As the both of you reached your climax, he moaned out your name, his cum painting your walls. He stayed inside you, catching his breath. “..a-are you ok?” He stuttered out nervously. You stared up at him, your chest rising and falling. You nodded your head and reached up to him, pulling him down into your arms. “I feel wonderful” you said with a smile, newt let out a content sigh before pulling out of you. “I’ll uh, get you a towel” he said, before disappearing out of view. You laid on the couch, suddenly aware of the fact you technically just fucked your boss, and the guy you’ve had a crush on since you met him.

He eventually came back with a warm towel, he was now in a new pair of pants, still shirtless. He traced over your body with the towel, you laid their catching your breath. You couldn’t help but look at him arms and chest. He was covered in scars, some small, some large, obviously from all the animals he’s tried to help over the years. You couldn’t help it as a small smile formed on your lips as he looked away, blushing, as he moved down your body. “Do you feel..ok?” He said, still looking away, “I mean..has the sex pollen..worn off?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I think so, interesting defence mechanism though” you chuckled out, thinking about how you even got into this situation. He turned back to you as you sat up, stretching. You stared into each others eyes, but only for a second, before you both broke it off. You were somehow still nervous, even though he had just recked your insides. “Uh..” he begun, “would you..like to go out for coffee, sometime?” He said nervously. You’re face went red, was he really asking you on a date? You smiled brightly, but tried to hide it. “Sure, I’d love to” you said, the happiness very apparent in your voice. He looked back to you, seemingly shocked at your answer before he quickly smiled. Maybe it wasn’t just the sex pollen that caused this to happen.

Anddd scene, lmao I’m sorry if this is rushed, I got super bad Artist block right as I started the smut 😭 anyway, hope this is ok! I want to get back into writing but ima have to take it slow lol. Anyway hope this did the prompt at least a lil justice 💪 (also sorry for any spelling mistakes, I’ve only edit read this once)

@camilaheroine

#newt scamander x you #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander #newt scamander smut #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt x reader #smut #fantastic beasts

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klaprisun · 4 months ago

Text

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 41

🌻~THE NEXT SUMMER ~🌻

Eventually, all of the sunflowers had perished by the end of fall last year. I told Haley that just means we can look forward to replanting them this summer. She really took me up on that because just two weeks ago we had planted them all once again.

The sunflowers aren't quite as tall yet this season, but by fall they will be towering over our heads. They are currently still tall enough to make the little bench area secluded from the rest of the world, just the way Haley likes it.

This morning though, is anything but sunny. It's raining total buckets outside today which limits the things I can do today. But then I got an idea.

Running to the telephone in my room, I dial Haley's number.

"Darling! Hi!" her voice sings through the phone.

"Meet me in the sunflower field in an hour," is all I tell her.

"In this weather? Are you insane?" She questions me.

"Trust me," I breathe out, heart pounding in my chest.

"Hm. Okay then," she huffs.

"Make sure to wear something you consider nice. You'll thank me later." Without another word from her, I hung up the phone.

I quickly throw on my signature overalls, work boots and cowboy hat. I have on a light pink t-shirt underneath my overalls as an attempt to look nice. I tie my hair back to my favorite half up half down style. My hair has been making its way back to its original length now. At this point it just passed my shoulders in length.

Without an umbrella or any rain protection, I set out into the nasty weather without a second thought. I know what I am going to do.

Haley and I have been going strong since we established our feelings for one another. All of our previous fighting and sass was all due to us being head over heels with one another at first sight. Who would've guessed? The perfect, pretty, pristine, boy obsessed girl was really into the dingy, dirty, farm girl the whole time. The way the world works goes completely over my head. If you were to tell me I'd be in this position 2 years ago, I would've never believed you. I'm sure Haley would feel the same way. I am so obsessed with her and don't think I'll ever be able to live my life normally if she wasn't with me. Which is why I am going to do this.

"Ahhh Danny. I knew you'd be coming soon enough. I could feel it in the damp, musty, rainy air." The way this guy spoke was absolutely creeping me out. I had chills going down my body, causing my arms to have goosebumps.

"Five thousand coins please," he says before I can even say anything. Cringing over how expensive that is, I reach into my backpack and rifle around until I pull out five thousand coins.

"Wonderful. Here you go..." He holds his hand out to me, dropping something into the palm of my hand.

"Thank you...Old Mariner?" I say questioningly. Unsure if he likes to be addressed as that.

I take a minute to admire the misty ocean water ahead of us. The rain blocks any view of the far away horizon. The rough waters sway and crash about, threatening anyone who dares to enter them in these conditions. It is almost an eerie sight to see when looking out into the rainy abyss of the ocean. I see why this creepy Old Mariner likes to show up when it rains. Really adds to this guy's dumb performance.

I turn to face the Old Mariner one more time before heading out. Except he wasn't there. Confused, I whip my head in every direction looking for him. How did he get so far from the short amount of time I didn't face him? And where does he even go?

Still chilled to the bone over this unnerving experience, I turn on my heels and scurry away from the beach. After all, I have a pretty lady waiting for me back at the farm.

Before entering the sunflower field to wait for Haley, I had tossed my backpack inside so as to not kill the mood with it on. It's not really the most romantic article of clothing in the world, and I'm already pushing it with what I have on now. I also cleaned myself up quickly so I wasn't all muddy and damp. I will end up getting damp from the rain all over again once I go back out to meet Haley, but it won't be as bad. Knowing her, she will show up with an umbrella so she doesn't get her outfit all wet and gross. I don't know what she will do about her shoes though.

I push my way through the thick stems of the sunflower field so that I'm ready when Haley arrives. If she is right on time, I won't have to wait much longer. I tried to time it so that I'm not waiting outside for too long.

To my amusement, I begin to see a cute, little, blue umbrella bobbing its way over the top of all the sunflowers. Haley held it higher up so that it wouldn't get caught in all the leaves and stems of the sunflowers most likely.

"I'm here!" she joyfully bounces into the clearing of the field where I wait. My arms are twisted behind my back nervously, carefully hiding my hands as well.

"Hi here. I thought you were Haley?" I tease, causing her to nudge my shoulder playfully.

"Why did you ask me to come here? It better be worth it. I'm ruining my good shoes for this," she rolls her eyes but cracks a big smile knowing that whatever I asked her here for will be worth it.

"I think you look gorgeous," I mentioned. She really does look so pretty. She is wearing a baby blue sundress with a small pink bow in the middle of the chest area. She has pink pumps on that match the small bow as well. It looks like she was extra careful with those shoes on the way here because they are barely dirty. Her golden hair is, as always, draped over her shoulders, cascading in a way that doesn't cover her beautiful face.

"Emily helped me do my nails this morning for some reason. I didn't think they were that wrecked yet, but she insisted on redoing them when I mentioned where I was going today."

Hearing Haley say that causes me to sweat and grit my teeth. Does Haley know? How did Emily know? I didn't tell anyone, I just came up with the idea today! I mean I was thinking about it since the new year, but I had never told anyone.

"Emily did a wonderful job," I had taken her hand in mine, looking over her blue ombre nails.

"Now are you going to tell me why you asked me here!" she gleefully exclaims, clearly on her toes about whatever may happen.

"Ahem..." I clear my throat, suddenly feeling much more nervous and choked up. It's really happening. "Haley... I had woken up today on this gloomy, gloomy day with a thought in my head I just couldn't shake. On gloomy days like this, I heard there is a visitor that appears on the island that you may have heard of. Now when I saw the rain, something clicked in my head, so I went to pay that guy a visit. Haley, I don't want to spend any more gloomy, rainy days waking up alone. I don't want to spend ANY day waking up alone anymore. I want you by my side every second of every day. You are my reason for getting up in the morning and making this farm the way it is. You give me the motivation to keep this farm up and running and you give me a reason to stay here instead of going back to the city. If I hadn't met you, I would've chickened out and ran back to the city to live a life I definitely didn't want. The forces of the universe clearly wanted me to come here for a reason, and that reason was you. I love you Haley."

As I blurted out my on-the-spot speech, Haley's eyes had widened to the size of saucers once she realized what was happening. Her hand slowly makes its way up to cover her mouth in shock.

"Um..." I awkwardly try to bend down on one knee, but realize that may not be part of the tradition so I stand back up. Then I realize that is whatever I want for this moment, so then I lower myself back down to one knee. Haley begins to giggle over my uncertainty. I take my hands out from behind my back and present them in front of Haley, holding the Mermaid's Pendant. One hand holds the chain, while the other one has the pendant part displayed on the palm.

"My pretty lady. My beautiful, beautiful Haley... will you marry me?" My words ring out into the air for a moment. Neither of us grasping that this is really happening.

Haley nearly drops her umbrella as she starts jumping with joy. She squeals excitedly a few times before collapsing into me, bawling her eyes out. I catch her just before her knees touch the ground so she doesn't fall straight into the muddy grass. The rest of her body falls more into my chest.

"Yes! A thousand times yes! I love you too, Danny," she sobs, muffled by my chest. I move her hair back while she sobs away into me so I can clip the Mermaid Pendant around her neck. I gently lay my arms around her shoulders after to reciprocate her hug.

The sunflowers around us dance in the warm, summer breeze. It makes them look like they are cheering for us. I pull Haley tighter to me and give her a tight squeeze. I'm having a full celebration with plenty of cheering in my head.

"We have to go tell everyone! We have to tell Emily so she can start making our wedding outfits! Hopefully she can do it all in three days but-" Haley starts.

"THREE DAYS? THE WEDDING IS IN THREE DAYS?" I shout, startled about the wedding date being so soon.

"We get married quickly here in Pelican Town," she sheepishly smiles, a blush spreading across her face. "Is it too soon? Do you want to wait?"

"I'd marry you right now if I could. Three days is perfectly okay with me," I reassure her.

🌻 🌻 🌻

Those three days couldn't have gone by any slower. The two of us were raring to get married the second we got engaged. We could hardly keep our hands off each other either. We had started construction on my farmhouse to give her an area of her own for when she moves in, but in the process of building and decorating we had a few... celebration breaks. Like I said, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

When the whole town found out we were engaged, they all started planning the wedding, Pelican Town style. Apparently it gets set up in the middle of town square like a lot of the other events they put on. They keep all of the outdated ceremony decorations stored away for every single wedding that is held here. It's hard to believe that Haley is okay with a wedding like this. She did add her own touches to it all though, but everything else she was happy with.

When we told Emily, she immediately started planning our outfits right away. She dragged us into her sewing room and started measurements. The two of them couldn't stop laughing at how much I didn't belong there with all the frilly clothes surrounding me. Emily was even going to put me in a dress for the wedding until I gave her a very very long, hard stare. When has she seen me in a dress? What made her think I'd want a dress? My dress denial made them laugh even harder. Emily, of course, respected my wishes and started designing me a suit instead. At least that's what I THOUGHT it was going to be.

When I showed up to get dressed for the wedding today, she pulled out the most outrageous outfit I've ever seen. Not in a bad way though, but in a way that I had never seen anything like it.

"White overalls? Are you kidding me?" I excitedly started laughing over how funny Emily is, taking them by the hanger from her hands.

"Haley knew you'd like it. She suggested it," Emily chuckles.

"Really? Haley suggested this? That girl surprises me more and more each day. Where is she anyway?"

"She went over to Evelyn's house to get ready. I'm going over as soon as you are done getting ready here. I figured you wouldn't take too long and she takes forever so it works out great." Emily pulls out a fancy white shirt to go under my white overalls. She also goes over to a shelf and grabs a pink flower.

"Since you aren't in a suit, you can put this flower in the front pocket of the overalls." Emily hands over the rest of my outfit and starts walking away to let me get ready.

"Thank you so much Emily. This is all so great. You've been a great friend and the best sister to Haley. We wouldn't be here without you," I call over to her before she walks out of the sewing room to her own room.

"Thank you, Danny. You make her so happy. You bring out a side of Haley we had never seen until you showed up. I can't thank you enough for being patient with her and letting her find her true self. I knew it was in there somewhere!" she laughs as she walks away.

Once I was all dressed in my wedding attire, Emily came right back to help straighten everything up and made sure it fits okay. She helped do my hair up nicely in the same way I always have it, but this time it looks better than when I do it. She smoothed back my hair to tie the top part into a ponytail, and brushed the hairs underneath so that they lay nicely down my back. She didn't let me wear my hat unfortunately as it would "ruin it". She said I could have it back after the ceremony. Haley had told Emily that she wants to be able to see my face in pictures. I guess I got away with wearing overalls to my wedding so I should be thankful for that.

I mosey my way out to the wedding area after getting dressed. That's where I see everyone else continuing to set up the last minute things for the big day. The one thing that catches my eye is that there are no chairs.

"Y'all don't sit or anything?" I asked the person closest to me which was Alex. He was in the midst of carrying a big flower pot.

"It's crazy isn't it? I always wondered that too," he replies. I watch as he looks me up and down quickly. "You look hot. Haley is gonna drool when she sees you."

"Why thank you. Sorry again for stealing your girl," I jokingly say.

"Oh please. You are everything I could never be. For one, a girl and two, into girls. I can't believe I never came out sooner. It would've saved Haley the headache I gave her. I feel terrible about everything I put her through and I hope she can forgive me one day. You really saved her from me. I'm glad you moved here and she took a liking to you. Anyways, congratulations on your big day. You two deserve it." He gives me a genuine smile and continues walking to wherever the big flower pot goes.

I wanted to help with all the rest of the setting up, but everyone kept saying no. All I could do was stand helplessly, watching everyone carrying decorations around. Leah and Elliot came over to chat with me and keep me busy too.

"See Leah. What did I tell you? They were meant to get married!" Elliot goofs.

"And I was the one who told them to go at their own pace. You wanted them to get married on the spot you wacko!" Leah responds to Elliot.

"Regardless, they made it this far and I see a bright future between the two of them. Lots of sex and lots of happiness. Cheers to that." That gets him a smack on the arm from Leah. I could see the laugh playing on her lips that she is trying so hard to hold in.

"I couldn't have asked for better friends when moving here. You guys have been such a help to me and made me feel comfortable moving in here. You accepted me as part of the town and I will forever be grateful," I sappily pour my heart out to them.

"We actually never accepted you, you just made that up in your head. I don't know where you got that from," Leah smirks and looks at Elliot. "Isn't that right Elliot?"

"Pfff yeah. We never liked you one bit. You are such a burden to us and should've never moved here. My Yoba, Danny." Elliot holds his palm out to me and turns his head away in disgust.

"Get in here you two," I take both of them into my arms and give them a big squeeze. They both return the hug by squeezing me back.

"It's been so great getting to know you Danny. Thank you for being our friend and putting up with us," Elliot says.

"You've been a lot of fun to tease and have fun with. You sure have a lot of patience," Leah adds. "I'm glad we met you."

"Looks like it's time!" Elliot excitedly informs me. He points at Mayor Lewis who is trying to wave me over to stand under the flower arch. Everyone else is standing in the audience, waiting for the big event to begin. I see Evelyn and Emily have weaved their way into the crowd which means Haley is fully ready and waiting.

Taking a deep breath, I take my place underneath the gorgeous archway decorated with pale pink flowers. I watch as every head in the crowd turns to look down the aisle. Jas and Vincent make their way towards me up the aisle, tossing flower petals as they go. I can't help but smile at how cute they are.

A moment later, everyone gasps. Haley appears at the end of the aisle staring back at me. She looks absolutely stunning. Her dress looks as if it came out of a fairytale. It has a big poofy skirt trimmed with the same light pink flowers as the one in my front pocket. The bodice hugs her body tightly, but loose enough to let her breathe comfortably. The straps of the dress are an off the shoulder design made out of tulle. Her hair was left down, but some front pieces were all tucked and braided to the back of her head with a few strands left out to frame her face. In her hands was the same style of bouquet I gave her when I wanted to show her I was romantically interested. Down to the same color ribbon I had tied around the stems.

My brain had gone completely blank. I was absolutely speechless and bursting with excitement. She slowly glides down the aisle, stirring up some flower petals from the ground as she moves. She looks absolutely magical.

She takes her stand next to me under the arch. The two of us looking into each other's eyes, forgetting everyone else exists. In the background, I hear Mayor Lewis begin speaking.

"When Danny first arrived in Pelican Town, no one knew if she'd fit in with our community... But from this day forward, Danny is going to be as much a part of this town as any of us!" The town folk start cheering at Lewis's declaration. Haley and I break our gaze as soon as we hear the last of his speech. "You may kiss!"

Without another thought, I sweep Haley into my arms like the world is ending and she is my only source of life. Her soft, glossed lips connect with mine instantly. The audience continues to cheer over our passionate, loving kiss. I would've kissed her longer if we weren't right in front of everyone, but eventually we broke apart. I take her hand in mine as we face the crowd. The wind picks up for a minute and it causes all of the flower petals to take to the air. I twirl Haley around to face me again and bring her back for another heart melting kiss.

"I get to be a farmer now, too!" she squeals, squeezing my hands in hers.

"And you are going to be the best wife anyone could ever ask for," I whisper as I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, daydreaming over the beautiful future we are going to have.

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